Cloudy Skies, Trophy Stripes: Guiding a World Record on the SoHo

On May 29, 2022, I had one of those rare days as a guide that I'll never forget. The conditions on the South Holston River were cloudy but just about ideal – the kind of low light that makes big predatory fish feel bold. My client (and friend), Ken Tanaka, was with me that day, and we both had a feeling something special could happen. Little did we know Ken was about to hook a fish for the record books: a 59 cm whiterock bass (a striped bass × white bass hybrid) that would earn him an IGFA All-Tackle Length world record.

The Perfect Setup for Big Bass

Ken came prepared for battle. His rod of choice was an 8-weight Thomas & Thomas Sextant – a stout fly rod with plenty of backbone for a fish that fights like a freight train. He paired it with a smooth-drag Abel reel and an aggressive sinking fly line (an Airflo Streamer Max). Tied to the end of his leader was one of my favorite large streamers, a pattern we lovingly call the "Kitchen Sink". This fly pretty much has everything but the kitchen sink tied onto it – a flashy, bulky baitfish imitation that screams “easy meal” to a hungry bass. With this setup, Ken was ready to go head-to-head with anything in the river.

We started our float using my jet boat’s trolling motor to perfectly position our drift. The strategy was simple: focus on the slight cutouts and eddies along the bank where pods of shad were schooling. If you find the bait, the predators are usually not far behind. I eased the boat downriver, keeping us just far enough off the bank to let Ken cast into those little hidey-holes in the limestone where the water swirled calmly. Each cutout was like an all-you-can-eat buffet for bass, loaded with shad flickering near the surface. Ken would cast that big Kitchen Sink streamer tight to the bank, let it sink a moment, and then start a hard, strip-strip-pause retrieve. The anticipation in the air was palpable each time – any cast could be the one.

Strike of a Lifetime

We had drifted into a particularly fishy-looking stretch – a soft bend with a downed log and a cloud of shad skittering around nervously. “This looks perfect,” I whispered to Ken, and he needed no further urging. He launched a pinpoint cast right to the edge of the cutout. The fly barely had time to sink and flutter before BAM! A jolt ran up the line. For a split second, we both froze as the water exploded. Then instinct and experience kicked in.

“Fish on!” Ken called out, keeping the rod tip low and his line tight. The hybrid bass rocketed downstream, pulling against the drag with raw power. Even on an 8-weight, you could feel this fish meant business. But Ken was an advanced angler – calm and collected. He kept steady pressure, let the Abel reel’s drag do its job singing that sweet zzzzz sound, and expertly steered the fish away from submerged logs and sharp rocks. I used the trolling motor to follow the fight, ensuring we stayed in the sweet spot of the run and didn’t give the fish any slack.

For a couple of minutes, it was give-and-take. The bass would surge, and Ken would counter. Despite the adrenaline, everything felt smooth and under control. This wasn’t a chaotic battle; it was a well-choreographed dance between angler and fish. I could tell by the heavy throb on the rod that this was no ordinary bass – it had the kind of weight that makes your heart thump with each head shake.

When the fish finally began to tire, Ken worked it toward the boat. I readied the net, and with one firm sweep, I scooped up the biggest hybrid striper I’d ever seen in these waters. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as we both peered into the net at this absolute beast of a bass.

South Holston’s Shad-Fueled Trophy Fishery

 An angler holds a hefty hybrid striper (also known as a whiterock bass) caught on the fly from the South Holston River. These hybrid bass have the bold stripes of their striper heritage and the deep body of a white bass. Thanks to abundant shad, they grow thick and trophy-sized in the South Holston’s unique ecosystem.

If you’re wondering how a striped bass hybrid (locally we often just call them "hybrids" or "wipers") ended up thriving in a river famous for trout, the answer lies in the South Holston’s unique ecosystem. This tailwater river has an unusual abundance of shad – small baitfish that usually live in lakes. Each year, threadfin and gizzard shad from South Holston Lake get flushed through the dam or drift into the river. What that means for predatory fish is a year-round buffet of high-protein snacks. Trout certainly benefit from this (our brown trout here grow to monstrous sizes), but it’s the stripers and hybrid stripers that really take advantage of the windfall.

Those schools of shad we target aren’t just bystanders; they’re the engine that drives a food chain producing oversized fish. A hybrid striped bass is essentially a genetic cross between a striped bass and a white bass, combining the striper’s size and fighting ability with the white bass’s stocky build. IGFA officially calls this cross a “whiterock bass”. Give a fish like that an endless supply of shad and room to roam in cool, oxygen-rich water, and you have the perfect recipe for trophy-sized bass. The fish Ken hooked likely gorged itself on shad for years, which would explain its incredible girth and strength. In fact, when we lifted it briefly from the net, we could see its belly was plump from a recent shad feast. The South Holston truly is a special place – one of the few trout-tailwater rivers where you might encounter a double-digit pound striped bass hybrid in addition to world-class trout.

A Record Moment and a Guiding Milestone

As we cradled that bass in the net, our hands were trembling – partly from exertion, mostly from excitement. We broke out the measuring board, knowing this fish was something extraordinary. Nose to tail, Ken’s bass measured 59 centimeters (about 23.2 inches) of pure muscle. That length is huge for a whiterock bass on fly gear, and a little bell went off in my head: this could be the one. We quickly took the necessary photos and measurements against an official IGFA ruler, then slid the fish back into the water. With a powerful sweep of its tail, the big bass surged back into the depths, disappearing like a ghost. Watching a trophy swim away healthy is a reward in itself.

Later, our hunch was confirmed – Ken’s catch was certified as the new IGFA All-Tackle Length world record for whiterock bass on fly. We were ecstatic! To think that on this cloudy day, on our beloved home waters, we’d made angling history together. As a guide, I’ve had my share of big fish and exciting days, but helping a client achieve a world record is on another level. Guiding someone to a personal best is gratifying; guiding them to a world record is downright humbling. I couldn’t have been prouder of Ken’s skill and composure, and I’m thankful for whatever mix of skill, preparation, and luck made it all come together.

In the aftermath, as the adrenaline ebbed, I found myself reflecting on what it all meant. This record wasn’t just about a measurement or a title; it was a testament to the South Holston River and the incredible opportunities it offers. It validated the years we’ve spent fine-tuning our approach – the specialized gear, the flies like the Kitchen Sink, the careful study of fish behavior and river conditions. It also underscored the importance of teamwork. Guiding is a team sport: the guide sets the stage, but it’s the angler who delivers when the moment comes. Ken did just that, flawlessly.

Chasing Your Own Trophy

This experience reinvigorated my passion for guiding. It’s a feeling I want to share with every angler who steps into my boat. The South Holston continues to surprise us, and who knows – there might be an even bigger hybrid swimming out there (Ken and I like to joke about the “ten-pounder” that got away). One thing’s for sure: we’re not done chasing.

If this story has your casting arm itching, consider it an open invitation. Come experience what our South Holston streamer hunts are all about. You don’t need to be aiming for a world record to have an unforgettable day here – but hey, it could just happen when you least expect it. I’ll be ready with the net and the know-how, and together we’ll explore those shad-filled runs in search of your own trophy fish. After all, the next entry in the record books might be just one epic cast away. Tight lines, and I hope to see you on the water!