2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: MAY 13, 2024 – PEORIA, ILLINOIS

At my age, and with my behavior, I don’t end up at a lot of weddings. So it was a great pleasure to get invited to one, especially when two great friends were getting hitched. (To each other.) Of course, you know I was going to find a way to go fishing, but to your collective relief, I managed not to do this during the ceremony, despite the fact it was held next to a lake.

Ben Cantrell has been a good friend for ten years. He was single when I met him, but I always sensed that he, unlike many of my irresponsible and commitment-averse college buddies, wanted to settle down, as long as he could find someone who could put up with his fishing. (And Marta, that gold standard of patience, isn’t available. As far as I know.) This is where Ally entered the picture. A skilled species hunter in her own right, good-looking, successful, and kind enough to deal with Ben, Ally was the woman he was waiting for. I knew it was serious when they got communal cats. (Although I must admit that Daisy, Ben’s original cat, remains my favorite.)

I landed at Peoria mid-afternoon and immediately headed for a local stream Ben had recommended.

Ben left a tractor for me at the airport.

Central Illinois has some very interesting species – the highfin carpsucker comes to mind. To be fair, Ben also warned me there had been heavy rain, so despite my efforts, I managed only a few assorted panfish.

It was a lovely location that has great promise when it’s fishable.

I stocked up with plenty of Wed Bull.

The northern lights were supposed to be visible that night, but I did not get the right location and, while I did see the occasional street lamp, the aurora borealis would have to wait.

It still was a beautiful night.

In the morning, old buddy Ryan Crutchfield’s wife showed again why she is just too awesome for him. She let Ryan out for a few hours of fishing. It was great to see him, and we gave it a game effort in some small creeks that had stayed clear. Ryan managed to add a red shiner, but I, like Cousin Chuck throughout college, remained scoreless.

I did get a beastly common shiner.

Proudly wearing our Ferguson hats. We miss Dom, who would have been a big hit at the wedding.

As it got into the afternoon, we knew it was time to head back and make ourselves presentable. Since it was a formal occasion, I tried to get all the worm dirt from under my fingernails (and eyebrows) and put on an actual sportcoat, one of my few pieces of clothing that does not have a fishing logo embroidered somewhere.

The venue was gorgeous – a country estate turned event location, and the actual ceremony would be held right on … a lake. All the fishermen there noticed this. A few of us even had gear in our cars, but there was enough adult supervision there (meaning wives and girlfriends,) to keep anything bad from happening. The background music was Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams.” I actually like her music when it isn’t being played during a football game.

Ben is one of those guys who seems to be at the center of the species hunting world – he has fished with a bunch of the big numbers guys, and quite a few of them were at the wedding. There were old acquaintances like Ryan and Pat Kerwin. And there were guys I had emailed with but never met, like Marc Eberlein and the phenomenal Eli, who will likely be the next guy across the 2000 species barrier.

That’s Marc on the right. It’s always nice to hang out with another Michigan person.

They started the ceremony just as the late afternoon sun turned that golden shade I can never capture in photographs, and out came Ally. She looked amazing, and she handled the long walk from the building to the lake with perfect confidence. I’m sure Ben looked a little terrified, but let’s face it, no one was looking at Ben.

Ally was beautiful. And Ben was … well, Ally looked beautiful.

Ben waits at the altar. This may be only picture of him up there by himself, because everyone else was looking at Ally.

The vows begin, or, as I like to call it, the pre-reception staredown.

It was a lovely ceremony, and just like that, they were a married couple. I give Marta a lot of trouble on this blog, but let’s face it, life is a lot easier when you get to go through it with a true partner. And that’s what I felt had happened here – the right people had found each other.

Back up the aisle as a married couple.

But enough emotion already – there was free food and fishing conversation to be had. They split the fishermen up into a couple of tables so we could bore more people, and the party started.

When the newlyweds made their entrance, they looked like the couple they use in advertisements for nice wedding venues. And they were both indescribably happy about the whole thing.

Entering the reception.

You would think this photo came with the frame.

Ok, there had to be one of these.

The evening flew by, a blur of toasts and fishing stories, and as it got late, we made our way outside so I could miss the northern lights yet again. I went back to my hotel content that I had watched a great couple sign up to spend the rest of their lives together.

The following morning, Ben and Ally kindly invited me to their home for a gathering with their parents and a few other friends. Both sets of parents are a pleasure to hang around. And yes, every time I see a home twice the size of mine in an affordable part of the country, I question my commitment to California. Their house is gorgeous, and Ben has a riding mower twice the size of my first car.

Mr. and Mrs. Cantrell. Damn they were happy.

We got to hang out and chat for a while, and most importantly, I got to meet all three cats (Daisy, Yosi, and Thomas.) The cat relationships are complex, as Daisy and Yosi would each prefer to be in a one-cat household, but Yosi is much larger and will occasionally try to reduce the number of cats in the home.

This is Thomas. He just loves everyone and everything and wishes we could all just get along.

This is Yosi, who was trying to figure out if I was pro-Daisy.

And this is Daisy, who I shamelessly admit is my favorite. This is her most-cherished spot in the world, next to the aquarium.

As we got into the later afternoon, I, of course, had fishing plans. I would be heading for Indianapolis and Steve Ramsey’s house, a few hours east, but I figured I would stop along the way and try to pick up a lake chubsucker in that God-forsaken swamp I had gone to with Ron and Gerry last year.

I took my time, as I knew it would have to be well into the night before the fish would bite in the swamp spot. I made a stop in Danville, Illinois, (where I had previously fished with Gerry Hansell,) on the off chance I might get an odd shiner or darter, and as it turns out, I did add a species – the Rosyface shiner.

I had no clue at the time. But digital photos are free – take lots of them.

I would have written it off as a Carmine as per Peterson’s Guide, but Jarrett, as thorough an academic as there is, had done substantial research and discovered updated papers that indicated that the watershed I was in actually hosted the Rosyface.

Just across the state line in Indiana, I also caught a bluebreast darter, which is always an event.

In my opinion, one of the more elusive darters. And this one was in a foot of water. Go figure.

I headed north in Indiana, thrilled that I had put one on the board. I kept in close touch with Steve, and, since he is quite the night owl, I had planned to give the chubsucker and perhaps even a pirate perch a try, close up around 11, and get down to Indianapolis in time for a late pizza.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The first thing I forgot was that Indiana is on eastern time, so I lost an hour immediately. Then dinner took longer than I hoped, because the guy at Burger King didn’t seem to understand that a cheese Whopper must, by definition, involve dairy products. Then there was a detour. It was around 10 when I got there, but I still hoped the fish would bite quickly.

In hindsight, this was not rational. These are difficult species to spot, let alone catch.

I rigged up, turned on my headlamp, and saw … nothing. Not a single fish. I had expected at least a few small chubsuckers, and there was nothing. Irrationally, I viewed this as a challenge. The fish HAD to be there somewhere. I should have just gotten in the car and been at Steve’s place in time for Sportscenter and a White Castle, but anyone who think I might have done that is obviously a first time reader. Welcome!

I spent a couple of hours exploring culverts in the area and blind fishing every likely-looking rock ledge, and … nothing. It just couldn’t be. The last time I was here was late in the year, so I wrote that off as a seasonal thing, but the place was absolutely sterile on what should have been a pretty good night.

It was a gorgeous night outside. But no northern lights. Those are clouds, Cousin Chuck.

At one stage, it was so fishless that I resorted to a childhood pastime, catching bullfrogs by hand.

So many childhood memories of Jacob’s Creek in New Jersey. This is also a picture of the end of every date Marta went on before she met me.

Midnight came and went. I texted Ramsey and let him know it was going to be more like a 230am arrival, so maybe we could catch some pizza rolls and an episode of Golden Girls.

Then, something horrible happened. I saw a fish. It was a pirate perch. Actually, two of them. One spooked immediately, but one didn’t, and I was focused enough to put a bait in front of it. It bit, and I hooked it. Holding my breath, I tried to swing it the five feet to shore, but it fell off the hook midair into the low retaining wall right in front of me. Despite my leapng there immediately and moving nearly every rock I could, I didn’t find the fish. This is the most heartbreaking thing that has happened to me since Lisa Woodford ditched me at junior prom. (Which, in hindsight, may have been more on me.)

I stumbled to the car, still panting in disbelief. I could have screamed at the sky, but I voted wrong for that. I could have cried, but the tears wouldn’t come. I just had to take the pain. I had done everything right and still lost a very difficult fish, and likely wouldn’t see one again that evening.

So I let Ramsey know I wouldn’t be making it down there that night, and prepared for an all-nighter, because there’s nothing like handling failure by piling more failure on top of it.

About the time the panting subsided, I thought I noticed a tiny flash in the water underneath the culvert. On closer inspection, I could see a small school of fish, too far off the bottom to be chubsuckers. I drifted a tiny bait through them, and they attacked it. After a few tries, I landed what appeared to be a shiner, Notropis nondescriptus. I toyed with not photographing it, because I hate researching shiners that much, but I stayed disciplined and took a few shots.

The beast in question.

For fun, and remember that it was now past 3am, I texted Jarrett. (Of Ron and Jarrett fame.) He was not only up, but he also immediately flagged it as an ironcolor shiner, which came as a great surprise, because I didn’t have one. Somehow, this made everything seem ok, and the pirate perch was at least briefly forgotten. (Species hunters and field goal kickers, in order to be successful, require a short memory.)

I chuckled to myself and opened a Red Bull, which is not something people often drink at 3:30am. I got my rig ready, and, switching to my third and final headlamp, I went back to the water. What happened next was a miracle, nothing short of Michigan’s 2024 victory over Ohio State. Out, below the culvert, and as far up the reedy bank as I could see, there were lake chubsuckers. Dozens of them. They had materialized.

This does not mean they would readily bite. I presented to each one in order, and, in order, they were indifferent. This is what chubsuckers do, and that is why the creeks in hell are jammed with them. It somehow became 430, and I knew I would be struggling with daylight soon. So I moved over to the other culvert nearby and prepared to be ignored by those fish.

It’s hard to describe what was different about the first fish I presented to over there. I’d like to say body language, which sounds idiotic when we’re talking about a three-inch fish, but every species hunter reading this knows what I’m talking about. It acknowledged the bait, and even swam slowly up an inch or so to examine the split shot. Its fins were moving. I swear it looked at me. Right into my soul. Daring me to make that one perfect drop that would put the bait just on its nose.

So I did. The shot landed softly and the bait settled slowly, grazing the fish right across the snout and fluttering to the bottom, perhaps a millimeter from its mouth. I looked at me again, dead in the eye, and it ate. Making up in purpose what it lacked in speed, it inhaled my fleck of redworm and flared its gills. My hookset in these cases are generally overdone, and yes, I was on caffeinated hair-trigger setting. I launched the fish up into the air above me, followed it with my headlamp, and then caught it in my bare hand. It was 4:41am, and Ramsey was probably just going to sleep.

The lake chubsucker, species 2287.

I shouted my celebration out into the swamp, unheard by human ears but likely startling a possum or two. After three long trips, I had finally conquered a very difficult adversary, with a big assist from Jarrett and Ron, and knew I had finished my journeys to this particular Gid-forsaken ditch and could move on to other God-forsaken ditches.

The first glimmer of light was just coming over the horizon when I got to a nearby small town and checked into whatever Motel Fungus had a vacancy. It had been a memorable evening of fishing, but I smiled and remembered how it all started with Ben and Ally. This meant that the chubsucker was, improbably, the second-best thing that had happened that weekend.

Steve

SPECIAL BONUS POSTSCRIPT – Not long after this, Ben turned 2024 from the best year ever to somehow an even better year. On November 24, Ben joined the 1000 species club, with a white seabream (Diplodus sargus) caught in Southern France. Ben was the ninth person to accomplish this feat, and he is an adult-onset species hunter, only beginning his quest in 2008.

Congratulations Ben!