Back In Action

Michelle graced me with an extra evening of fishing last night.  After dinner and a little time with the family around the house, I headed to the river and dropped the boat in at about 7:30.  I talked river fishing with a guy who was dropping his boat in when I pulled up.  I think I converted him to a cat guy.

I've been keeping my creek chubs on an aerator in a 5 gallon bucket in the basement.  I checked at a pet store and found this magical stuff that neutralizes chlorine in tap water.  It works wonders.  I switch the water everyday and the chubs stay just as healthy as can be for weeks at a time.  I even dropped a few leaf worms in there and found that they had eaten them overnight.  I may just pick up some fish food.  Next it will be an aquarium.  One thing that I did notice is that the fish bleach out after awhile in the bucket.  I'm not sure if it's stress or just because they are stowed away in the dark.  Despite their pale appearance, they are just as strong and healthy after a couple of weeks as the day that I pulled them out of the creek.  All that to lead up to the fact that I had some 2 week bucket bound chubs in the livewell, but most were on the small side and I wanted to start out catching some more bait.  I tried a few different spots about halfway up to the elbow, but nothing was too interested in a crawler.  After awhile I decided that I'd just trade out my 10/0 hooks for 7/0's and fish the chubs.

Remembering the guy who caught the big smallie on  a frog my last time out, I grabbed a bass hook and my Ribbit frogs.  I only had two.  I fished them around a few snags without stirring up anything when I remembered a nice eddie down at Bear Creek.  I motored down and drifted into place even with the creek.  Nothing showed itself in the heart of the mouth, but I got a good swirl when I dragged the frog across that eddie.  I threw the frog again and it got snatched up immediately.  I set the hook and pulled back nothing but limp line.  It must have been a pike.  I stupidly tied on my last frog and dragged it back across the eddie.  The pike pounded it and tore off one leg.  On the subsequent cast it tore off the other leg.  The third time I threw out that crippled frog, the pike grabbed it and once again left my cut monofilament flapping in the wind.  I had a crawler harness on a different pole, so I hooked up a chub and dragged it through there a few times.  The pike ignored it.  I finally decided to tie on a Jitterbug.  On the first cast I saw a swirl about 8 feet away from my bait and then the pike porpoised on it and dragged it down.  It was a 30-incher, but it was pale and skinny as a snake.  I skipped the picture and released it strong.

With the sun setting, I scurried up river and set anchor just up from a huge snag that sits right on the elbow.  It was quiet for a good hour and then just as the moon was clearing the line of trees to the north, I got a hit on one of my rods.  It was a little flattie.  I released it, hooked on one of two rockbass that I had managed to pick up, and dropped it just behind the boat.  It got hit immediately by the twin of my first fish.  I didn't even have that rod back in the water before another rod got thumped and started bending.  This one was bigger, but not much.  I had apparently set anchor over a flathead nursery.  I waited around another hour for mama to show up, but she didn't make an appearance.  I spent one more hour near the bridge, but it was a waste of time.

It's good to see that the flatheads are turning on again.  Tomorrow night Mort and I are taking Luke out.  He and Mort will fish the before dark portion of the night with me, and then I'll get back after the cats.  I brought the kids to the park tonight and loaded up on some big chubs.  Here's to hoping that they get munched by monsters tomorrow night at about this time.

Off To A Good Start

I’ve never been on the river this early in the year before, but we had the boat ready a couple of weekends ago and God blessed us with a 3 day stretch of warm, sunny weather this week.  Eighty degrees on April 1 is unheard of around here.  I decided to take advantage of it and see what was happening on the Grand.

I was in the boat by about 6:30 in the morning.  The river’s up a little bit, so I thought I’d start out just off of the launch and around the island where the current slows up a bit.  I figured once the sun was up, the fish might gravitate towards this shallow low current spot.  It would be a little warmer for them.  I threw out a crawler and some dip bait while I waited for daylight.  I didn’t stay in my first spot for too long because I parked in the middle of a cloud of those evil no-see-em bugs.  I tried to hang in there while they constantly bounced off of my eye balls, but I just about went mad and finally had to move.  When I reeled in to reposition the boat, I found weight on the rod with the crawler.  Most of the suckers in the Grand are redhorse or white suckers, but there’s also this disgusting, blotchy, warty, brown sucker that looks like it emerged right up out of the mud.  My first river fish of 2010 was one of those guys.  I didn’t want to touch it, so I kept it in the water and used the pliers to pull the hook out.  It gave me the heebie-jeebies, but it was a fish.  I followed it up with a few redhorse right at sun up.  If the suckers were on, the channel cats must be.  I was in for an excellent day.  After cutting the suckers into bait and putting them on ice, I headed up river to see if there were any new snags.

I didn’t find too many.  The stretch of wood that hugs the bank across from the gun club looked about the same.  Other than that, there were no good blow downs until I got up to the Elbow.  There are two really nice snags in deep water up there.   There’s also still a lot of wood scattered all up and down that cut bank, including the landmarks that I used last year to find some of my best holes.  It really made me wish that the flatties were going.

Before long, I also found myself wishing that the channels were going.  I fished dip bait, cut sucker, cut creek chub, and crawlers.  I fished deep snags, shallow snags, heads of holes, shallow flats, and current breaks.  Nothing.  Halfway through the day I got one good yank on the dip bait at the snag under the power lines, but I missed it.  A turtle immediately popped up above the dip worm, so I’m pretty sure that it was him down there.  I gave him a verbal lashing for screwing with me.

Mort called to check in on my progress from time to time and I had to keep telling him that I hadn’t found any active cats yet.  He asked me why I thought they weren’t biting.  The only thing I could land on was the water temperature.  The air might have been 80-degrees, but I was reminded that it was only April 1 every time I stuck my hand in that frigid water.  I got to wondering exactly what the water temperature was.  I remembered that Mort had bought a fisherman’s temperature sensor the year before and we had never used it.  I called him up to see if he knew where it was and hinted not so subtly that I was curious to find out what the temperature is right now.  My dad has always been the giving kind and he graciously brought it to me.  We talked for a little while at the dock and then I headed back up river to the wood across from the gun club.  I anchored next to it and threw my bait on the outer edge.  I wanted to mess with the temperature sensor, so I didn’t take the time to put fresh bait on.  I tossed out the cut chub that was on there the whole time I was talking with my dad.  It was looking pretty dry, but maybe it would re-hydrate at the bottom of the river.  I just started fidgeting with the sensor when that rod started dancing.  I set the hook and wrestled a 6-pound channel to the boat.  This fish really had some shoulders.  Great way to get my catfish season started.  I spent most of the rest of the early evening hours in this general area.  I didn’t run into any more fish, but I sure enjoyed the warm breeze and the serenity that a day on the river brings me.

With maybe a couple of hours of daylight left, I headed down to the bridge to fish off of the pylons.  I don’t love fishing around the bridge because people tend to yell at you from their cars.  I used to answer them, figuring that they wanted to know how the fishing was.  It didn’t take long to realize that they were making fun of me.  I get cursed at, called racial slurs, you name it.  Mort and I call them “the hecklers.”  I’ve learned to just wear my headphones when I’m around the bridge these days.  Whether my iPod is on or not, if someone is trying to get my attention I can just point at the headphones in my ears and shake my head.  Anyway, last night I tucked in close enough to the bridge that people couldn’t see me from up above.  I cranked the iPod just in case.  Sitting there waiting for a bite, I remembered the temperature sensor.  I tied a couple of bell sinkers to it so that it would sink.  As soon as I saw what I had done, I nicknamed this little device “Twig and Berries.”  I’ll let you figure out why.

Here’s the goofy thing about this picture.  I took about 100 shots of this thing to get just the right angle and completely forgot that I was fishing for a little while.  My headphones weren’t helping matters.  When I finally looked up, the rod on the right made a couple of hops.  I grabbed it and set the hook, but completely whiffed.  I couldn’t even feel the weight of my line and sinker.  I was totally confused.  A closer look showed me that the line was under the boat.  This sometimes happens when you come off anchor.  You end up drifting right over the top of your bait.  A look around told me that this hadn’t happened.  I reeled up and eventually realized that a fish had picked up the cut sucker and swam up river.  I got a medium sized pike to the surface just before it shook its head and dove back to the depths.  A bonus fish. I’d take it.

With only one channel in the boat after 14 hours of fishing, I had all but written them off.  I was enjoying myself anyway, so I decided to stay until after dark and fish the hole and flats down river from the bridge.  I set anchor over 10 feet of water a stone’s throw down from the bridge and dropped my baits.  With my headphones still blaring, I went to the front of the boat to dig my headlamp out of my backpack.  When I turned back towards the back of the boat, that rod on the right was bouncing like Hayden after she drinks one of those mochas from McDonald’s.  I set the hook and quickly pulled up a smaller channel.  Maybe there would be a night bite after all.  And maybe I should keep getting distracted.  It seemed to improve the fishing.

There was a night bite.  I had steady action.  I hauled in a 5-pounder and almost had a double when the second rod folded hard a couple of times as I was fighting the first fish.  I missed on the hookset.  After awhile, the bites turned into one hit wonders.  All three rods were getting tapped, but never more than one little bump at a time and nothing was grabbing on.  I finally decided to pack it in and head home for one of those short, fitful nights of sleep that always follow a night on the river.

Here’s what I learned on my first day out:  Channel cats will bite in 50-degree water, but you’ve got to work hard for them.  You absolutely can see no-see-ems.  Pike like a little cut sucker now and then.  If you fish across the river from a gun club, you can expect your serenity to be shattered by the thunderous report of a high powered rifle.  Diving into the bottom of the boat is perfectly acceptable.  Tying two sinkers to a temperature sensor looks hilarious.  That steak house on Northland Drive smells awesome after you’ve been in a boat all day.  Setting the hook with your finger resting on the braided line with a light drag can give you a pretty good cut.  If I like it, then I better put a ring on it (courtesy of one of Michelle’s workout songs sneaking onto my iPod).  Facing west all day will give you sunburn on the left side of your face while leaving the right side pasty white.  You, in fact, can write a blog entry on April 1 without making some lame April Fool's joke.  A .5 fish per hour average can still feel like a good day.  And most importantly, I realized that nothing (fishing-wise . . . settle down) can come close to my love for catfishing on the river.

Scouting Trips

With the exception of a brief interruption this past weekend, we've had the longest stretch of sunny days that I can remember in all of my 36 Marches.  Thanks to my mom offering to have Luke overnight one night last week and Hayden overnight one night this week, I found myself with a couple of nice days where I only had 2 kids to tote around.  Since I can only fit 2 in the back of my Jeep with their car seats, I jumped on these opportunities to check out the lower end of the Grand River in neighboring Ottawa County.  My first trip took me along the north bank of the river, checking out launches on the side roads off of Leonard Street.  On my second trip I checked out the south bank and got a pretty good look at a couple of my prospective bayous.

I brought Hayden and Lincoln on my first outing.  From what we can tell so far, these two are just about exactly alike.  If they weren't my kids, I'd call them spazzy.  No, you know what?  They are my kids and I can't think of a word in the English language that better describes them.  Case in point; one of their favorite things to do together is scream back and forth.  They take turns yelling in one another's faces, getting louder and louder until I'm able to loosen my clenched jaw and yell, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!  KNOCK IT OFF!"  I'm a calm guy, but when these two are in full swing, they can really get the old man's right eye twitching.  So, with the terrible twins in the backseat and a lot of miles and time to be logged on the road, I knew that things might end up getting pretty hectic.  I promised them McDonald's after we checked out a couple of launches.  I also brought Hayden's Hannah Montana CD along to keep her entertained.

We left the driveway happily bobbing our heads to "Hoedown Throwdown," but by the time we got to "The Climb" we found ourselves stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of downtown Grand Rapids.  As I stared at the rusty bumper of the old Ford van in front of me, I got sucker punched in the back of the head.  "Gungy, Gawgy."  That's Linc-lish for "Hungry, Daddy."  Shoot!  I was in such a hurry to get going I threw the kids in the car without giving them their normal after nap snack.  I had also packed like a dad.  I chucked a couple of diapers and a box of wipes on the passenger seat.  Never gave food a passing thought.  "Hayden, try to distract Lincoln for me."  "I can't, I'm hungry too."  Oh boy.

After about 15 minutes in the parking lot on 131, we finally got rolling.  With the car  moving once again and some new scenery in front of them, the kids luckily forgot about food for the time being.  It was tough going on Leonard until we put a little space between ourselves and the city.  It eventually transformed into a winding 2 lane country road.  We could occasionally see the river down in the flooded valley to our left.  After about 25 minutes on Leonard, we found the first launch.  Deer Creek Park is just west of Lamont near Coopersville.  It's basically some green space, a parking lot, and a launch.  The whole park was under water.  We could only see the tops of the handicap parking signs.  The kids weren't even a little impressed.  Still, I had an idea of how long it would take to get there from my house and I'd now be able to find it in the dark if I decided to head out early one morning this spring.  This will be my spring channel cat spot.  Mort and I are hoping to get into some of those fish that push 20 pounds when they make their run up from Lake Michigan.

With the kids begging to go to McDonald's, I pushed west towards the bayous and let them know that it wouldn't be too much longer.  The drive to the next launch was quite a bit further than I had anticipated and I was starting to get a little tense.  Lincoln was absolutely starving and had fallen into repeatedly asking where Mommy went.  Hayden was done with Hannah Montana and fixated on getting a happy meal.  I finally found the launch that I will use to get me to Pottawattomie and Stearns bayous.  It turns out that it's very near the Nunica exit on I-96.  I'll go after pike and bass in these bayous and see if I can figure out walleye in the main river channel of this area.  The launch is upriver from the bayous which isn't ideal.  I generally like to fish upriver from where I launch in case I have problems with the motor.  If I'm upstream, I can always float back down to the launch.  Still, I'm looking forward to getting in our boat and exploring this section of the river.  I'm thinking an early April trip is in order.  Maybe I'll throw in a couple of rods, some crawlers, and a tub of dip bait.  I did finally get the kids to McDonald's and they once again returned to their happy, spunky selves.  Despite my dumb dad stuff, the trip went very well and I got one step closer to putting my spring fishing plan together.

I had a feeling that my outing with Luke and Lincoln would be relatively stress free.  I fed them before we left and I threw in water bottles and additional snacks for the road.  Luke is a big Four Seasons fan, so we traded Hayden's bubblegum pop for some oldies but goodies.  131 was cruel to us again.  Someone had dumped a load of empty plant flats in the left lane.  Even though these things are just about as thin as paper, people were almost coming to a complete stop as they weaved through them.  196 and Lake Michigan Drive were all clear.  When I got out past Grand Valley, I jogged over to a road that runs right along the river.  From east to west the name of the road changed from North Cedar Drive to Green Street to Mercury Drive.  I found a couple of nice parks with launches, but they were quite a ways up river from the bayous.  I eventually wandered over Stearns and then Pottawattomie bayous.  Looking at them on a map, I pictured them as isolated and surrounded by desolate wetlands.  Both have homes on them and are in a pretty populated area.  I won't be quite as alone as I'm used to on the river, but if the fishing is good I won't mind.  I'm curious to see what kind of boat traffic and fishing pressure this end of the river gets.

We hit a park on the way home.  It was pretty windy and cold, but the boys had fun walking a trail and then playing on the playground.  On the way home "Walk Like A Man" played.  When it was done Luke said, "Hey Dad, you need to walk like a man, okay?"  I chuckled and said I'd do what I could.  He said, "No, you really need to walk like a man."  More chuckling, "Okay, buddy."  After a little pause I said, "Hey, wait!  Why are you saying that?  You're being funny?"  He remained completely deadpan.  "No, Dad.  You walk like a girl."  Not long after, another song started and Luke joined in, "Pretty as a midsummer's morn, they called her . . . Dad!"  How did Luke get so smart and where did he get such a smart mouth?  I always thought with my general love for the outdoors and my tendency to shave maybe twice a week that I had a certain rugedness about me.  Apparently I have some work to do to toughen myself up in my boy's eyes.  He later told me that he "was just trying to be funny like you, Dad," so that made things better.  I've got to hand it to him, he kind of had me going.  I didn't know that he had the aptitude to kid like that.

Nothing is stress free when it involves a couple of preschool age kids, but my scouting trips went very well.  I have a better picture of this new section of river and I know right where to go to get on it.  Time will tell  if my efforts translate into fish.  I think they will.  I can't wait to make that first cast.

A Look Towards Spring

I spent a good part of this past Saturday getting my ice fishing gear stored away.  I took my time to make sure that everything was clean and dry, and then stored it all neatly away in my basement.  With ice fishing completely behind me, it's time to turn towards spring and start to make my plan.  I'm finding that, especially with my new passion for muskie fishing, I have a lot to figure out in the next 45 days.  If I want to be ready for the pike, muskies, walleye, and channel cats by the end of April, then I'd better get it in gear.

The good news is that as far as catfish, I'm pretty well set.  I can always update and upgrade, but I've got what I need and I could be ready to fish the river tonight if I wanted to.  I buy my cat hooks in bulk, so I still have plenty.  The same goes for swivels.  I still have quite a bit of line left to make my leaders.  As for the line on my reels, I loaded that 80 pound PowerPro on them last year and I think that it has plenty of life left in it.  I may decide to get fresh line later in the year, but I don't think it's a must before the season starts.  I have my eye on an Abu Garci Ambassadeur 7000 C3I reel, but that too can wait.  I'll stick with my two 6500's and my old Shimano Cordair for now.  I'm set for cats.

It's thinking about getting ready for muskies that makes me feel overwhelmed.  I'm finding that it's almost like a whole new sport if you want to get off to a good start.  Bass gear obviously won't handle throwing the big lures and especially won't hold up to fighting the savage fish.  I like the St. Croix Premier 7'6" MH power, fast action casting rod.  Gander Mountain has just one.  I know that I can order one if this one sells, but it will be nice to save on the shipping.  It will probably be my first big purchase.  I've been drooling over the Shimano Calcutta 400 reel for years now.  They make a B series that is over $100 cheaper than the TE.  I'm in the process of saving for this reel right now.  Of course, Michelle and I are working hard to Dave Ramsey our debt, so just about the only money that I am able to put towards fishing is the money that I get for giving plasma.  Not a complaint.  I just have to think things through and really decide what I need and what I can live without.

The rod and reel are already a huge set back, and then I have to think about building some kind of starter arsenal of lures.  Muskie lures are usually much bigger than the average lure and, therefore, much more expensive.  I found a couple of Super Shad Raps at Dick's that were on sale for about $10.  I grabbed a couple and will get a couple more after I donate tomorrow.  I still want to get some bucktail in-line and safety pin spinner baits.  I also want to pick up some big plastic baits like the Bull Dawg.  Who knows what else I'll end up with.  Lures are like candy to me.  I'm drawn to them anytime I'm in a sporting goods store and it's pretty easy to talk myself into getting a couple more in case I find myself in just the right situation for them.  I kicked around the idea of getting the Terminator titanium leaders.  They're more expensive and it looks like I'd have to order them.  They can wait, too.  I can get a decent steel leader in the store for relatively cheap.  The last thing that I'll need for rigging is 65 # PowerPro.  This is a must right off the bat.  My starter kit is getting expensive.

Besides rod, reel, and tackle there are other things that you should probably have if you're going to chase muskies.  I would like to eventually get a really nice oversized net.  I've noticed that when the guys on the shows catch muskies, they leave them in the net and in the water while they're getting the hooks out.  Modern nets are also made to be a lot easier on the fish.  Hopefully I can get a good net shortly into the season.  I've noticed that some of the time, they have to cut the hooks to get the lure back out of the muskies' mouths with the least amount of damage to them.  I'll have to get some good cutters.  If I'm going to be cutting the hooks off of my lures, I better come prepared with a supply of replacement hooks and rings.  I'm also going to need a split ring tool.  Finally, Lindy makes a really nice glove that protects hands from hooks and teeth.  At something like $30 per glove, I'll have to wait on those.  Mechanics' gloves will have to do for now.    Way down the line, I'd like to get one more muskie rod and Calcutta reel so that I can have a second rod in the boat ready with a different type of lure or for a partner to use if I bring someone with me.  I also want a trolling rod and reel with a line counter.  I like the Shimano Tekota.  These things will have to come after I get some experience and decide that I can have some success with muskies and I really want to make them a fish that I regularly pursue.  Man, there's something to be said for driving 5 minutes to the river and fishing a crawler on a hook and sinker.

Other than putting fresh monofilament on my spinning reels, I'm in pretty good shape for chasing all of the other fish.  I'm going to go after big pike in the Grand River bayous this May.  I can use my muskie gear for them.  This is a new adventure for me and I'm really looking forward to exploring that section of the river.  I'll probably throw the kids in the Jeep before then and take a scouting trip to check out some of the launches over there.  I want to know right where I'm going when the time comes.  I've heard that the walleye fishing can be good on that end of the river, too.  I want to try for them with Josh and Elijah.  Elijah is obsessed with walleye and I've become obsessed with getting him his first one.  I'm sure Mort will come out with me, too.  We can go after those huge channel cats that Dan Lipski put us on a couple of years ago.  I might kick off my year fishing for muskies and walleye on Thornapple Lake on the last Saturday in April.  We'll see.  I have a feeling it will be like trying to hunt state land on the opening day of gun season.  I'm not big on combat fishing.  I'll figure it out when the time gets closer.

I love this time of year.  It's a great feeling to know that the new season is right around the corner, full of big fish and memorable moments on the water.  I get antsy with the anticipation, but as I lose myself in the preparation, time is going to fly by and I'm going to be back in a boat before I know it.      

Oh Canada!

It's pretty common for guys who live in Michigan to go on Canada fishing trips.  Some guys go several times a year, some go annually, and some just go once or twice in a lifetime to try it out.  I'm a try it out guy.  I've actually been up there to fish 3 times.  The success rates varied on these trips, but they were all interesting in their own right.

My first time up there was actually with Michelle and a bunch of couples.  They were all married and we were engaged at the time.  It was one of those deals where we knew one couple really well, but the rest of them were more their friends than ours.  I'm not great with people I kind of know.  I'm the epitome of social awkwardness, introvertedness, quiet, shy . . . whatever you want to call it.  If I'm in a social situation and the natural shuffling of the people leaves me alone in a room with some other poor sap, there always seems to be this jolting, silent vacuum that sucks the air out of our lungs when we both realize, "Oh crap, it's just me and this guy."  Most of Michelle's friends' husbands have given up on me.  Still, she tries valiantly to pull me into conversations with them.  "Really, you like Mountain Dew?  Oh my gosh, Matt likes Mountain Dew!  Tell him hon!"  "Yeah, Mountain Dew is pretty good."  I've noticed that sometimes when the "kind of know" people are women, they turn me into their social charity case.  They nod at me really big with their eyes all wide, laugh too loud, act way too interested, and basically treat me like I'm 3.  If whatever I do elicits responses like this, then I must be some kind of a social dolt.

So here we were, on a long weekend trip with a bunch of people that I really just wanted to get away from.  This sentiment was punctuated the first night when the conversation turned to everyone's pooping habits.  This is what married people talk about?  I felt like one lonely prude in that room, because I seemed to be the only one who wasn't giving up his/her proctological habits.  This even included this very pretty model who announced, "I have to poop every time we go to the mall, don't I hon?!"  "Yep, it's true.  Everytime we set foot in the mall, the first thing she has to do is go poop."  Everyone was delighted.  I wanted to be anywhere but there.  Bedtime finally rolled around, and our close friends actually slept in a bed between us to keep us pure.  I was starting to look for the cameras and Ashton Kutcher.  I agreed with sleeping separately from Michelle before we were married, but couldn't I sleep on a couch or something?

The payoff came the next morning when we headed out to fish for smallies in this beautiful clear lake with a rocky bottom.  My friend caught a huge bronzeback from the dock on his first cast.  I couldn't stay off of the lake after that.  The smallmouth were everywhere and they were aggressive.  I caught monster after monster, slipping around the edge of the lake in a small canoe.  Of course, I was supposed to be doing couples stuff, so I got myself into quite a bit of trouble.  Michelle was mad, the other wives were looking at me with disdain, and my good friend had to give me a "C'mon, dude . . . " speech.  Actually, I think this might have been the first time that Michelle realized that she was in trouble.  My obsession with fishing and avoidance of the pooping couples must have been pretty scary to witness for the first time.  She stayed with me for some reason, but she still fights me on it from time to time.

My other two trips were with my dad.  We went once with some guys from church and once with Tim and Jared.  There is a group of guys at the church where I grew up who went every year.  I think that they even had a waiting list of guys who wanted to go with them.  My dad has always been held in high regard by these guys, so we were extended a special invitation.  The trip started with a long drive up into Ontario in the middle of a foggy night on winding roads.  I offered to drive a couple of times, but I don't think they quite trusted the boy.  We made it to the outfitters, loaded our boats, and then took an hour or so boat ride in to our cabin.  The cabin was set on a small rocky point that was surrounded by extremely thick woods.  The only walking that we would be doing was up and down the short path between the cabin and the dock.  We weren't going to be getting much exercise.

The fishing up there was good.  We caught a lot of walleye between 12 and 17 inches.  We mostly trolled crawler harnesses.  I was put in a boat with this big, happy teddy bear of a guy who liked to sing "Coca Cabana" at the top of his lungs while we fished.  I was also with a guy who was simply fun to be around and a crafty fisherman.  The big guy snuck in a few cigars and they let the kid try one.  I remember the 3 of us pounding down peanuts to get rid of the cigar breath before we headed back to the cabin.  I commented that you know your breath is bad if you have to eat peanuts to improve it.  The kid made a joke!  They liked that.  In the end, I caught the fewest fish, but I did take home biggest fish honors.  We ate fried fish all week, got no exercise, and I found myself unable to perform in the outhouse-speaking of proctological habits.  When we got back, our women said that we looked fat.

The trip with Tim and Jared was the least productive fish-wise, but we had a lot of fun.  We knew that the fishing might not be too hot when the fishing guide that my dad hired got excited when he saw a frog by the lake.  "Amphibian, that's a good sign."  No, catching a huge bass on your first cast is a good sign.  Seeing a frog by a lake is supposed to be so normal that it doesn't get mentioned.  Old Eugene.  He was a piece of work.  Jared nicknamed him "Eu-weenie" and it stuck.  He came wandering up about 30 minutes late the morning that we first met him.  He was a greasy, sinewy, scraggly looking fellow with a thick accent and nose hair curling breath.  We were pretty sure that he hadn't slept at all the previous night but was just getting in from God knows where.  He took us out in a tub of a boat and we trolled all  morning.  As I recall, he had me using a big red leadhead jig with a whole crawler on it.  I picked up a rock bass and he again got way too excited.  He told me to keep it and he'd clean it for me.  Just as he was starting to blame our lack of success on high clouds and a blue sky, I announced that I had a snag.  He said, "Do you have a snag or do you have a fish?"  Turned out that it was a fish.  It was a nice walleye that he also cleaned and cooked for us.

The highlight of that trip for me was when the outfitter set us up in canoes on a lake that was supposed to hold pike.  The canoes were those red plastic kind that are riveted to a frame.  It felt like the shell could pull away from the frame at any time and it was incredibly unstable.  My dad worried about flipping the thing during the whole outing.  We stayed dry, but we did lose one rod and reel.  What made this the highlight started with the outfitter advising us to throw a live minnow just off of a rock face.  He said that there is a ledge under water just off of this face.  The idea was to land the minnow on top of the shelf and then pull it off and let it fall straight down off of the drop.  I did this and hooked into a 29-inch pike.  At that time in my life, this was a really big fish and I was pretty impressed that the guy's advice panned out for us.

When we got home from that trip, I took Jared to a local lake with a lot of bass.  I promised him that we'd catch more fish in one day than we caught all week in Canada.  I'd like to tell you that we killed them and made up for the slow week, but I honestly don't remember.  I'd like to do the Canada thing again sometime.  Maybe when I'm done paying for diapers and sippy cups I can get some guys together and fly in to one of those isolated lakes with the monster pike that are fabled to hit on empty beer cans.  Truthfully, it will probably be decades before I'm able to do something like that.  In the mean time, I'll keep it in the daydream vault.

Everyone Showed But the Perch

In the earliest hours this morning, not long after the bartenders told their soggy patrons, "You don't have to go home, but you have to get up out of here!" my alarm went off.  A small army of friends and relatives was planning on coming fishing shortly after sun up and I decided that I wanted to have a nice pile of crappies on the ice and some tip-ups set before they got there.  Not wanting to wake the wife at 3 AM, I slept on the couch.  This move unwittingly made me the first line of defense when my daughter woke with a sore throat and my youngest began screaming for his mommy, both at about midnight.  I was glad to be able to field these late night issues and let Michelle sleep, but I knew that my short night just got shorter and it was going to take its toll.

I was glad when my fitful sleep on a too short couch was ended.  All of my gear  was lined up and ready to go, so it didn't take long for me to hit the road.  I fell into a bit of a sleepy euphoria on the ride up to the lake.  I had the heat on way too high, but it seemed to suit the mood.  The rock station that I had been listening to the last time that I drove, however, was carving on the back of my skull.  Country went with the mood.  Kellie Pickler was asking me didn't I know how much she loved me.  Frankly, I had no idea, but it was nice to hear.  The last 4 or 5 miles after the exit are back roads, so I shook off the stupor and kept an eye out for deer and black ice.  What had been an occasional snowflake in the headlights when the ride started out had turned into steady flurries.  I hadn't noticed snow in the forecast, but I'd take it over a brisk wind.

I pictured having that "only person on earth" feeling, walking out on the ice at shortly after 4 AM.  Surprisingly, 3 or 4 homes on the lake already had their lights burning bright.  A couple of backyard dogs spotted my headlamp and went into a hysteria.  In my head, I apologized to the sleeping neighbors.  After hauling my gear and dropping the tip-ups, trudging through over a foot of snow the whole way, I had a pretty good sweat going.  I knew that this would turn into a chill later, but I'm not sure how else I could have played it.  I would just have to deal with it.

I found the crappies in 40 feet of water.  There was a huge school that covered most of the bottom half of the water column, and an occasional fish showing up just 10 feet under the ice.  I haven't done a ton of concentrated crappie fishing, but my limited experience has been that if you drop a minnow just above them, they slide up to it and eat it without hesitation.  This school hadn't read the same manual that I read.  They couldn't care less about the minnows that I was putting right in front of their snooty noses.  The only reaction that I could get out of those fish was fleeing the minnow in a panic.  I didn't have anything else to do, so I continued to toy with them.  Just as it was getting light, I finally talked just 2 into grabbing on.  They were about the same size, decent but not huge.  So much for trying to act like a big shot.  A pile of 2 wasn't going to get very many "attaboys."

A friend from work, Chris, was the first to show up.  He came out just after 7:00.  He fished with me in the deep water for awhile and managed to hook a couple of small gills.  Just as we were heading back to my normal spot, our first flag popped.  It was the 40-incher hole that I marked with a dead branch.  I had a good feeling about this one and saw that it was running as we approached.  It continued to take out line as I picked up the tip-up and gave the line a sharp yank.  Nothing there.  I'm guessing I pulled the hook right out of the fish's mouth, but I never even felt the slightest bit of weight on the line.  Frustrating, but still good to get a flag this early.

Josh and Elijah showed up next and the other guys followed fast on their heels.  I lost count of exactly how many guys we had out there, but it must have been close to 15.  We had a good half ton of Elyea on that ice, plus friends and in-laws.  It would have been good to have Jeff and Mike with us, but maybe we can catch them on a summer excursion.

Because of some recent catches, we were pretty sure that the perch were going to pile up.  Didn't happen.  Most of the perch that we caught were pencils and we never really found a school.  Whatever the phenomenon was that I experienced last week, it seemed to mark the peak of the ice season.  Something about today just felt like the beginning of the end of this winter's fishing season.  Even though the perch weren't doing much, Jared's brother-in-law, Tim, did find some hungry crappies and a few decent bluegills.  I have to admit that the chase for the panfish is probably where my short night took the toll that I talked about earlier.  I just didn't have the energy to keep moving through that deep snow and drilling hole after hole.  I was content to stay in the first hole that I drilled and if I got into them, then great.  If not, don't care.

Something else that probably helped diminish my concern for pannies was the fact that we got flags relatively steady all day.  We decided that most of them were bass.  We had a lot of pop and drops.  We pulled in a number of empty hooks or dazed minnows.  They looked like Linsay . . . wait, I already used that one.  We did manage to land a couple of nice bass that pushed 20 inches.  My Uncle Tim caught a really healthy looking 29-inch pike.  He'll tell you it was over 30.  Just agree with him.  We landed a few more smaller bass.

The party broke up around 2:00.  There was some disappointment at not hammering the perch.  Josh bought a fillet knife for the occasion and now he has to dig through the trash for the receipt.  My only complaint is the excruciating charlie horses that I'm getting in both legs from high stepping through snow all day.  I've had to walk them off a few times just in the last hour.  Despite the bite not being as hot as it has been and my hamstrings getting tied in knots, I really enjoyed today.  What a great bunch of guys!  I look forward to getting out with them again.  In the mean time, I think my next fishing trip is going to be back to the muskie lake.  I have a goal of catching one on the ice before they go out of season.  Getting a little nervous about following through with that one.

 

The Sissy Hole

When I was in college, my dad and I went on a fishing trip to Canada with some guys from our church.  There was a certain spot that got nicknamed "The Sissy Hole" because it was such a good producer for walleye.  The guys who went straight to that spot got ribbed pretty good by the others.  My dad found this to be pretty funny and has given the nickname to some of our fishing spots around here.  I think that it's time to officially give this title to my in-laws' lake.  While you hear about mostly mediocre outings on lakes around here, every trip to my in-laws' has been outstanding in one way or another this year.  Yesterday was no exception. 

I stepped out on the lake at about 8:30.  I had pretty good ice fishing weather.  The sky was overcast, there was just a hint of a breeze, and the temperature was hovering around freezing.  This is pretty warm by ice fishing standards.  Just enough of a chill to keep a layer of skim ice on unattended holes and put the sting on the end of wet fingers.  Overall, it was completely comfortable.  I felt like I lost 20 pounds not having to wear the extra 3 layers that the sub zero weather called for my last time out.  

Stopping at the crest of the hill that leads down to the lake, I noticed that I had it all to myself.  Loner that I am, this was a big bonus.  It also meant no fishing pressure.  When I caught that 40-incher last time, I marked the hole with a branch.  My first move yesterday was to drop a tip-up into that same spot.  Once the tip-ups were set, I went in search of the perch.  I drilled my first hole in 12 feet of water and found them immediately.  I felt pretty lucky to hit them on my first shot.  I also caught them in some kind of feeding frenzy.  Most of the time I couldn't even get my minnow to the bottom before one shot up 5 feet into the water column and grabbed it.  I found myself scrambling to get my bail flipped and line tight time and again.  I kept waiting for the school to move and for the action to slow down.  You usually run through the aggressive fish and it slows, or maybe the rest of the school gets the idea when their pals keep disappearing through the roof.  This one hole kept this kind of action up all morning.  I'd stop for awhile to let my hands warm up or to get a quick cup of coffee.  As soon as I picked the rod back up and dropped the next minnow in, the madness would continue.  I limited out and ended up culling down to 36 nice eaters.  The fish that I culled swam away to fight another day.  It's amazing how long they will live out of the water when the temperature is just right.  After being on the ice for at least a couple of hours, those fish sprang right back to life as soon as they hit the water.  

I messed around with a couple of jigging rods, one with a spoon and one with an airplane jig.  Both had big minnows on them.  When I put the Vexlar on them, I noticed that both of these big minnows were getting harassed by something down there.  I drilled a hole next to one of them and dropped in a smaller minnow.  I got slammed one more time by a nice perch.  It seemed that I hadn't necessarily drilled a lucky hole earlier in the day, but that every perch in the lake was eating anything that moved.  

I started thinking about picking up my tip-ups at around 5:30.  I had gone all day without a single trip.  Just to prove me foolish for thinking this way, that flag popped that was in the 40-incher spot.  After looking at it 153 times that day and finding it down, it gave me a nice little jolt to find it up and blowing in the wind.  The paddle was spinning nicely as I approached.  I stuck the fish while it was running and started the gentle tug-of-war.  The fish buried itself in the weeds once and I had to pull with a little extra force to bring it out.  This brief moment was slightly nerve racking.  The battle wasn't quite as epic as last time and pretty soon I guided a 29-incher through the hole.  I quickly got the hook out and ran it over by the perch to shoot the above picture.  After a few shots, I slipped her back into the lake.  

I always kind of laughed along with those guys about the "Sissy Hole," but I never quite understood the joke.  Of course you head straight to the spot where the fish are.  When most of the lakes around here, with the incredible pressure that they get, stuggle to produce, I'll come to this sissy hole every time.  Judging by the talk on the ice fishing forums in the area, a lot of guys would give their left arm to fish a lake like this one.  I don't think I'll call it the "Sissy Hole," though.  "Glory Hole?"  No, I think that means something bad.  Don't look that one up.  It will give your computer a virus.  Better get away from the word "hole."  You know what?  It doesn't matter what you call it, I'm just thankful that I have access to this little piece of heaven.  God bless the in-laws!              

  

Go With What You Know

After all that talk about chasing muskies under the ice, I'm still skunked after 2 more trips to that lake.  During my last time out, I determined in my mind that my next fishing trip would be to one of my old faithful spots.  I secured permission from my reluctant wife to spend Saturday up at my in-laws with my two oldest kids.  I called a few friends and relatives to see if anyone wanted to join us.  I got a couple of takers.  My cousins, Jared and Jeff, came out.  Jared also brought his son.  My brother-in-law Josh stopped by for a little bit, bringing along his youngest boy.

Jared and I started by putting out tip-ups along the shore in front of my in-laws' in depths from about 6 to 12 feet.  When we finished, I looked up and saw my boy heading up the stairs to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  He didn't even last 20 minutes, and I could see that he was taking off with my beef jerky.  Grandpa was heading up with him and I knew that they'd both enjoy each other's company, so it was probably for the best.  My daughter headed up shortly after, taking our bag of licorice with her.  Oh well, I could call up to them if we got into a nice fish.

We started out by piddling around in the area where we caught our perch during the last trip.  We hooked a couple, but it didn't appear that this area was going to produce like it did for us a few weeks ago.  There were a lot of fish on the flasher, but they didn't want to do anything more than sniff the minnow.  Those little green bars of light would slide up under my bait and then quickly drop back down to the solid red bottom.  Jeff was the first one to venture into deeper water.  He found some nice bluegills in 20 feet of water.  We watched as he could barely get his wax worm to the bottom before another eager gill clamped on.  One flag popped and we got a fat little bass, maybe 15 inches.  That thing was so sluggish that it didn't even take 2 feet of line out.  I'm surprised that it didn't get hit in the head by the egg sinker when it grabbed the minnow.  Maybe it did and was just too cold to care.

Just as we were getting warmed up, Jared's boy stuck his finger with a hook and then stepped knee deep into an ice hole in the ensuing panic.  I watched as Jared tried to calm his small son and then he let him know that they could go home if he wanted to.  The boy did want to go home and Jared packed up without hesitation.  That's some great fathering.  I'm pretty sure that I would have been reaching for some "win one for the Gipper" class inspiration to keep my kids out there.  I'd pull out promises of money, delicious snacks, and later bedtimes.  Anything to keep them on the ice.  My wife would definitely say that I could learn something from Jared.

After awhile, it was just Jeff and me.  I gradually inched out towards him until we were practically within arm's length of each other.  By then, he had a nice pile of gills and one nice crappie.  They had slowed down, so we both dropped small minnows down in pursuit of the perch.  We landed several in the 7-9 inch range and one 11 inch pig.  Our panfish quest was interrupted when the furthest flag away saluted.

As I headed towards the tip-up, I noticed that the handle wasn't spinning.  I figured that it was another grab and drop or maybe just the wind blowing the flag up.  I got a little closer and off it went.  The fish was taking a long run.  Had to be a pike.  I got my fingers on the line with the fish still running and gave a quick little tug to set the hook.  I gained a little ground before it took off again.  This fish made several long runs.  As I was fighting this fish, another flag tripped just 15 yards away.  I called to Jeff and he headed over.  My fish was running right at this other tip-up, so we wondered if she had pulled the line through the second tip-up's line.  We could see the handle spinning, so something was going on.  We're still not sure what happened there.  All Jeff was able to pull in was an empty hook.  No minnow, no pike.  He came over and helped me manage my line.  There was a strong wind at my back and the line was falling all over itself.  By the time the pike's runs had shortened to brief bursts close to the hole, I had knots all over the place.

The fish finally made a pass under the hole where we could get a look at her.  We saw a huge fish with a wide back.  I told Jeff that this was a big fish and maybe even a new personal best.  I had to let her pass by a few more times as the line had gone under her belly and I wasn't able to turn her head into the hole.  Finally, I got my chance and I pulled her up and onto the ice.  She started those big slow flops that monster pike make when they find themselves on the wrong side of the ice.

They had noticed up at the house that this fight was taking longer than normal, so everyone came pouring out.  I ran back to my bucket to get my mouth spreader and pliers, and also my camera, scale, and tape measurer.  This beast did turn out to be my personal best by one inch.  It was just a touch over 40 inches and weighed 15 pounds.  We took several pictures with several cameras and phones and back into the hole she went.  I held her for a minute before her fins began to move.  Then she started gaining strength and her whole body began to slowly wave back and forth.  She finally pulled free with a strong surge and disappeared back under the ice to find a quiet weed bed to rest in.

Figuring out new water and unmastered fish is definitely part of what makes this sport so enjoyable.  When some of those experiments don't work out, at least not right away, it's really good to have those spots and fish that you know and that produce.  There's a reason they're your favorites.  I just got a 40-inch reminder with big teeth.  Point taken.