Fishing For Grayling

By Rod Petersen

Fishing for the elusive Arctic Grayling has been a past obsession of mine. From the time I discovered that this fish existed and lived within the boundaries of the Park, I have been on a quest to be fortunate enough to catch one of these fish.

The lake we went to fish was about a 2.2-mile hike in to get to. This is easy enough. Even with all the gear and snacks you bring. The hike-in is nowhere near as bad as the hike-out. Which consists of being laden down with soaking wet waders that are attempting to strangle you, mosquitos large enough to carry off small children that surgically remove blood from your legs like an IV needle, and of course the fact that you are dead tired from chasing fish all day.

The early morning of fishing went about as one would expect it. Connor, Coltin, and I got to the lake at around 9:30 in the morning and proceeded to start casting at the multitude of rising trout. Every trout we pulled out within the first half hour or so were very small but vibrant Cutthroat Trout. These Cutthroat had bright shades of red under their jawlines with sharp golden-yellow fins. We needed to change tactics to get to the Grayling. So, we began wading about chest-deep in the lake, and sailing our lures out into the depths, hoping the elusive fish were somewhere in the cooler water.

To be honest, I didn’t know anything about Grayling. I knew they were somewhat related to the trout family. Sort of like a distant relative who only ever found time to see the rest of the family around the holiday season. As well as the fact that the Grayling was known for having a high dorsal fin with exotic colors sprinkled through the sail. If seeing that high dorsal fin was not enough to get someone out of bed, I had not caught one yet. It was a fish I still needed to add to my long made-up list of fish I wanted to catch in my lifetime. Almost like a bucket list, but instead of kicking the bucket, you fill it with all those fish that swim around in your mind. Call it what you will, but Grayling became a mini obsession of our group for the better part of the summer.

Connor already had caught Grayling before, and this trip was no different. The first person to land the coveted Grayling was none other than Connor. It was a beautiful fish. With the silver body shining in the sun, the dorsal fin had a faint coloration of blues and purples that looked very reminiscent of stained-glass windows in an old church. All this did was send me and Coltin even more down the rabbit hole in search of our own Grayling to catch. We began casting our hearts out. I hate to say it, but I missed probably two good hooksets on some of what I like to imagine were the biggest Grayling in that lake.

Finally, I began getting bites. I set the hook. Fish on. On the light tackle I was using it felt like a brick tied to the end of the line. “It has to be a Grayling” I thought to myself. The weight from the fight could only be one thing. It was the large dorsal fin being used by the fish as almost a rudder, to keep from being taken in. As the fish drew nearer, we could see the bright colors of a high dorsal fin sticking out of the water. We all got very excited and began getting ready to jump on the fish as soon as it was closer. The bright silver body of the Grayling almost glowed in the dark muddy water of the lake as we brought it closer. It seemed tired at first. We thought we had worn the fish out enough to land it. I got the fish up to the edge of the bank, just to watch as it shook the hook and darted for deeper water.

This was not the last time this would happen. This went on for the next three Grayling I brought in and attempted to land. With one wiggling out between my fingers and making it out to deep water before I could jump on him.

While I was busy throwing a royal fit because of my missed catches, Coltin secured himself a Grayling. In an attempt to not lose his catch, in a manner similar to mine, Coltin netted the fish and darted for the shore. Before you knew what was going on he was twenty-five feet back up the bank unhooking the fish and getting his picture of it. I cannot say I blame him. He might have had to do a forty-yard dash in waders, but at least he didn’t drop his catch like I did,

Eventually, I landed my Grayling not long after Coltin released his. Each one we caught was uniquely different from the other. The coloration, the shape and height of that tall dorsal fin, and even the shine of the body from silver, metallic, and often almost charcoal.   

You would think for us, to catch one Grayling would satisfy our drive. That was quite the contrary, all catching one did was spur us on to finding bigger and better Grayling, and of course, ways to catch them.