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.