A few perch came my way through some
holes in the ice, over this last week. I went on Tuesday afternoon, off of the
State boat launch at Chaumont Bay. The snow had melted over most of the bay and
I left my cleats in the truck. I walked like a two year old learning how to
negotiate an uneven floor. I did not walk, I shuffled my way across the glass
pane like surface until I found a bit of snow making for better progress. A
good wind was blowing in my face making my journey much more enjoyable.
I found a spot where I could set my
five gallon bucket down in some residual snow. Otherwise it would have been
traveling back to the truck without me, while I hand cranked a hole through the
ice. I ladled out the ice chips which floated to the surface of the pulsating
clear water. My bride purchased a seat that fastens to the bucket top. No more
ring around the butt for me! It has a semisoft cushion and is much more
comfortable. I chose my rod and dropped the jigs into the hole out of sight.
When the line went slack I reeled it up a turn or two to get them just above
the bottom.
I think that I may have jigged it
twice when I had a perch take the bait. Up came a four inch replicate of
something worth keeping. I dropped my gloves and took off the wiggling child
and looked it straight in the eye; “You get back down there and send me some
adults.” My ploy was either not heard or completely disregarded. Another twenty
small fries kept pestering my jigs and it got to the point where I just left my
gloves off. This pattern of activity was abruptly interrupted by a worthwhile
fish of significance.
A plump eight incher tussled and shook
its way to the rim of the hole. Finally, I iced one worthy of the frying pan,
now all I needed was three more for a good breakfast. One more came on the next
hit and then another. After that there was a twenty minute lull with no
activity at all. I don’t know about you, but when ice fishing a minute can be
an hour or an hour can seem like minutes when the bite is there. The wind gets
colder and seeps through my cloths when the line remains limp for long periods
of time. I jig a little, look around and pull out a snack of peanuts or dried
fruit and set the rod down.
Did you know that those little bags
of peanuts just went form .50 cents a bag to .99 cents a bag? The government
keeps saying there is close to zero inflation… really they do! I guess that they
don’t like peanuts or use gasoline or heating oil. The only thing that I know
of that has not gone up is the efficiency of those who get paid to lead. (Sorry I had to vent a bit.) That
idle spring bobber sat motionless while I crunched on the tastier more
expensive peanuts. I stuffed the empty bag into my pocket and picked up the
rod. That intrigued a toothy creature below and it clamped down on the bottom
jig.
Oh Boy, this was a nice big perch! I
pulled the line up hand over hand to get it out before it slipped the hook.
This was no perch it was a 20” chain pickerel with a jig dangling from its
mouth as it zipped past. I let the line out and allowed the gingerly hooked
fish some room to roam, while I prepared my gaff. Suddenly I did not notice the
wind or the cold; I even felt a wave of heat come over me. I coaxed the
pickerel to the hole and fumbled the gaff around under its jaw, lifting it
clear of the hole. Ha-ha, ha, now I had me a breakfast for morning with plenty
more to enjoy later. I called it a day and went home to fillet my catch.
Perch, pickerel and eggs (with some
home fries) in the morning is the most delightful mouthwatering way to start
the day. In fact it was so good that (I) without thinking was loading my ice
fishing gear back into the truck and on my way. This time I went to Long Point
Sate Park to try and find some larger more cooperative quarry. There I found
three anglers already on the ice fishing with tip-ups. I walked out with on
cleats this time and crunched my way to some deeper water. I jigged to the
depth of fifteen feet and the bite was slow to start.
The anglers with the tip-ups were
busy chasing flags. For those of you not familiar with tip-ups; they have a
flag attached to a reel, which pops into the air when a fish takes the bait.
Once the flag hits the wind the angler races to the hole and waits to set the
hook. It is both exciting to do and watch. I watched two of the men surround
the hole while on their knees. One of them pulled the line hand over hand while
the other talked; “How big do you think it is, is it a big one, can you see it
yet?” Soon the pair hoisted a nice northern pike into the air to show the third
angler. In the time that I was there I watched them repeat the series of
exciting events three times. As for me I caught five more 8-10” perch that
afternoon and another six on Friday.
Friday the wind came and went along
with some small hail and rain. The ice was collecting the rain and it was
running down the holes that I fished from. I could hear the ice beginning to
melt with bubbles popping up from the bottom and emerging through the seams. It
is a sound very similar to that of a bottle of soda being poured into a glass.
There were two anglers with tip-ups and the wind was causing their flags to
pop. One of them tried in vane to set up a portable ice house. He wrestled with
aluminum poles and a canvas that wanted to become a sail. It’s a good thing
that he was a robust fella otherwise he would have been in for a long ride to
the open water. My time on the first ice was over as it was rapidly
deteriorating.
By Sunday most of the snow had melted
and the hard ground turned to mud. The creeks and ditches were collecting the
water and sending it to the River. A ribbon of sediment laden water flowed past
the boathouse going down river. I watched a number of diving ducks take
advantage of the flow which must have attracted them to some good dinning
opportunity. I was also taking advantage of the nearly sixty degree day with
dinning on my mind. My Britt Zoey joined me around the smoker where I placed my
tom turkey from last spring. It was so nice to sit by the smoker and listen to
the River while watching the ducks. The waves were lapping the shoreline and
nipping at the ice bergs that have washed ashore. I spent four hours adding
briquettes and soaked mesquite chunks to the fire. It was well past dark when I
brought the golden colored wild turkey into the house.
I cannot explain the fragrance with
proper detail. It filled the cabin and drew my bride to the bird with gleaming
eyes. “Is it ready? Can I at least have a little piece?” I had to wave her
away; I knew that her primal urge would not stop at a little piece. “We have to
let it get completely cool or we will loose the moisture. Just back away slowly and try to locate some patience…
don’t look at me that way, it makes me very, very nervous…”
