With the exception of a few immigrant Yankees and the odd native-born neurotic, you'd be hard-put to find any resident of the Lone Star State who doesn't like to fish. Tastes are eclectic, of course. Some Texans are crappie-jerkers, some are whiskerfish mavens, and a lot are Ray Scott disciples offering penance at the BASS altar. Preferred piscatorial poison notwithstanding, all anglers share a common attribute-they all want to catch a "big one."

It is axiomatic that "big" is relative when assaying trophy qualities-nobody gets excited about a 1-pound largemouth, but a bluegill of the same weight will turn heads. Sometimes, though, big is just plain *big,* and to hell with relativity.

So it is with striped bass.

Angler Shane Davies works hard to hoist this 40-pound Brazos River striper. Rivers tend to have the edge for record fish.

Stripers are the 800-pound gorillas of record-class trophy fish. Ten pounds is chump change, and anything not half-again as long as your leg is probably bait. They are fast, sleek, powerful and beautiful. They are also possessed of wraith-like elusiveness.

It takes more than mere desire and a big rod, though, to put the lip-lock on a trophy striper. Just locating a good one in a reservoir borders on the impossible. Diogenes himself would despair of the search. However, there is succor for the striper-fevered brow to be found if you know where to look.

That would be in a river.

Riverine stripers figure prominently in the annals of trophy and record fish. Since 1993, the state record has been held by river fish, culminating with the current 52.90-pound, 48-inch leviathan Ron Venerable dredged out of the Brazos in May of 1999. Prior to that, the slot was held by stripers from the Guadalupe and Rio Grande respectively. The Sabine, Red, Colorado and Angelina rivers each have entries in the Top 50 record list ranging from 30 to 43 pounds.

If you think about it, it makes perfect sense that rivers make ideal trophy striper factories. The forage base is more concentrated, so predators don't have to burn as much energy to chase down a meal. It also stands to reason that the stripers are similarly concentrated. The secret is to find the deepest, coolest water you can. That usually means the tailrace pool at the base of a dam.

The Brazos tailrace below Lake Possum Kingdom has yielded dozens of 40-plus-pound linesides. Some were duly entered into the record books after being caught on free-swimming live shad, but more than a few never saw the record books because they were caught illegally on rainbow trout.

For reasons known only to the fish, river stripers have a definite penchant for the 6- to 8-inch rainbow trout TPWD annually stocks on a put-and-take basis. Trout are game fish under Texas law and cannot be used as bait. But that doesn't mean you can't use something that looks like a trout.

One of the previous state record stripers, a 50-pounder, was caught in the Guadalupe tailrace on a crankbait painted to resemble a rainbow trout. The angler, Edward Scott, made the lure after seeing a striped giant come up and take a rainbow he was playing on a fly rod.

Tailrace waters below the dam of many major Texas impoundments are prime trophy striper haunts.

Due to the restrictive confines in which riverine angling is practiced-not to mention the culinary preferences of the fish themselves-live bait is the hands-down best choice. Casting may be next to impossible due to obstacles or the need to hurl your offering a great distance. And even though it is possible to take a monster on an artificial, the odds are against it.

Remember, river stripers do not face the same level of competition as their reservoir counterparts, so they can afford to let a suspicious-looking meal go by without walloping it. They know another one-a real one-will be along any second.

Shad make a good basic starter bait, but as the trout-baiting outlaw guide illustrated, something beyond the ordinary often proves superior. The current record fell to a hand-sized bream. Freshwater drum-not classed as a game fish in Texas, and therefore legal bait-are also a good choice. You can usually catch one or two at a time with a cast net in river eddies and backwaters. Considerably tougher than shad, they keep better in the livewell and remain lively on the hook much longer. Stripers seem to love them, with or without tartar sauce.

As mentioned earlier, once you decide on a bait things can become complicated when attempting to deliver it. In spots where casting is possible, heavy surf rods are a must. It takes a rod with backbone to cast the pound or more of weight required to get out to the 100-yard line. That same strength also comes in handy later when yon leviathan inhales your bait and you find yourself harnessed to 40 pounds of drag-burning thunder.

Where casting is not feasible, use your brains instead of your brawn to get the bait in there. Time was when you could tow a bait in with a radio-controlled model boat. Unfortunately, abuses by one or two outlaws have resulted in the practice being banned. When conditions are right, you can utilize a kids' party balloon as a float to sail your offering into Valhalla on prevailing breezes. (One trophy striper guide I know makes his own wind with an airboat.) If you hold your mouth just right, a free-swimming bait will swim itself into harm's way.

In some circumstances live bait cannot survive the whiplash force of a long cast with a surf rod, and may even be ripped off the hook. A switch to cut bait is called for.

Cut bait for stripers? You bet! I remember the first time I saw Steve Barnes try this trick.

We were fishing the tailrace below Possum Kingdom. Behind us, the river stretched away out of sight to the east on its serpentine meander to Lake Granbury. To our left, a field of Sedan de Ville-sized boulders gave the impression of a watery moonscape populated by brooding aliens disguised as great blue herons. To our right rose a 200-foot cliff patrolled by hundreds of volplaning vultures, searching for what we did not know-and weren't sure we wanted to.

Directly in front of us lay the Morris Sheppard Dam, and at its base the Stygian haunts of monster linesides. We could get no closer than 125 yards-the safety limit marked by a "death cable" spanning the river. A contrary breeze ruled out the balloon sailing technique, so Barnes lobbed in a couple of lines baited with big chunks of cut shad, heavily weighted and slack-lined right on bottom. Sounds like a formula for catfishing, I know, but the stripers didn't seem to notice or care and we boated and released dozens of "small" 10 to 15-pounders.

Day evolved into evening and the breeze shifted. Barnes rigged up a couple of balloon outfits baited with hand-sized bream. It took about 5 minutes for the baits to reach the dam base. After another 5 minutes something grabbed one of the terror-stricken baits, making the balloon dance and bob upright like a Gemini space capsule.

At the hook set, the drag emitted the astonished shriek of a goosed matron and the heavy rod bowed into an impossible arc. In the dam's lights we saw a long, silvery shape breach the surface beside the balloon, rolling and thrashing like a harpooned whale.

I won't bore you with the rest of the gory details. Suffice it to say I was a very happy man when I left the river.

Technically, though, I never really left. Part of me remains there, feeling the embrace of current and yearning to again touch the thunder as I dance with a leviathan.