Email from Lenny Gallivo

January 14, 2005

Good to hear from you Fred,

When I tell the fish story here.... everyone of them said.... yeah right!!!! This is a fish story. What a memory...will always remember that day, good people, that setting, that fish. I love Alaska.... so many great memories...hope to see you in Sept. That would be great to have that story in writing on your website.

Thanks,

Lenny Gallivo

Here you go Lenny..."The-Holy-Shit-Fish"

September 20, 2004

One of my favorite things as a guide is to see one of my clients hook a “Holy-Shit-Fish”, or what has also been called an “Oh-My-God-Fish”. These are generally rainbows larger than anything in the client’s experience. When the fish explode from the water in full view of the angler, the exclamation is inevitable. Unfortunately, by their very nature and size, these fish are often not landed. There are numerous reasons for this including snags, current, speed at which fish reduces reel of backing and simply the suspension of proper skills after seeing the size of the fish. Whatever the outcome, it is always exciting and memorable for all who bear witness.

This past September, Lenny Gallivo of Boise, Idaho, hooked one of the biggest “Holy-Shit-Fish” I have ever seen. It actually took him to a level I had not witnessed before. Lenny is infamous for calling every fish another little one.  More than one angler has been dumbstruck upon hearing Lenny exclaim “Its another little one.” when regarding a trophy.  He later admitted that when he first saw this fish, it was so large and unimaginable that he was unhinged and all he could do was giggle.

 
The day started out very blustery and gray. Lenny and two other anglers from Anchorage joined me. Due to wind on the Upper Kenai, I talked them into driving down to a sheltered area on the Lower River where some big trout had been hanging out. The areas I intended to wade were a bit of a disappointment. The water was dropping fast and the bigger fish had moved. We had some good action from smaller fish, but it was late fall and the big rainbows had to be somewhere, nearby.

We shifted into the boat and immediately found a concentration of fish. Many were landed, with most fish in the 22"-24" range. Happy with our success, it was time to go looking for even larger fish. We shifted again and soon found a 29" rainbow in the new area. Hoping for more large fish, we worked the zone hard, but had no more success. Opting again for action, we moved back to our previous area and got right into them.

As the afternoon wore on, the fishing remained good despite a steady rain. Both my Alaskan anglers ultimately caught their largest trout to date and were content to end the day. We decided to work the drift once more and then head for the landing. It was only moments before we were into a “Holy-Shit-Fish”. The giant trout launched from the water and took off downstream. Words of pain escaped my guest as the rapidly revolving reel handle bashed his knuckles. In a few seconds, it was over. The fish gave us no chance. It took so much line, so fast, that we were unable to catch up before it pulled free with a frenzied jump far, far, downstream.

The loss of such a fish is always a disappointment. The thrill brought on by glimpsing the size and feeling the power of a “Holy-Shit-Fish” is something most anglers never forget and an experience that can create a fly fishing fanatic for life. The quiet awe of my guests accompanied us to the landing.

As we landed, I felt like there was unfinished business on the water. I knew Lenny, a fanatic, would be more than happy to run another drift. We bid good-bye to our new friends and hit the river again for one more shot at a “Holy-Shit-Fish”. Opting for the zone where Lenny had previously landed the beautiful 29" rainbow, I moved the boat into position. Lenny made the cast and we both watched as the indicator followed the perfect drift line. There are times when you just know a drift is going to score big. Lenny’s indicator went down as anticipated and a giant silver, pink striped missile, erupted from the water and the giggling began. The fish jumped repeatedly as if to intimidate us by its sheer size. Lenny could not speak coherently and was saying something like “Did you see,” giggle, “the size,” giggle, “of him?” He gasped out a few more partial statements peppered with giggles and I remember frothing out something like, “Focus on that fish!”

Downstream from our position was a rapid where we would surely lose the fish. As expected, the fish was moving in that direction. It could all be over in a matter of seconds if he went ballistic. Just then, we were hailed from upstream by another boat. The operator was a guide, running a power sled and he graciously offered to let us come aboard while he navigated and we attempted to land the fish. If I followed the fish in my drift boat, I would likely be unable to net it before we drifted past the point of no return and into the rapid. If we got into the other guide’s boat, we just might have a chance at netting him. We barely hesitated in accepting his offer and tried plan B.

I dropped anchor and we left my drift boat forlornly trailing upriver, as we pursued the mighty rainbow. While we were precariously loading, the fish took a run and I was unable to grab my net before we backed downstream in pursuit. I took a quick look at the other guides net and knew we were in trouble. It was simply too small. I carry the biggest "Frabill" rubber net I have been able to find. It had been recently tested on a 32" rainbow and I had even managed to fold a 35lb king salmon into it. The useless net was now mocking me from my sad drift boat. I swear my boat was saying, “Why have you left me? We could have captured the fish together, like always.” Just then, as these thoughts were swirling, up came the giant rainbow. I remember the other guide's client saying "Holy Shit, I didn't know rainbows got that big". The giant trout poised at the surface and lay out as if to say, “Come and get me if you can.” I grabbed the too small net and tried. The fish simply went stiff. He steeled his powerful body and balanced on the rim. There was no way he was going in. I think he laughed.

Okay, time for a desperate plan C. Let’s try and beach him. Maybe I could get behind him with the net and force him into shallow water for tailing. We beached the boat at the last possible point above no return and the fish was still with us. I hopped out of the boat and said, “Lenny, you’ve got to be careful and not put too much pressure on him as you get out. As Lenny made his move to the beach, the fish so easily parted the leader. One sweep of his tail and he was gone. I think the reel handle may have caught some fabric on Lenny’s jacket as he was trying to exit the boat. It is all a blur. All I know is that instead of taking pictures of a lifetime fish, we were giggling in awe and stupefied amazement for the fish we would have landed with my larger net.

Lenny did a great job and took the experience in stride. He has fished the Kenai since the 80's and seen more big wild rainbows than most fly anglers can imagine. I have never had an angler stay attached to a fish of that size for so long. What really frustrates me is that the fish was landable. He gave us a shot and I did not have the right tool. Years ago, the loss of such a fish would have really driven me crazy. I have done a bit of sulking over the loss, but I would like to think that I have matured over the years and I can take it in stride, as well. After all, there are so many fish, big, small, and all special in their way. However, right now, as I sit at my computer, it is five below zero. I am tortured and restlessly dreaming of my next meeting with TROUTZILLA!

Note to Lenny's Friends: He is telling a true fish story if his version is something like mine. Oh yeah, how big was the fish?
Over twenty pounds. Way, way, over...possibly...I can't even say it.

 
Tight Lines,

Fred Telleen

Another Fish Tail

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