Friday, March 16, 2012

Company on the Ice - 02/19/2012 - Written by Mike LaDue





My Good friend Mike arrived in the early afternoon on Thursday. This was his first trip to the River since both he and I had young children. As with many friendships the tasks of life have a way of separating people, creating long lulls of connect ability. Our children have expanded the family and we each have grandchildren located across the country. Mike dedicates his free time traveling and holds a summer job caring for the ball park in his community. This winter presented us with the time, activity and decent weather to enjoy the outdoors.
Mike is an incidental fisherman, he likes to go, but never seems to have the time. In the summer his garden over takes any urge that he may have to take to the water. He grows his own seedlings in a greenhouse and tends the garden like a mother hen. Autumn takes him into the fields with a bow in hand, to become a witness to that splendid season. I can only say that I am half of the man he is, concerning both of those endeavors. He has been very helpful to me over the years. He has guided me on proper planting techniques and advised me into some fantastic over bearing crops.
I on the other hand would rather be holding a fishing rod no matter the season. It is hard to take a hoe seriously or worry about weeds overgrowing, when the River sings her vibrant song. I liken it to the time when we were both kids, back then I was the siren. Mike would be tending his parent’s tomatoes across the lilac hedge, helping to ensure a good crop for their large family. I whispered; “Mike there is some large pike in the creek, I have two poles at the ready. If we go now we will back before dark with some fresh fish!” Even then he realized the merit of hard work and the danger of retribution for lack of it. “I’ll have to take a pass; Dad is more interested in tomatoes than fish. If I go with you I will hear a whistle and you know what happens if I am not back home before its over.”
This week the only obstacle we faced was a cold front with rain attached to it. We caught up on the time that has passed while watching a light drizzle misting over the River. “Well it is three o’clock, how about we take a ride to Eel Bay to see if we can get onto the ice for an hour or two?” Mike responded without hesitation; “Sure sounds like a plan, I haven’t been on the ice in a long time.” I figured that we had better take advantage of the current weather, it could all change by morning and we may miss the opportunity.
Eel Bay had one truck parked on the ice and two others in the parking area. The rain was soft and the wind was light. A veil of fog stretched across the open water around the islands. Tall pines on rock ledges appeared like castles over looking a European River. “Could you ask for a better view than this? It’s like another world.” Mike nodded his head in agreement while we shuffled out to some left over holes.

His tiny jig no more than hit the bottom of the bay and he had his first perch. “I don’t even have any bait on it! I can see them swimming all over the bottom.” Mike settled down onto a bucket and proceeded to catch one small fish after another. My success was much the same, until an 18” pike nosed its way towards the jig and the perch disappeared. “Mike keep your eye out for northern’s, if the perch leave you should move to another hole.” A few larger perch eventually came to each of us as we changed location with the migrating (harassed) perch.
And then it happened, Mike saw a pike ease into view; “I can see a pike, it is just laying here… watching my jig. That is so cool; I have never seen one below the ice before.” That one took a swipe at his jig and darted off, leaving my friend with a lasting impression. We fished until 5:30 and the sun had all but given up on the day. I collected my friend and we pooled our catch, there was enough for a fish breakfast the next morning.
To my surprise Friday morning dawned with relatively dry skies and some sunshine. I prepared the perch in a bath of browned butter and some olive oil (to prevent scorching). The fish snapped and popped in the oil, while a few slices of onion sautéed to a soft opaque white. My browned fillets were complemented by a pair of over easy eggs and some Alteri toast. It was the first time that Mike has had fish for breakfast and after watching his deliberate devouring of it I will assume not the last! “We have two choices as to where to fish today. We can go back to Eel Bay or try Perch Lake. I have not had the chance to fish that one yet.” Mike pursed his lips and decided that we should try the later.
The parking area was almost full when we arrived and a threesome of anglers was traveling down a muddy trail on an ATV. Two of them rode on the machine while the third sat in a plastic sled. That lucky fellow was directly behind the spinning wheels and he was busy ducking dirt. We walked to the lakes edge against a very stout wind. The lake is expansive with out development of any kind near its shores. Both Mike and I stood still to survey the surroundings, aside from Interstate 81 being near, it was pure wilderness.
We needed cleats on our boots to make any headway across the glass like surface and we only traveled a short distance. There was no getting out of that west wind. We had to keep a firm hold on our equipment the whole time, or suffer a long run after it. Ten inches of solid surface ice separated us from the lake. We each hunkered down over a hole and jigged up a lot of small perch. I’d say the largest was 5 inches and they all had a splendid golden hue. Mike hooked a bullhead and lost a pike, I also had a pike briefly which shook free.