Unlocking the secrets of Tahoe's giant mackinaw

When you walk into Mackinaw Mashers? fishing charter office just up from H Dock in Lake Tahoe?s Lakefront Marina, you can?t help but notice the huge bathymetric map of the lake on the back wall.It?s similar to a topographic map, but instead of showing the geographic features of the landscape around Tahoe, it shows the topography of the lake bottom.All around the edges of the big lake there are lots of ledges, humps, drop-offs and rocky reefs ? all good fish-holding structure. But out in the main body of the lake the bottom is featureless ? smooth, sandy, very deep and, as veteran charter skipper Smoothy Hopkins was pointing out to me, quite fishless...except for one spot.?See this spot out in the center?? Hopkins poked the map with a calloused and scarred finger. ?There?s a mountain range down there on the bottom almost halfway between Sugar Pine Point on the west shore and Cave Rock on the Nevada side. It?s base is over 1,500 feet down, but there?s a peak that rises to within 900 feet of the surface.?His voice was starting to quiver a bit.?Over the years, I?ve gone over that ridge with my sonar and have graphed some giant fish in there ? big mackinaw. Really, really, big mackinaw. I call it Monster Mountain, but have never fished it because it?s so far down and neither has anybody else.?The idea of fishing that submarine mountain range has been festering inside Hopkins? head for years, but he never had the specialized equipment necessary to get a line down 900 feet.Last winter, however, he purchased two large Penn International reels ? designed for big game fishing in the ocean ? and spooled them up with 1,500 yards of 100-pound braided Spectra line (to the tune of about $450 just for the line on each reel!). To go with the rods, he asked the Redington Tackle Co. to custom build a pair of stout, sensitive rods with roller guides that could handle heavy weights and, hopefully, huge mackinaw trout. It was unseasonably warm when we pulled away from the dock last Monday in Hopkins? stout 28 footer. It was to take about 15 minutes to get out to Monster Mountain, so as we ran across the glassy surface of Lake Tahoe, I asked Hopkins what we?d be using for bait.?Live chickens.??Live what?? I asked, though I was certain I heard him the first time. ?You?re not chicken of a little chicken are ya, landlubber?,? he asked with a salty dawg of a laugh that only crusty mariners know. ?Nah, just kidding! We?ll be fishing with frozen horse mackerel.?In a short while, the skipper spotted his underwater mountain on the fish finder and Hopkins pushed his nose against the screen. There, huddled tight against the summit were several crescent shapes ? forms that represented fish that were three football fields below the hull. ?There they are! The big guys are home!?I knew we were after big fish but I wasn?t prepared for the size of the bait the skipper pulled out of his cooler. The mackerel were close to a yard long and probably weighed in the neighborhood of 10 or 12 pounds apiece. I?d seen pictures of the Lake Tahoe record 37-pound mackinaw before, but even that lunker wouldn?t have been able to get its jaws around these baits! At that point, I wasn?t sure if Hopkins was crazy or crazy like a fox. He rigged the frozen fish each with a pair of gigantic 20/0 hooks that looked like they were designed for shark fishing. He completed the rig with an 8-pound lead cannonball attached to a sinker release and tossed the rig over the side.?Click the reel into freespool and keep your thumb on the line so it doesn?t turn into a rat?s nest,? he said as he handed me the rod.A full 4-1/2 minutes later, the sinker finally hit the bottom ? much to the relief of my thumb, which was dangerously close to being relived of every last layer of skin.At that point, I placed the rod in a holder on the starboard side of the transom and a few minutes later, Hopkins had his line down to the summit of Monster Mountain. Then the waiting game began. As we waited, Capt. Hopkins told me many stories of monsters his clients have hooked and lost over the years. He?s seen hundreds of mackinaw up to eight pounds come up with teeth marks in them and once had a fish that looked as long as a scuba diver follow a hooked mackinaw to the boat.?I?m pretty sure there?s a fish over 50 pounds in this lake,? he said. ?All that talk about the Tahoe Monster and Tahoe Tessie...it?s all rubbish. There may be something huge in Tahoe, but I guarantee it?s simply a big mackinaw.?A half hour later, something pulled my rod tip down. I was out of my chair like a shot, grabbed the rod and set the hook with a violent upward stroke of the rod. Nothing.?You set too quickly,? he said. ?With these big baits, you?ve really gotta let them swallow the hooks.?As if not hooking up wasn?t bad enough, my penalty for the premature hook set was spending the next 20 minutes laboriously reeling my line up from the abyss. With a charlie horse in my reeling arm and my cranking fingers locked into a claw, I finally got the rig to the surface.?Woah...look at your bait,? he said, pointing to the fact that my big mackerel was missing it?s body from the gill plates aft.?Holy smokes, what the heck did that?? I asked. The skipper, deep in his own thoughts, said nothing. A moment later, his line started moving off the reel, the spool revolving at a steady, self-assured cadence. He let the fish take about 50 yards, which took a 3-minute eternity. I was a nervous wreck, but Hopkins was a statue as he waited for the fish to completely devour his bait. I?m not sure how he knew when the right time had arrived, but in a sudden explosion, Hopkins set the hook with an amazing display of brute force. Then he set again. Immediately, the rod doubled over and slammed down hard against the stern hand rail. Seconds later, the line went dead and my companion reeled up a limp line ? sans hooks.Shortly thereafter, the wind kicked up and pushed us off the spot. Our day was finished. Unfortunately, my schedule was such that I couldn?t stick around to try again the next morning, but Hopkins gave it another try and hooked three fish ? all of which broke him off. The next two days were too windy to fish, but he finally got back at it last Friday. Armed with heavier leader material, he finally struck paydirt. Monster Mountain was feeling generous that day and Hopkins landed three gigantic mackinaw. The first was 52 pounds, the second was 59 and the final one, which took 2 ½ hours to land was an amazing 87 pounder that, when the paperwork goes through, should be recognized as the all-tackle world record for the species. What?s really amazing is Hopkins had another mammoth mack on that, when it broached boatside, looked like it was even bigger than the 87 pounder. It was only hooked in the skin of the lip with the back hook and was able to wiggle free just before he could get it within gaffing range. ?Now, I?m convinced there?s a 100 pounder in the lake,? Hopkins told me via cell phone on Sunday, while fishing his amazing lunker hole again. ?We?ve had two in the 60-pound class so far today and lost one other. I don?t know how long this wild ride is going to last, but I?m going to hold on as long as I can.?Anglers interested in potentially hooking a freshwater fish over 100 pounds should get in touch with Capt. Smoothy Hopkins at Mackinaw Masher?s Guide Service ASAP! Like he said, he has no clue how long this once-in-several-lifetimes action is going to go, but he?d love to have you out on his boat to give it a try.Just drop by Dock H at Lakefront Marina on the South Shore and go down to slip 38. Hopkins? boat is green and has the name April Fool?s painted on the side in big white lettering....