At 7 a.m. on a bleak winter morning a few years back, the temperature coincidentally hovered at 7 degrees. Caribou’s National Weather Bureau office pegged the day’s high to be a brisk 11 degrees. While 7 and 11 may be rewarding numbers for Vegas dice rollers, for Aroostook ice anglers those are not winning numbers. While waiting for my ice drilling partner to arrive, I ventured to the end of the driveway to retrieve the morning paper and knew after my first frigid inhalation that the wind chill was well below zero. By the time I’d huffed and puffed my way back inside, each exhalation resembling a steam engine, my anticipation for our ice fishing outing to Long Lake had waned considerably.

Tom Tardiff, a longtime all-season fish and game companion from Robinson, arrived minutes later, just about when my vocal cords thawed out enough to speak again. We both agreed in short order that had I not reserved a smelt hut for the day, our visit to the queen of Aroostook salmon waters would have been rescheduled. The chance of doing much outside fishing was slim and the likelihood of enjoying it was even less.

Winter winds

As we loaded my pack basket full of tip-ups and other assorted gear and food into Tom’s pickup truck, a breeze began to flourish, pushing clouds of light, gritty snow across the driveway. “Oh, great,” I said as we climbed into the cab, “Now it will be a contest to see if the holes and traps freeze in or cover with drifting snow first.” Though unspoken, both of us already knew that outside fishing today would be dismal, and although smelt jigging from the shanty might be consistent, chances of taking any bragging-size landlocks or brookies from inside was a crapshoot.

During our hourlong drive the winds escalated, creating occasional whiteouts and necessitating the need for high beams and slow travel, but finally we parked in the driveway of the lady who regularly rents us her fishing hut and unloaded the truck. After a short visit to pay, exchange pleasantries and get an update on recent fishing results, Tom and I headed across the backyard path, dragging our gear-laden sled onto Sinclair Cove. As usual, the stove had been started and a steady column of gray smoke rose from the chimney pipe, only to be caught by the shifting gusts and whisked away into nothingness.

Granules of snow stung our faces and bounced away, sounding like sand as it pelted off our jackets. After only a five-minute walk, the respite of the warm, windless smelt shanty was wonderful. As I unpacked our provisions, jigging lines and other paraphernalia, Tom dragged the auger inside and proceeded to clean out the six ice fishing holes under the center trap door of the spacious hut. We had already decided during our trip to set up three smelt lines each inside and only two tip-ups apiece outside. If the weather improved or outside results proved to be exemplary, then we would drill and set more traps around the cove.

Hard water anglers will understand our frustration when after rigging our fourth tip-up we found the first already frozen in and the hole filled with snow. If we moved steadily from one to the other it would still be impossible to keep them free of ice and snow, so we opted for half-hour bait checks and hoped for the best. Shirking our jackets, hats and gloves once back to our fish house, we each baited one line with a piece of canned shrimp and delved the dark depths for our first smelt and a supply of fresh bait.

Steady smelting

In less than five minutes I had a nibble and missed the hookup, but only seconds later Tom was overhanding a smelt up through the hole. In short order, we filleted and cut the fresh smelt into small chunks and attached a piece to each hook. No other bait draws strikes from those carnivorous silver darters like fresh meat from their own species. I always use one hand line rigged with three hooks about 18-24 inches apart so I can fish at various depths, and I also stand a chance to hook more than one smelt at a time if they are really biting.

I had just gotten all the hooks baited on my tripleheader and was lowering it into place when Tom brought in another smelt. As he unhooked the 8-inch silver sliver and tossed it into his milk jug creel, the wooden kitchen match that I half hitch to my monofilament as a strike indicator began to twitch on my first line. Shortly I was unhooking my first smelt and thinking just how tasty a half-dozen of Maine’s smallest game fish would be fried up for breakfast the next morning. Despite the blowing snow and numbing wind chill, we weren’t going to get skunked, and thanks to our rented shanty we were pretty cozy.

Within the first half-hour, we caught about 20 smelt between us and missed several more. Suddenly the action died out. Since it was about time to suit up and brave the elements to check the tip-ups, we began donning outerwear, and that’s when Tom’s farthermost line suddenly made a bee line to the edge of the hole. This time, however, when he set the hook there was no give. What we assumed was a smelt turned out to be much larger and actually fought back, stripping the line right out of his fingertips.

Regripping the 10-pound monofilament, Tom began fighting the fish as I made haste to pull in all the other smelt lines before we ended up in a massive tangle. After several minutes of give and take as well as some heavy headshaking, the nose of what turned out to be about a 3-pound salmon appeared in the hole. As Tom heaved the fish free of the water, I shoved a frying pan over the hole so if the hook pulled free our prize wouldn’t fall back into the water. Now we knew why the smelt had disappeared – and also were pretty pleased that we didn’t need to endure the cold to catch a bragging-size fish.

More inside action

It was tedious work reopening the holes outside and frustrating to find two of our baits gone without a flag being tripped, but after 20 minutes everything was up and running with fresh minnows. After retreating back inside and reveling in the warmth of our stove, we checked our smelt baits and jigged each line a bit. It seems the smelt had returned, and pretty soon we were hauling one in every few minutes. Then it was my turn to set the hook and have a larger fish take exception and head for the other shoreline. After a spirited tug-of-war I herded a colorful 17-inch brookie onto the floor of our hut. That’s when Tom glanced out the frosted window, called “flag” and grabbed his jacket as he sprinted out the door.

Joining Tom a short time later after securing my trout, I found him in full battle with a large fish and frozen line from the tip-up reel spread out in every direction. Apparently most of the line was gone from the spool when he arrived. I set about getting the stiff, uncooperative line back on the reel to prevent tangles as the fight raged on. Finally, Tom yanked a huge fish out of the opening and onto the ice, and we each expressed mixed feelings. Rather than a trophy chrome-sided salmon or a monster trout, the ugly brown face and eel-like body of a 5- or 6-pound cusk stared back at us.

Upon arriving back at the shanty, I found my three-hook line bouncing and zipping around the auger hole, so I grabbed the matchstick like a handle and set the hook. By the feel and resistance I knew at once this was no large fish, yet it was no smelt either. Much to my delight a few seconds later, one, two and then three smelt appeared as I lifted my jigging line. I’ve caught plenty of doubles, but only once before, many years ago on Pleasant Lake in Island Falls, did I catch another true triple.

My theory is that in our absence from the hut one smelt took a bait, then began swimming about putting the other baits in motion and attracting a second and finally a third smelt to strike. That I didn’t actually tease the fish into eating bothered me not one iota, even in abstention I got a triple! As I tried to explain the prowess of such a feat, Tom studiously ignored me and busied himself preparing moose steak and beans for lunch. This inside fishing was turning out all right.

Swedish jigs

The fish must have taken a lunch break as well, because our delicious repast was interrupted only twice by smelt, and no outside flags or larger inside fish imposed. In fact the action had slowed notably for more than half an hour when Tom got antsy, dug out his gear box and retrieved a purple Swedish Pimple. Leaving two of his smelt lines to fend for themselves, he began to methodically jig the lure for half a minute starting right on the bottom and working to the surface in 3-foot steps.

I was unconvinced until less than 15 minutes later he hooked and landed a 14-inch salmon. I tied on a red and silver Swedish Pimple and experienced a hit- and-run strike within 10 minutes myself, and then the fish, which turned out to be a short salmon, came back for a hookup seconds later. Tom and I each continued to enjoy intermittent action on the Swedish jigs into midafternoon. It soon became apparent that when the smelt lines were busy, no big fish were cruising near, but when the smelt disappeared, a salmon or trout was likely to grab one of the jigs.

Since another party had rented the shanty for an evening outing, sundown was our signal to pick up and pack up. During the chilly process of chipping our four tip-ups free, we discovered two were cleaned of bait and another had an 11-inch trout attached, yet none of the flags were tripped. Nonetheless we had nothing to complain about. While our four outside lines produced a total of only three fish, from the comfort of our shanty we caught nearly 70 smelt, four salmon, three trout and a couple of cusk. All of the cusk and smelt were kept but only one each of the other two species weren’t released.

Perhaps I was more tolerant, perhaps tougher when I was younger, or maybe I was just foolish, but my current theory is that outdoor activities are supposed to be fun. At any point when I can’t feel my toes, fingers or face or if my underwear is dripping wet and my boots full of water, it’s time for a warmer and drier option. I enjoy fishing huts, they are comfy and I get to jig and play with hand lines, which allows me to actually be part of the fishing, unlike just watching for a flag.

Don’t let bad weather cancel your outing; resort to a smelt shanty. Every trip won’t be as productive as ours, but each will provide cozy conditions, a warm meal and friendly companionship, all more fun than staying home.

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com