There are two dark formed individuals out on the River as I write this. It is a pleasant day with twenty degree temps and little wind. Each dragged a sled across the slick surface to a point of reference. Now the arms are pointing in this direction and that, each with their own recollections of the “spot”. Hole drilling will commence shortly and the waiting game will begin. I hope that they have found a “honey hole” to provide some winters excitement.
This last Thursday I went over to Three Mile Bay in the face of a stout wind. There was only one other vehicle there. The individuals were hunkered down in a portable ice shack, jigging for perch. They had a set of tip ups beyond them, some one hundred yards away. I carried just my bucket, poles, ice spikes and auger. I had to put on a pair of ice cleats for the first time this year! I made my way across with my feet clenching the ice as each step drove the long metal teeth home. It was like walking in a bag of peanut brittle with the wind driving me forward.
I eventually settled to a spot where some snow still adhered to the ice, which gave me a secure place to drill some holes. My bucket attempted to escape with a gust of wind and I had second thoughts as to just how long I would stay. With two holes drilled and cleared of ice fragments, I baited my jigs while cementing the bucket in place with my (mass). While sending the second search team down to the bottom, my first pole became alive with activity! The games were under way; a fat female perch came reluctantly to the rim of the hole. Now the second pole was just a rocking, with the spring bobber dancing. This second perch was stronger and put a strain the thin monofilament.
Number two was a nice 13” fish. After several trips with marginal success, this just might be the day! The two rod idea soon dwindled to one, as I could not keep up with the mad feeding frenzy near the bottom of the bay. Perch began to pile up on the ice and I even had a few doubles, on the two jigs that dangled from the one rod. I mean every time that I dropped the bait to the bottom and reeled one turn on the reel, a fish was stuck on the other end!
As is my custom I always take a bottle of water and a snack for slow times. This day I had a half dozen of my home made chocolate chip cookies in my fanny pack. I never came close to having the time to enjoy them. From 11:00 AM until 2:30 I iced 71 fat hungry perch. The chill was setting in on me and I decided that one more fish would do for the day. The last fish wacked the jig and took to shaking its head and taking out line. Maybe a walleye would finish the day, what ever it was it was big!
I removed my gloves to better handle the reel and the outgoing line. Between the wind and damp sleeves, a chill set in straight to my bones. The fishermen that had the tip-ups placed near me drove their ATV over to check on some triggered flags. The large fish came near to the surface and I could see the familiar cross patch pattern of a northern pike. It had finally tired a bit and came to rest just below the hole in the ice. I attempted to use my metal ice skimmer to pull it out, no-go, it took off again.
I hollered to the fella’s next-door: “Do you want a northern?” The father shut off his machine and cupped his ear. “I say would you like a northern?” He and his son came over to have a look. “You’ll need to bring a gaff; I can not get it out with this light line.” The dad sent his son to their shanty for a gaff. “We have not had a pike all day, the perch keep picking away at the minnows, say those are some nice perch. We have been busy with them all day ourselves.” He looked down to see the northern sulking near the hole: “That’s a good northern; I’d say its ten pounds at least.”
His son came back with the gaff and the sound of the machine made the pike reconsider its lounging effort. This time the knot of the light monofilament let loose, just before extraction of the fish could be completed. The father said: Ah, that’s too bad, thanks for the offer all the same.” I told him that I was going to leave and that they were welcome to use the hole for a tip-up. “Hey you might get lucky and that fish may be hanging around still.”
The son came back on the machine with a tip-up, as I was putting the mound of perch into my bucket. I was able to put 60 of them in, the others I returned to the water. My first full bucket and a night of cleaning lay ahead of me, after my trek back to the car. The young man inquired: “Would you like a ride back to your car?” “Well you could take this bucket of fish up for me… that would be a big help!” “Nonsense I can fit you and all of your stuff on… no trouble at all.” We were back to my car in two minutes and I was all ready to dig into those long awaited cookies. What a friendly gesture of this young man to help a fellow angler. “Here I have some home made chocolate chip cookies for you and your dad to enjoy. Thank you for the ride and hope that you get a pike too.”
It amazes me to think of how many fish must be in these waters. I sat in one spot for little more than three and a half hours catching one after another. While I cleaned 60 perch, only one of them was a male. Nature is capable of renewing and increasing a species while feeding the other inhabitants, with the over production of perch fry. Those of us (land dwellers) that find the time to poke around on ice and over open water also fare pretty well too.
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