Old Rickety Back

Another season ended a little early as a result of my back going out on me.  I was close to calling it quits, anyway.  We had a pretty good second half to our 2011 season on the Grand.  The kids came out a few more times and Mort was finally able to hit the water with us.  The cats were pretty cooperative from August on.

My favorite trip since my last entry was probably an evening when Mort, Lincoln and I went out.  We covered close to 4 miles of river.  Lincoln was hauling in the suckers and other worm biters.  He gave old Mort a pretty good chuckle when he said, "Watch and learn, Grandpa" every time he pulled one in.  He gave him another chuckle when he insisted that he had to poop and then only popped out a tiny tootsie-roll after I got him all set up on a bucket.  We struggled to find the cats for a little bit that night, but the channels eventually showed up.  After dark we parked at the head of the hole just down from the launch.  We caught several fish, including one decent flattie.  I got to play guide, setting the hook and then quickly handing the rod over.  Lincoln wanted his grandpa to tell him story after story.  10:30 rolled around and I suggested that we head in.  Neither of them wanted to.  Might be the first time ever that I was outlasted on the river.  My early end to the season left Mort wanting more.  We're both eagerly anticipating the spring run of channels down by the bayous.

I spent one rainy Sunday with the boys down river by Indian Channel.  We brought crawlers and frozen cut sucker in hopes that we'd get into some fall channels.  Didn't really happen.  The rods with the cut bait danced constantly.  Just little jiggles.  Switching to a worm and a small hook revealed that the bottom was just crawling with tiny channels.  It worked out well for the boys.  They got to reel in fish after fish.  When they grew tired of it, we decided to try drifting for walleye.  We stumbled across one.  Luke was worried about getting poked and I could barely get him to hold it for a picture.  Ended up yelling at him a little bit.  I got a pouty picture for my effort.  We also snuck a decent bass into the boat on a drift.  It was pretty apparent that the boys were pretty done with fishing by this time of the year.  They were loud, silly, and almost constantly arguing with each other.  I about lost my mind out there.  The good thing about fishing is that Luke will only bring away from all of this the ability to brag to people that he has caught his first walleye.

I also got out by myself a fair share.  The flatheads started coming into the boat pretty regularly in August and September.  They just about exclusively came on sucker heads.  Live bait was completely useless, especially in September.  Other pieces of cut bait always seemed to get snubbed in favor of the head.  Hard to make any sense of it, but I'm glad I made this discovery.  One final thought about fall fishing that I've always liked.  It obviously gets dark a lot earlier.  The flatheads get aggressive for an hour or two right around dusk.  You can really pinpoint your attack and then head for home before you would normally even be starting on a mid-summer outing.  It's a nice first step towards getting back to something a little closer to normal sleep.

I thought that I had my CPR photography down to a pretty flawless science.  I ran into a new problem in that I just couldn't keep the fog off of the lense.  You can barely see the biggest fish of the year because of a blurry lense.  I didn't discover the problem until after I had released the big girl.  Even after I accounted for the fog and started wiping the lense just before my pictures, I still had issues.  I think that there's some kind of anti-fog spray that I can get for this.  What a pain!

Right now I'm sitting smack in the middle of that lull between the river and ice fishing.  I've already pulled out a couple of my ice fishing DVD's.  I'm very much looking forward to seeing that first flag pop.  I do have to prepare for the fact that I won't be getting out as much this winter.  The wife and I are trying to account for the tough financial times and cut down on cost any way possible.  Extra gas money and minnows can be pretty hard to add to the budget when you've already cut things like cable and about 10 degrees off your heat.  I'll just have to make the times that I do go count.  Maybe she'll let me keep going if I can turn each trip into a meal or two.  As my old buddy John used to say, I'm always thinking.

First Half of Summer in A Nutshell

It has been a different kind of summer for me this year.  Nothing to do with the weather, the amount of fish I've caught, size of fish, river level, gear, or any of a number of possible fishing related factors.  It has been my transition from lone wolf fisherman to big fishing buddy.  My kids have been in the boat on just about every trip this year.  Possibly more shocking to my fishing system than all of the above factors added together.

The boys have come with me the most.  They are something.  Lincoln does not stop moving.  Luke wants to catch fish right now or he's lying on the bottom of the boat declaring this "the worst fishing trip ever!"  It has been a challenge, but I've got them off to a good start and I keep telling them that they already know more about fishing than I probably did when I was a teenager.  I make promises to them that they will one day be much better anglers than their old man.  Luke usually perks up at the thought of it.

An average day in years gone by might mean that I bring the boat with me to work and leave early for a long day and night on the river.  I'd spend most of the daylight hours drifting and casting for smallies and pike, making sure to spend enough time anchored and fishing with worms to stock up on plenty of bait.  Now I'm working a full day and then going home and taking at least an hour to get them and the gear all ready for an evening on the water.  This means that I finally hit the river by about 6:00.  I've been trying to keep a stock of gills and chubs, so catching bait isn't such an issue once I'm on the river.

On a recent trip I got them all set up with peanut M & M's and Bug Juice so that they could keep busy while I did a little drifting and casting.  They had their candy and juice gone before I had made 5 casts and were immediately complaining that they couldn't fish.  I held them off for a little bit, but ended up giving in pretty quick because their whiny little voices were killing my fishing buzz.  We anchored and Luke had a chance to fish with his new fishing pole.  I had a line out and he had his line out.  The fishing gods were frowning on the poor little guy that evening, because I was getting bites on my rod something like 10 times to his 1.  Down to the bottom of the boat he went, muttering angrily that his dad is a better fisherman than him.  My interventions started out real patient.  I told him that fishing just goes that way sometimes and that it had nothing to do with how good he was.  I even let him reel in my fish for me a few times.  His bad luck persisted and so did the whining.  After awhile I got sick of it and growled at him that real fisherman don't cry, they're patient.  I'm sure that he'll cling to that little nugget of truth.

The cat fishing has been pretty tough.  We got skunked after dark a few times.  All of those were declared "the worst night ever."  The boys do light up when a flattie does get on the line.  A week or 2 ago we got into them.  The rods got slapped a few times and we whiffed on some fish.  Finally as a party barge was moving up river past us with loud Spanish music blasting, we got a hit.  I sunk the hook into a heavy fish.  I was able to let Luke feel the fight.  It was a spunky little 11 pounder.  We landed 2 cats that night, but no monsters.

I haven't mentioned Lincoln much, but that's because he's usually off in la-la land.  He's messing with the bait in the livewell, slamming the lid, playing with my gadgets, messing with the ice in the cooler and leaving the lid off, screaming at the top of his lungs, and generally making way too much noise.  I had to instate a whispering rule the last time out. When he finally winds down at around 11:00, he wants to sit on my lap.  Luke usually gravitates to us and is hanging on my right arm.  This is the definition of claustrophobia for me.  I'm left looking at my rods helplessly, thinking, "If a rod gets hit, one of these boys is probably going to end up in the river."

We do have fun, though.  There's a lot of joking and poking fun back and forth.  Snacks and cold drinks galore.  Luke asks a lot of questions and I can tell that he's catching on.  Get him fishing for gills with a bobber and he looks like a little pro.  He's studying me and trying to catch on in any way possible.  Lincoln's just glad that it's dark and he's not in bed.  I put their pj's on them after I get the boat back on the trailer and they're both usually sleeping within minutes of hitting the road.

Hayden is just hungry for alone time with either of her parents.  She seems to need these moments to feel special.  I had the opportunity to take her out a couple of weeks ago.  She ate up every minute of it.  She enjoyed herself so much that I found it to be touching.  She showed some interest in the fishing, but was more absorbed in the sounds that you hear on the river after dark.  She made herself a little fort in the front of the boat and was even lying down and taking pictures of her feet at one point.  I didn't ask any questions, I just went with it.  She fretted that whole day about how she would go to the bathroom in the boat if nature came a calling.  I offered a bucket, but she rejected it and told me that ladies don't pee in buckets.  Okay.  She ended up turning her fort into a make-shift outhouse and used a container that I usually use for cutbait.  Whatever works, I guess.  The best part of the night was when she made me cover my ears so that she could record a special message into my camera.  She then played it back for me.  She talked all about how she has the best daddy in the world and how much she loves me.  Enough to make a surly old fisherman misty.

Kids in the boat makes fishing tough.  It's harder to move to a new spot, so I'm more prone to stay put.  I definitely can't stay out as late.  I'm probably missing out on some fish by bringing them.  That's okay.  I really think that these are important experiences and future memories for them. This will be part of that innocent and carefree past that they will someday long for.  I'm honored to be a part of that.

I do get out by myself once in awhile, but it's usually hitting the river at just a little before dark.  I managed a 20 pound fish on a recent trip.  That was great, but I found myself wishing that the kids were with me to see this monster.  Hopefully soon it will all come together and the kids will be with me when I land a behemoth.   In the mean time, we'll just keep fishing together and building up the memory bank.

Seething

I threw the boys in the Jeep last night to go catch some creek chubs.  When we pulled into the park there was just one car in the lot.  It was a group of skaters that I knew would stay up in the parking lot.  Good news, nobody by the creek.  Undisturbed me and undisturbed chubs meant that those poor little bastards would be easy pickins!  I helped the boys out of the Jeep and instructed them to stay away from the creek and the woods.  I've been catching flack from the sarge for the patterns of red bumps that seemed to increase on each of their little bodies after each of our recent trips to the park.  They didn't argue and headed straight for the playground equipment with Luke throwing a "Hope you catch some good bait, Dad!" over his shoulder.

After watching them land at their jungle gym of choice and making sure that I could keep them in sight, I set up at a spot near the entrance of the park.  Deep little run with tall grass on both sides of the creek.  A good chub spot.  I was just getting my first little chunk of crawler on the hook when a van pulled up in the lower parking lot not too far from me.  I watched as 8 people poured out of the thing with a huge dog muscling his way through them like it was after a squirrel that only it could see.  I didn't even have time to sense that my night had just completely gone to hell.  That big ass, dumb ass dog instantly flew straight at me as soon as its front paws hit blacktop.  I was the squirrel.  As I watched the grizzly dog bear down on me, I felt my fight or flight instinct start to rev, but it read the situation and said, "You're on your own, buddy!"  Even better, all 8 of the van people screamed at the blur of fangs and slobber with a panic that made me think, "Dear Jesus!  This thing's about to clamp onto my throat!"  It didn't, but it barged right in and clumsily threw itself all over my precious fishing spot with the people right behind it.  They crowded around me, stomped around on the bank, and leaned over the creek, asking, "Are there really fish in here?"  "Not anymore!" was the obvious answer, but instead I patiently explained about the chubs and that I use them for catfish bait, and then gave up the hole and moved up the creek.

I dropped my line into the second hole when yet another vehicle pulled up with an even bigger dog.  "You have GOT to be kidding me!"  This stupid thing, too, flew right at me.  It practically knocked me into the water as it barged past me and plunged square in the middle of the hole that I was fishing.  I had to quick get my hook out of there for fear that I would snag the beast.  Incredulous, I turned around to look for its owner.  A Courtney Love type walked up laughing, "Stupid dog!"  Yeah, stupid dog.

I grabbed my stuff and walked further up the creek.  The dog matched me pace for pace, but it was still in the creek and it was destroying every hole that I hoped to fish.  Courtney, the grizzly, and the Mystery Machine gang all fell in tow, too.  What the whaaaaaaaaat?!

Before I could skip around the whole miserable crowd to a couple of holes near the back of the park, I turned and saw Lincoln standing with his shorts down.  When I asked him what he was doing, Luke casually told me, "He pooped in his underwear."

If this was a test, I failed.  I was throwing my arms around and saying all kinds of crazy stuff to myself.  A closer inspection of Lincoln revealed that the mess was completely down both legs, all over his shoes, and in the treads because he had apparently walked in it.  Trying to clean the boy up in the glorified outhouse of a bathroom that they have at the park was the cherry on top of my sundae of an outing.

I strapped Lincoln bareback into his car seat and headed for home.  As I motored out of the park, I noticed Courtney Love facing me and apparently watching me leave.  Despite my intense frustration, I felt bad.  Other than being a little thoughtless and maybe ignoring leash laws, they were pretty innocent in the whole thing.  Just curious and friendly, really.  I could have handled it better.

I still wasn't ready to talk to anybody for a good hour after it happened because, apparently, bait fishing is super important to me.  In the mean time, Lincoln had a bath and a snack, and was ready for bed.  That little dude can sure make me crazy, but I can't stay mad.  I finished off his night cuddling with him until he fell asleep.  I can only hope and pray that this will be the memory he takes from that day and not the raving lunatic he saw in the park.  I know better.

One More Trip Down River

I took Friday off and headed back down river to bayou country.  I came armed with a couple of dozen creek chubs, most of them big males.  I spent about 17 hours on the water.  The channel cats were biting, but they were about all that was.

Remembering that the current had recently pushed my trailer into the dock when putting in at Indian Channel, I decided to play it safe and drop the boat in Bruce's Bayou.  I was glad I did.  Not long after I anchored, a guy pulled up to me in his boat and asked if he could talk to me.  He was in quite a panic.  It turns out that he put in at Indian Channel and his trailer was completely wedged under the dock.  The kicker for him was that he didn't have a license, so I think he was worried about getting into legal trouble.  He was a little rough looking and ex-con polite.  He kept calling me sir, and apologized and thanked me over and over again.  He just wanted me to spot him as he tried to pull the trailer away from the dock with his boat.  My job was to pull him out of the drink if he got tossed in.  The poor guy went at it a couple of times, but that current was throwing him all over the place and the rope kept getting swept and tangled under the dock.  When he did finally get things right, the current just pulled his boat into the bank and it was all that he could do to keep from crashing back down into the trailer and dock.  He asked me for ideas and I suggested either using his truck and trying to work a better angle or maybe calling a tow truck.  He thanked me one more time and sent me away with a "blessing of good fishing."  I went across the river and anchored again for channel cats.  I heard him let out a big "Whoop!" not long after.  He had managed to pull it out with his truck.  Man, too much drama for my day away on the river.

The channel cats pretty much bit all day long.  I fished for them for a couple of hours at a time, with trips back into Bruce's in between.  I was hoping to get into some bass or pike, or maybe even some walleye.  I used everything in my tackle box-weedless frog, spinner bait, several crank baits, plastic worm, plastic lizard, and even live worms on a jig.  Absolutely nothing.  The only sign that there were fish in there was the carp splashing in the shallows.  Thinking that they needed time to stare at a bait and think it over, I went to a live chub on a big bobber.  Still nothing.  I finally stumbled across a 12-inch crappie.  I threw him in the livewell hoping that a flathead would later stumble across him too.

The channel cats were biting all day, but that doesn't mean that I was catching them all day.  There are definitely more cats in that part of the river, but that means that there are a lot more dink cats.  I had a lot of little pecks and yanks.  They stole a lot of bait.  The big fish were getting the best of me, too.  I got a lot of huge hits that made me think that the rod holder was going to break, but they'd let go before I could get to the rod.  I lost a lot of bait that way, too.  I think that my total for the day was 8 channels.  Most of them were in the 5-8 pound range.  The 17-pounder in the picture engulfed a great big live creek chub that I was hoping would bring in a flattie.  I was happy with this channel.  I keep my drag tight and he was actually pulling out line with the rod in the holder.  I knew that was a good sign.  It fought with ferocious energy and made several more runs on that tight drag before I finally brought it to the side of the boat.

At the end of the night, I threw that big crappie out.  Pointless.  That thing was so big and wide, it just flopped in the current near the surface.  The rod was pumping like it had a 30-pound flattie on it.  Of course, I didn't realize that it wasn't on the bottom until I finally decided to reel it in.  Two cranks on the reel and the thing was splashing on the surface.  Son-of-a-mother!

Getting back home from out there is a pretty huge process compared to my usual hangout.  I have to creep back up river and through the bayou to the launch.  Then once in the Jeep I have to creep through the farm country.  There are deer everywhere.  I had my closest call last night.  I keep it at 40 and scan both sides of the road like I'm watching a tennis match.  My caution saved me a lot of trouble because a doe popped out of the woods right in front of me.  I had to stand on the breaks to avoid her.  She got confused and ran straight down the road for about 50 yards before finally diving for cover.  After that I scanned the woods like I was watching ping-pong.

This might be my last trip all the way out there this year.  The bayous themselves still haven't produced much for me.  Boat traffic is pretty constant, and a lot of the boats are huge.  You're bouncing in someone's wake just about all of the time.  Deer Creek Park is still very inviting, but I have to wait for the river to come down quite a bit before it will even be open again.  In the midst of all of yesterday's madness, I was thinking that a day in my old haunt would feel pretty good, too.  Catch some smallies, maybe a stray pike or walleye.  When evening approaches, spend some time stocking up on suckers to use for cut bait.  Hit all of my favorite flattie spots.  Maybe not see another boat all day.  That's the good stuff.

Unfamiliar Water

It continues to be a strange spring.  Lots of rain has kept the river in flood stage.  I don't catch much in my section of the river when it is high like this.  I've been on the catfish forum a lot and have heard stories of big catches in the lower Grand.  I've decided to put some effort into learning that part of the river.  I've fished out of two different launches in the past couple of weeks.  From troubles launching the boat to unfamiliar fish, it has been interesting so far.

Last week I decided to take the boys with me out to Deer Creek Park.  We got the girls off to school and pointed the boat and trailer towards Coopersville.  All of us were looking forward to the adventure and the Jeep was full of loud country music and silly banter on the ride out there.  We found a partially flooded park at the end of our 40 minute jaunt.  We couldn't even see the launch.  The water was a foot deep or more several yards into the driveway.  I let the boys out on dry land, and went to work getting the boat floating.  I got lined up with where I thought the launch was and eased back.  The muffler started blowing bubbles before the boat was even close to raising up off of the trailer.  I pulled out, yelled at the boys to keep themselves dry, and went at it one more time.  My second attempt got the back of the boat under water, but most of it was still sitting on the runners.  I climbed onto the trailer and started pushing.  It wasn't budging.  I risked backing up a few more feet and started letting the water out of the livewell to make the boat lighter.  The boat still didn't want to budge, but I was determined.  When I finally felt it inch back the slightest bit, I knew that I had it.  After a lot of wrestling, I finally shoved the old girl off the back of the trailer and got her floating.

In the mean time, Lincoln had jumped in the water and got the bottom of his pants wet.  Luckily he had rubber rain boots on, so his feet stayed dry.  I gave it to him a little bit before dropping it and loading the boys and the gear into the boat.  We found a huge snag stacked against an island just out from the launch.  I cut a chub in half and casted to a couple of spots on the snag.  It didn't take long before the rod on the right slammed towards the water violently.  The fish was hooked before I even got my hands on the rod.  It was only a 7-pounder, but with the fast current, it was plenty of work to get it to the boat.  I had another big hit on the other rod while I was fighting the first fish, but it didn't hook up and it didn't come back. 

The boys kept chanting, "Full speed ahead!" so I decided that we'd better head up river.  Letting them take turns sitting with me and "driving the boat," we set out to see what snags we could find.  There weren't many to see, but I think that it's because most of them are covered by the flooded water.  We found a few and fished them.  We got hit on just about every spot we tried.  Our biggest fish of the day was a 10-pounder.  The boys got to take turns helping me fight the fish.  Our total for the morning was 6 fish, including a small flattie.  We only fished for maybe 3 hours, so I was pleased with the outing.

On the ride home, there wasn't any loud music or silly banter . . . at least from me.  That boat sure gets small with two little tornadoes in it.  They stayed pretty busy scooping the chubs out of the livewell with the net.  Lincoln kept saying, "Look, Dad.  I caught a big one."  There was a lot of loud banging of the livewell lid, which made me cringe everytime.  When they weren't doing that they were both trying to sit on my lap, or squeeze under my legs, or get between me and the rods, or grab the rods.  They love tools, so all of my fishing gadgets were scattered all over the boat.  Lincoln kept hanging over the side of the boat within one little slip of tumbling into the cold, fast water.  He also had the habit of laying on top of the anchor pulley just as I had us positioned above a snag and needed to drop anchor quick.  Holy smokes!  When I sat back in the Jeep and headed towards home, I found myself to be exhausted.  I had visions of this being a weekly trip before I go into work on Wednesday afternoons.  Not a chance.  I'd fall asleep at my desk.

That really was a good trip and I think that it will go down as a great memory for all of us.  We got a few pictures and even a little video footage.  I think that both of the boys will be fishermen.  Neither of them wanted to go in when it was time.  I could tell that they were just eating up this new experience.  They loved the adventure of it.  They're getting such an early start, they'll probably be able to outfish me someday.  One side note to that trip-I went by myself in my stretch of the river that same night.  I caught one dink channel in something like 7 hours.  Ridiculous.  The lower Grand may just become my new home water.

I headed towards Deer Creek Park again yesterday.  I knew the river was up another foot since my last trip, so I wondered if I'd be able to get the boat in.  I'll never know because the park was completely closed.  The entrance was blocked.  Remembering a trip last year to a launch near Nunica, I jumped back on Leonard and headed further west.  After another 20 minutes, I came to the launch at Indian Channel.  The river was pushing under the dock at a scary pace, but I got the boat in and went to fishing.  My chubs had all died in the bucket the day before, so I needed bait.  I was hoping for some suckers or maybe a carp. 

I fished the top of a big island where the current broke and the water was pretty shallow.  After a few little bites, a huge fish grabbed my worm and headed down river with repeated powerful strokes from its huge tail.  Its back broke water as it charged away, but I couldn't see what it was.  I figured that it was probably a big carp.  Thinking that I was going to be catching suckers, I was using a medium power rod with 8-pound test.  I was in over my head.  My drag was screaming for what must have been the first full minute after I set the hook.  If it got into wood, I was dead.  Fortunately, I was in the clear and after multiple runs, I got the fish close enough to see it.  Sure enough, a carp.  All the bait that I would need for the night.  I had it boat side for what seemed like forever.  The current was strong and it just had to turn a little sideways and I'd lose ground on it.  I struggled to get the net out of the holder and then brought the fish as close to me as I could get it.  I took a couple of swipes, but the current was too much.  The big fish finally made a head jerk and slid away, free of the hook that it had just straightened.  I had a brief tantrum.

I caught a million tiny channels on the crawlers and a few that were a little bigger.  Nothing else for quite awhile.  I finally moved shallow and started catching sheephead.  I got 3 of them.  Never used them for cats, but worth a try.  I caught a couple of white bass, too.  Also worth a try.  At about 8:00, I traded my spinning rods for my big white casting rods.  I had one chub that had been sitting in a zip lock bag at the bottom of the boat all day.  It was looking pretty nasty and the flesh was very soft.  I almost passed on using it, but I thought I might as well give it a try.  I cut it in half and fished it on two rods.  Both of those rods got absolutely crushed while I was getting the third rod set up.  I didn't get either fish.  Because that was the only chub that I had brought, I switched to the cut sheephead.  The channels didn't like that very much.  It got hit here and there, and I did catch one in the 5-pound range, but my night catfishing was an overall bust.  I won't go again unless I have a good supply of chubs. 

I was ready to go by 11:00, but a few guys pulled up to the launch to drop their boat at just the wrong time.  I don't know what the deal was, but it took them a full 30 minutes to do it.  They had all kinds of trouble.  They couldn't get lined up.  Then they couldn't believe how strong the current was, so they decided to pull out and drop the boat on the up river side of the dock.  They fumbled around forever, but finally got out of my way.  Even with the current, I got the boat loaded up without a hitch.  There were a lot of deer on the side of the road on my way home.  I can't afford to hit a deer.  It makes me wonder about going all the way out there.  That hour drive back felt long and I felt a little sick as I watched the gas gauge go down.  These high gas prices have put my fishing trips under increased scrutiny.  If the river ever comes back down, I think that I can justify Deer Creek Park.  It's not much further than my usual spot.

It doesn't look like it's going to be coming down any time soon.  We're getting rain just about every day.  I keep checking new 8 day forecasts, hoping for several sunny days in a row.  All I see is rain.  It will even out eventually.  Hopefully in time for the flatties to getting going.  If so, I think I have a good chance of raising my personal best in this new stretch of river.

April Showers Bring May Floods

My Spring fishing season is looking a lot like my blog.  All but dead.  It has been cold, windy, and wet.  I was able to get out a couple of times, but during each trip the water was either high, seriously cold, or both.  I haven't fished a stable river yet.  Now the Grand is flooded well past its banks.  I doubt that I can even think about fishing it for the next couple of weeks.  I have caught a few cats so far this year, but I usually spend a lot of hours on the river with only a few bites and fewer cats in the boat.  On top of it all, my back went out again and I'm in the middle of a multiple week recovery process.  I'm hoping it doesn't turn into a more severe problem like when it ended my season early last year.  For now I'm staying home most of the time to nurse the back and keep an eye on the rising gas prices.  My next trip will likely be down to Thornapple Lake to see if I can find some muskies, bass, and walleyes.  Booo Spring 2011!

A Case of Winter Bass Thumb

The good news is-my thumb is nice and roughed up from lipping bass all day yesterday.  The bad news is-my camera finally sucumbed to repeated exposure to below freezing temperatures and wasn't in working order to provide any proof.  I swear on all of my catfish gear that the following events are completely true.

My day didn't actually begin on the ice.  It started at "Daddy Doughnut Day" at Hayden's school.  She's been begging me to sign up to be a Watch Dog at her elementary school, so I finally went to this little event and got signed up.  I'll be spending a day at her school helping in the classrooms and, according to Hayden, squirting hand sanitizer at lunch time.  For now, back to the ice.  With a Krispee Kreme and a cup of juice in my gut, I got to my in-laws' lake at around 10:00.  I set my tip-ups shallow in some of my traditional spots and then got my panfish rod out and tipped a Hali Jig with a couple wax worms.  It took a long time before I got my first bite, mostly because I wasn't motivated to move around and find the fish.  

I finally hooked into my first perch.  Not big, not tiny.  Back he went.  Just about immediately after I dropped my Hali back down the hole, I hooked into a bigger fish.  What I figured to be a nice perch turned out to be a 12-inch bass.  It was a sunny late winter day.  I've seen them go on the feed in similar situations in the past, so maybe this was a good omen.  In the mean time, I had two flags pop.  Both had fish running when I approached, but limp line was waiting for me when I picked up each tip-up.  Bass.

I returned to my panfish hole, but didn't get any more bites for several minutes.  I decided to move shallow.  Turned out to be the right decision.  Pretty quickly after I started jigging in 5 feet of water, my little rod tip slowly bent towards the hole.  I set the hook and line started peeling off of the reel.  With 3 pound test and my little 24-inch light action rod, I immediately felt like I was in over my head.  Wondering if I was going to get spooled, I used my hand on the line to try to slow the fish's run.  It worked and I was able to gain a little ground.  Pretty soon, loose weeds started showing up under the hole.  The big girl was close, but not for long.  Before I could see if it was a bass or a pike, it turned and headed for the nearest pile of weeds.  The fish became stationary and heavy.  With gentle pressure, I coaxed it out of it's hiding spot and started bringing it back towards the hole.  It made a few more short runs, but I finally brought its head into the hole.  It was a monster largemouth.  The sharp little hook was stuck right in the middle of her upper lip.  It practically fell out when I lipped her and pulled her out of the hole.  She measured in at 23 inches.  I'm pretty sure that she is my biggest bass to date.  I've approached this length several times, but I don't think I've ever touched 23 inches.  I really need to get a camera.  This is my second personal best that I wasn't able to get on film (The other being my 25-pound flattie).  It's  making me a little nuts.

Turned out that this big girl was just the beginning.  I followed her up with a 16-incher, a 19-incher, and a 22-incher.  Pretty amazing day.  I'm sure I've never caught that many big bass in one day.  Except for the 23, these big fish all came on tip-ups.  I was also able to catch several scrappers with my jigging rod.  Good times.  Every once in awhile, you find yourself in the middle of a feeding frenzy.  When I do, I usually look to the sky and whisper a little thank you.  Then I indulge in the pure joy of it.  Yesterday was great.  The only way that it might have been better is if I was in a boat on a warm spring day throwing a spinner bait and catching these fish on a spinning rod.  If I had the pictures, I'd probably pull them out today from time to time so that I could marvel at all of those big fish.  Instead, I just get glassy eyed and rub my finger against the roughness of my bass thumb and replay each catch.  The experience and memories are great, but a picture is icing on the cake.  Gotta get a new camera.

Getting Ready for the Big Melt

I've spent a few more days on the ice since my last post.  I dedicated two days to Campau trying for muskies.  The first day got cut short by the 150 snowmobiles that had gathered to drag race down the lake and then by my daughter falling up to her thigh in an ice hole.  The second day was flagless.  I got cold enough that I actually left the ice and watched my tip-ups from my Jeep for about 45 minutes before calling it a day.  I also spent a Saturday with Josh and Elijah trying for pike and gills.  Elijah got a picture with a fat 33-inch pike, and they went home with a nice little mess of gills.  The best part of that day was probably when Mort and my uncle Tim stopped by with hot chili.  Our conversation turned to plans for fishing different parts of the river for catfish and walleye this spring.  I'm starting to realize that I'd trade the last month of ice fishing for an early spring and a flowing river.  With the big warm up that we have coming, I just might get my wish.  Better start getting ready.

In preparing for this fishing season, I've been concentrating on making myself completely water proof.  I bought a pair of water proof hiking boots and I'm waiting for a nice Gore-tex suit to get here from Bass Pro.  I've taken to working an extra shift per week to help pay for this stuff.  That extra shift is usually a 3rd shift, so we'll see how long I can keep this up.  My old camera finally called it quits, so I'm looking at water proof, shock proof cameras.  I think that it would be worth a couple of extra shifts to be able to record my success on camera.  Who's going to believe me when I catch my 30-pounder and don't have a picture?  I still really want a trolling motor for lake fishing and for when I drift and cast on the river.  I probably won't do much more than stare at them in the catalogs.  Probably a next year purchase.  (I said that last year.)  I'm not going to update any rods or reels this year.  Everything is still in good shape.  I'm  set for lures and terminal tackle, as well.  I should just have to pick up mono-filament for my spinning reels and I'll be good to fish.

The preparation is fun.  I look forward to tying my catfish leaders and getting everything organized and ready for my first trip.  I guess it might be a little more fun if money weren't a concern.  There are some pretty incredible fish finders out there that give detailed images of the bottom.  I'm sure that I could up my catch rate if I could see brush piles that are hidden under the water's surface.  A new bilge pump would be a good idea.  The one that came with the boat doesn't have enough power to push the water through the tubing and out the drain hole.  I usually end up scooping the water out with a plastic cup and then sponging the last little bit.  I found a bow light that has a spot light that can be controlled with a remote.  That would be nice for changing spots after dark.  A bubbler for the livewell would save a lot of trouble.  How about those Optima dual-purpose batteries?  Pretty sweet.  And on and on it would go.  I better return to my "Keep it simple" motto.

Last year we had a stretch of weather in the beginning of April when the temperatures rose above 70 degrees.  I caught my first channel cat on April 1.  I could go for another one of those weather patterns.  In the mean time, I'd better put the catalogs away and get the old stuff cleaned, oiled, and organized.  Old Simple is ready to fish.

Feast to Famine

I started this ice fishing season with a pretty big bang, but it has fizzled ever since.  I've been to my honey hole a few times since my initial trip.  Flags have been few and have only yielded bare hooks and a couple lethargic bass.  The pan fish have been finicky, much of the time creeping up to my jig to give it a sniff and then slipping back down to the bottom.  I've heard similar reports from other guys.  Some blame it on the recent thaw.  I'm not sure if they're right, but something has the fish in a negative mood.  With not much happening on my home water, I decided to find a lake with a healthy population of pike.

After referencing a couple of my books and the internet, I decided to try Crockery Lake.  I arrived at the launch sometime between 8:00 and 9:00.  The first thing that I noticed was that there were no tire tracks at the access.  Turning my attention to the lake itself, I saw a lot of dark, slushy ice and absolutely no sign that anyone had been out there.  I had a pretty good idea that this lake wasn't going to work out, but I grabbed my auger and stepped out onto the ice.  After only a few steps, it started popping and moving like crazy.  I did a little dance and headed back to my Jeep without looking back.

With too much daylight already wasted, I was stuck with the task of fnding a lake with safe ice and lots of pike.  I almost went with Wabisis, but at the last minute I made the decision to go a little further north to Big Whitefish.  It was something like a half hour away.  I set the GPS for an intersection that my lake book showed near the launch and headed hopefully towards safer waters.  I found the general area with no problem, but I soon realized that the map I had didn't accurately show where the launch is.  This turned out to be quite a time waster.  I drove around for an extra 20 minutes before I decided to turn into a tiny little one lane road, crowded with houses.  Lo and behold, the launch was tucked away at the end of this small drive.

Pulling into the launch, I wondered if I had made another mistake.  There were trucks everywhere and the lot was full of big, tough looking guys.  Every last one of them was dressed head to toe in camoflauge gear.  Getting out of my Jeep in my bright red bibs, I might as well have been wearing pink.  It felt a lot like pulling up to a motorcycle bar on a moped.  Those rough old boys stopped what they were doing to briefly glare at me.  After most certainly calling me every name for sissy in their heads, they returned to loading their gear and ignored me like I wasn't there.

After loading my stuff onto my sled, I stepped out onto the ice and saw that all of the ice fisherman were huddled in one little area.  This is a huge lake, but they were all tucked into one spot a good 250 yards across the lake.  There was a trail headed strait over to this spot, made by quads pulling shanties.  Outside of this trail in every direction was virgin snow.  This was the only place that anyone was fishing.  Not knowing the lake at all, I figured that I'd better head to where the the locals were fishing.

I actually pulled up maybe 50 yards short of them and fished the outside of a small bay.  My first two holes were drilled over two feet of water.  I just about got my auger dirty.  I'm sure I drew a few snickers from the rednecks.  I finally found a little deeper water and then the drop off.  I dropped tip-ups over 6 feet and 19 feet of water, and then fished a jigging rod in 8 feet.  I also had some weeds.  Seemed as good a place as any.  I was also informed by a couple of guys that the nearby cones and branches that I saw on the ice were marking the holes that the guys in the spearing shacks had left.  This increased my confidence.

I gave it a good 45 minutes with no action.  In the mean time I had talked to a couple of guys who had peeled off from the crowd and headed back for their trucks.  Apparently, they were sitting on top of a long sand bar that holds bluegills.  Their report was that they were seeing fish, but they weren't having much success with talking them into biting.  Next, a couple of guys passed by me a little further away, but still within earshot.  They appparently didn't realize that I could hear them or didn't care.  They were wondering back and forth about what this fool thought that he was going to catch in this spot.  One of them exclaimed, "Absolutely nothing!"  I wanted to let them know that I could hear every word that they were saying, but I didn't have the huevos.  Then I wanted to prove them wrong by catching something huge, but it turns out they were right.  I gave up on the spot not long after.  What finally pushed me over the edge was yet another guy who gave me a completely different story about the cones and the branches.  He said that it was where a quad had gone through.  I thought that it might be wise to fish somewhere far away from the oil slick.

I jumped back on the quad trail and headed back nearer to the launch.  I got set up in a similar fashion, covering 3 different depths of water.  Before long a good old boy walked up and joined me.  He was one of those tough old country boys who love their Budweiser and cigarettes, but I've never met a more friendly guy.  He gave up what he knew about the lake and I tried to impress him with my own fish stories.  I don't think he cared too much about my fables of chasing muskies or big Grand River flatties, but he gave me a hardy "Cool!" each time that I finally ended a yarn.  He also gave me a little bit of confidence in my location, telling me about the huge pike that he has seen under his shanty in the very spot that I was fishing.  He was after perch.  We enjoyed spending the afternoon telling fishing stories, but neither of us found what we were after.  I had one flag all day, and it was just the wind.  We each caught a pencil perch.

One final guy swung by our spot and told us stories of catching huge walleyes in the shallow flats at night in the summer.  Now that is something that I wouldn't mind trying.  The launch looks pretty sorry, but he assured me that I'd be able to drop my boat in there.  I may talk somebody into coming with me and giving it a go this summer.  I have a sneaking suspicion that he added plenty of gravy, but it will be fun to check it out.

This trip wasn't much of a fish producer, but I feel like I gained in experience and knowledge of some of the local fishing opportunities.  I'll trade one great day on the water for an inside scoop on catching some monster eyes.  But now that I've got that under my belt, I'd like to get back to catching some fish.  On Friday I'm going to hit Campau and mess with those muskies for a morning.  Monday it's back to the honey hole.  Hopefully when I blog about those trips, I can include a couple of pictures of fish longer than my arm.  If you don't see an entry, you might want to look on eBay for some cheap ice fishing gear.