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!              

  

Take A Kid Fishing

This is a noble mantra that is plastered throughout fishing magazines and is ritually cited at the end of a number of fishing shows.  It sounds good.  What can be better than a day on the water with a mini-you?  Before any of my kids were born, I pictured how it would be to share my passion for angling with them.  I'm sexist so the picture was generally of a little boy.  Detroit Tigers hat pulled tight and low over his eyes to guard from the sun, he'd sit next to me with fishing pole in hand.  All focus would be narrowed in on the end of that rod, and all conversation would revolve around the excitement of catching the next fish.  I'd look down at him with pride, and he'd look up at me wanting to make me proud.  It was going to be a beautiful moment between father and son. 

At the same time, I've always said that I wouldn't pressure my kids into fishing or any other sport or hobby.  I would support them in whatever interests they had.  The reality of it is, when Dad talks fishing, watches fishing, constantly tinkers with his fishing gear, and is gone on these mystical fishing adventures, the kids are naturally drawn to it.  My oldest son, Luke, was 3 last summer.  He started asking to come out on the river with me.  He seemed ready, so I came up with a plan to fish with him for a few hours one evening and then have my parents pick him up and let him sleep at their house while I stayed out to fish for cats.

I've heard that the key to any successful fishing trip with a kid is to stock up on snacks.  Luke and I stopped at the gas station on the way up to my parents' and picked up several kinds of candy and this sugary liquid called "Bug Juice."  This stuff made the whole trip for him.  Not because it tasted good, but because of the name.  I think he'd drink motor oil if they put it in a squirt bottle, covered it in cartoon spiders, and called it Bug Juice.

Luke was excited to drive the boat, so I put him on my lap and let him feel like he had full control of the great vessel.  Once we were pointed into open water, I let him push the throttle forward and more or less steer us up river.  I stopped at the first spot and helped him cast his Spiderman rod out.  I was so into this being a trip all about Luke, I even kept myself from fishing with my own rods and reels.  The line wasn't out for more than a few minutes before Luke declared, "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  "Really?  Okay."  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  I picked another spot that was a pretty good producer and got us all set up again.  "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  I was sensing a pattern.  "Why do you want to move again, Luke?"  "Dad, I don't really want to catch a fish."  "What's that?"

You know all of that mumbo jumbo about not pressuring my kids into becoming master anglers?  I was finding that easier said than done right at that moment.  Somehow, I was able to reach deep inside and not allow myself to get stuck there for too long.  I realized that Luke's favorite part about coming out on the river was driving the boat.  Sitting in one place must have felt pretty boring to him when he compared it to captaining the ship.  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  If this was an episode of Super Nanny it would be time to roll the credits as she squeezed into the back of her little car feeling all good about herself.  The ignorant parent had finally realized what a fool he had been and he had changed his evil ways.

I always wonder what really happens after the Super Nanny crew leaves those families.  I'm pretty sure that they all fall apart again within a few days, maybe a few hours.  I got it, Luke would rather drive the boat than sit in one place.  I let him.  You would expect that he would be just as happy as he could be.  Instead he got mad because we were going too slow.  "Go ahead and open it up, boy."  Pretty soon we were going too fast.  "C'mon, buddy.  Let's go ahead and get back down by the bridge and you can take a break and drink your Bug Juice."  "I've got to pee."

Throttle down, shorts down, hang him over the edge.  Like his dad, the boy gets the stage fright.  Everything has to be just right to get the stream flowing.  I guess spinning down a river with his dad hoisting him over dirty water wasn't Luke's idea of "just right."  I looked around the boat and my eyes landed on the Bug Juice bottle.  Luke wouldn't have any of it.  Finally, I had to get out my tupperware container that usually holds my cut bait.  I figured the flatties might like a little salt flavoring on their sucker backstraps that night.  This larger container allowed Luke to finally relax enough to flip that psychological pee switch.  We were both pretty relieved.

We finally made it back down between the bridge and the launch.  Our new plan was to use Luke's fishing pole to catch some suckers for Dad to use later in the night.  "Dad, I have to poop."  "Where's my cell phone?  I'm pretty sure that Grandma is ready to pick you up."

Take a kid fishing, but don't get too set on fishing.  Be ready for anything.  Despite my depiction of that evening, we really did have fun and Luke still talks about it.  Somewhere in there, he caught his first catfish.  It was a tiny little channel cat that jabbed me in the hand with its spine when I went to release it.  My hand swelled a little bit and itched for the rest of the night.

Just the other day, Luke asked me when we could go back out in Grandpa's boat.  "Really, you want to go fishing again?"  "Yeah, I want some of that Bug Juice."

Sideshow

If you do anything as much as I fish, you're bound to build a cache of stories about how things went different than planned.  I've found that the results can sometimes be scary, like in the case of sudden storms or running the river in the black of night.  They can also be kind of funny like when my dad absent mindedly released a hammer handle pike with the mouth spreader still holding his maw agape or when some old guy on the wooded bank caught me trying to sneak a pee in the middle of the river.  Here's a little mix of the scary and the funny.

I try to keep some kind of watch on the weather before I set out for a long night on the river.  I've noticed that my dad does too.  He's pretty quick to give me a call if something is coming at us.  He let's me know when it's out over Lake Michigan so that I have plenty of time to at least get anchored under the bridge.  He's saved my hide, or at least kept it dry, a number of times.  The irony about storms is that when they're pushing into your area, the fishing generally gets pretty hot.  I don't mind rain.  I've got pretty good rain gear and the channels especially seem to turn on when the surface of the water starts getting pelted with big drops.  Wind and lightning are what I watch out for, but sometimes I'm stubborn about even letting these two dangers push me off of the water.

Two summers ago I was out on what started as a normal trip.  I had fished all day in the hot sun, chasing after smallies and getting a nice supply of bait.  I anchored up at The Elbow just before dark.  With lines out, I was enjoying the coolness of the evening when I heard a freight train coming through the woods immediately adjacent to my boat.  I was trying to get some kind of fix on the source of that thunderous noise when the trees on the edge of the water went into a sudden frenzy.  Without warning, I was blown off anchor and at the mercy of gale force winds.  Wondering how a storm of this magnitude could have fallen off of my own and my dad's radar, I scrambled to get my lines in and everything that wasn't tied down thrown into the bottom of the boat.  With the rain and the lightning starting up, I pointed the bow down river and drove that little boat as fast as it would go.  I could see huge gusts of wind sweeping across the water in front of me.  I found myself in a wrestling match, trying to keep the boat in the middle of the river and headed in my intended direction.  Out of nowhere I got smacked in the side of the face with a huge leaf.  It stuck there for a few seconds and I thought that it was a bat.  I'm glad I was alone because I screamed like a little girl and flailed at it with both hands.  I wasn't going to let that little demon get its fangs into my neck.  I finally made it to the shelter of the bridge.  Knowing that my parents would be worried sick, I called to let them know that I was safe.  Just a few miles away at their home, there was no sign of a storm and they didn't have a worry in the world.

Later that same summer, I was fishing the shallow snag halfway up to The Elbow when a good old fashioned thunder storm rolled in on top of me.  The rain was amazing.  Anyone in their right mind would have fled for safety immediately.  Both of my rods started jumping with channel cat bites, so I couldn't tear myself away.  The panic growing from within me was screaming at me to get off of the river, especially as lightning flashed around me and the thunder seemed to get louder and follow the flashes more closely.  I fought the panic for 10 or 15 minutes before I remembered that I have a wife and 3 kids who were planning on me coming home in one piece that night.  When I got back to the launch there was actually a sheriff deputy waiting for me.  He must have noticed the empty trailer in the parking lot.  He didn't bother to speak to me or even get out of his cruiser.  When he saw that this fool was safe, he showed me the tail lights.  Despite my rain gear, I was soaked to the bone.  So much so that I walked right in the river to get the boat on the trailer.  That poor little bilge pump was working with all it had to empty the swamped boat.  I helped it out by pulling the plug.  Hint, put those things back in right away.  I foolishly decided to leave it out until my next trip.  Of course, I forgot all about it and the next time out I was met by a half sunk boat after I launched and parked my Jeep and trailer.

Speeding back down the river at 2 AM after each trip is probably the most dangerous thing that I do.  I thought that it finally caught up with me late this past summer.  I dropped off of The Elbow and opened it up in what is probably the darkest section of the river.  Before I could react I was right on top of something.  For a split second I thought that I was slamming into another boat T-bone style when all around me was the explosion of wings and the wild honks of a flock of Canada Geese.  I didn't go back to see if there were any casualties, but I'm pretty sure that I tagged at least a couple of them.  I didn't sleep much that night because my adrenaline soaked heart was shaking the bed.

I fish alone a lot mainly because I'm selfish.  I absolutely love the freedom of fishing exactly where and how I want.  A few people close to me have broken through my guarded insistence on solitude and ventured out with me.  A friend of mine lives on a small private lake with a million 13-14" bass and just as many hammer handle pike.  A little 12-foot john boat came with his house when he bought it and I spent a lot of time in my early 20's fishing in this dingy.  My brother-in-law, Evan, came out with me one morning in early fall.  I remember it being cold enough that we wore jeans and jackets.  I think that Evan was used to larger boats, because he stepped off of the dock and into that boat like it was a 45-foot Bayliner.  The corner that he stepped in immediately went under, bringing in water by the gallon.  All I could do was yell, "Evan!"  To his credit, he made the split second decision to save me, the trolling motor, and the deep cycle battery, and without hesitation dove head first into the chilly water.  Talk about tough, he dragged himself out, shook the water off like a dog, helped me bail the boat, and got in to fish like nothing ever happened.

Back in our early river days my dad had a rather small boat with an oversized motor that was as loud as a jackhammer.  My brother came out with us one morning.  After still fishing for awhile, we decided to try our luck at trolling.  Mike was in the front of the boat and I was right behind him.  Noticing that his line was stretching right past me, I became giddy at the thought of giving it a good pull to see his reaction.  Mike went from half asleep to standing at attention and reeling with everything he had.  When nothing was there, he simply said, "That was a good one." and sat back down with a shrug.  I waited a few more minutes and gave it a good triple yank.   He jumped like a hornet had stung him and started in again with the speed reeling.  This time he was shaking his head and muttering to himself like a schizophrenic homeless fellow.  It's a good thing that the motor was loud because I was convulsing with laughter just a few feet behind him and he had no idea.  I got him a couple more times before mercy prevailed.  To this day, Mike doesn't know that his encounter with a river monster was really just his immature brother acting on an impulse.  If the fishing ever gets slow and you find yourself with the opportunity to pull this little prank, I highly recommend it.  I found it to be extremely entertaining.

I'm feeling a little guilty about telling stories on family, so I better end with a little story about myself.  In the first few months after I started having some success with catfish, I brought my dad out to give him a taste.  We were fishing in the basin just up from the bridge when I tied into the biggest flathead in the river.  My fishing pole bent and strained with the weight of this behemuth.  Feeling my oats, I stepped right up on the bench to increase my profile as I went into battle.  The guys in the boats around us stopped fishing and turned to watch the show.  Traffic on the bridge came to a stand still as people got out of their cars and lined the railing to see what wonder I could have sunk a hook into.  After a long, muscle straining fight, a huge dark shadow began to emerge from the depths.  What finally broke the surface was not a flathead at all, but a hissing, sputtering leatherback turtle.  Luckily it was only in my "Ralphy" (A Christmas Story) like imagination that all of those people were watching me.  My embarrassment was really only met by my dad's chuckle as he reached for the needle nose pliers.

I'm sure that if I thought about it a little longer, I could come up with a few more.  Instead, I'll save them and maybe come back to this topic again sometime.  By then I'll probably have a few new ones to add.  I just hope none of them are about that time I hit a log and sunk the boat in the middle of nowhere at 1:30 in the morning.  I might be writing that one from Heaven.