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.