This particular fish had already laughed me off Turquoise Creek multiple times. I had come face-to-face with the brute earlier this year in January, and once in February, too. I had lost the upper hand each time in the midst of the battle, and was left with nothing but regrets. One time, I waited a half-hour, sitting on the bank, before I cast again. I was met with an 18-inch brown trout—but he was not the intended target. The next week, I caught a 17- and a 16-inch brown trout, but I knew there was a much larger trout still living in this pool.

By early spring, I was praying that the big brown trout was still residing in his winter hole. On a hunch, I reached out to my trout fishing buddy Mike. I told him the story of the big brown trout and wanted him to take a crack at him. He accepted the challenge and we planned to meet at sunrise the following day. I slept a total of three hours that night. I couldn’t stop replaying the intense fights with the big trout in my mind.

The next morning, I hit the road at 4:15 am for the Driftless, set to arrive a little before sunrise. During the two-hour car ride, I had plenty of time to put together a gameplan. I had tried the hole right away at first light in the past, and nobody was home. Both times that I lost the big dog, it was right around 30 minutes after sunrise. Because of that, I decided it was best to hit a different stretch of the creek beforehand.

I met Mike in the Turquoise Creek Valley just as the sun was beginning to come over the bluffs. As it became lighter and the earth awoke, the first thing I noticed was a thick layer of frost across the valley. It was 24 degrees, and our breaths were visible. A brief stretch of warm weather had abruptly come to an end overnight. We both cast for some time before deciding it was time to knock on the big brown’s door. I told Mike to follow me closer to where we would fish.

A half-mile from the hole, I pulled over on the side of the road and Mike parked behind me. He was about to place his rod in my car, but I told him to leave it in his truck. His reel had been giving him trouble earlier and I couldn’t bear to lose this fish another time. He had been using an ultralight rod, and I suggested that my medium-light rod was more suited for the beast we were targeting. He agreed, and we turned onto the dirt road to the hole.

I parked my car a few hundred yards away from the hole. I inherently close my car doors silently, but wasn’t sure if Mike had the same instincts. I whispered to him, and he nodded in agreement. Trout have an internal system referred to as their lateral line, which helps them detect vibrations and movement in the water. This system not only helps them detect disturbances, but it also locate their sources. This is especially helpful in murky water when visibility is low.

We tip-toed our way to the creek bank and observed the run. The sparkling turquoise water reflected the first light of the day and gave the pool a beautiful glow. I showed Mike the steep embankment that we would need to slide down before reaching our platform to cast from. The hole was 10 feet below us, and the big trout was undoubtedly within feet of us. One loud step—or one step on a stick—and the spot was ruined before we could even cast.

The embankment was muddy and covered with shrubs. I offered to take the net and rod and go first. I had slid down before and knew how difficult it was to be silent while doing it. I wanted to give Mike every opportunity possible to be quiet as well. I got down to the bottom and instructed Mike to slide down on his feet and butt, telling him to take five minutes if that was how long it took—just as long as it was silent. He softly scurried down the slope and met me at the bottom. We both stayed crouched on the bank to stay out of view. We were now likely within just a few feet of the big brown trout.

I tested the drag on the reel before handing it back to Mike to cast over my shoulder. I pointed to the corner of the pool where he should cast and gripped my net tight with both hands. I told him to be patient and that the fish wouldn’t hit until he was nearly ready to pull his lure out of the water. I reminded him not to set the hook too hard and to simply point the rod to the sky once the fish hit. It was go time. I took a deep breath of cold, spring air and closed my eyes for a second.

Mike opened the bail and drew the rod above his head. He aimed for the corner I had pointed out and flung the rod in that direction. As he cast, the bail closed and let out only a few feet of line. The spinner came crashing down on the surface of the water at the head of the hole, and Mike froze in confusion. I instantly grabbed the rod from his hands and pulled the lure from the water. The lure had landed very close to where the big trout notoriously fed. We waited a moment before casting again. I wanted to give the trout all the time he needed to forget—but in reality, I was hoping that he never saw it.

Mike opened the bail once more and made a perfect cast. I whispered for him to pause and let the lure sink to the bottom before beginning his retrieve. Mike listened and did just that. I watched the spinner slowly make its way to the head of the hole before disappearing in the current. That’s when I turned my eyes to the rod tip. Just as I began watching it, the rod was pulled down with mighty force. My eyes snapped back to the water, where I saw the flash of a giant, butterscotch-brown trout.

“Big brown!” I yelled as I tried to catch another glimpse. The fish went straight down, and I lost sight of it. I looked back at Mike, and he looked like a deer in the headlights. I can’t poke too much fun at him; I’m sure I looked the same.

I told him to let the fish peel drag if it wanted to, and not to horse it. The big brown bounced around every inch of the hole like a pinball, staying tight to the bottom, refusing to come anywhere near the surface. After 20 seconds, I asked Mike if it was still going crazy. He said that it had calmed down and stopped pulling drag. I told him to tighten the drag a few clicks and begin pulling the fish off the bottom. Mike slowly and gently lifted the trout back toward the surface. I was in awe once again, but didn’t have time to admire it just yet. I leaned in and scooped the brute into my net.

We couldn’t believe it. The male brown trout measured 21 inches.