Snow fails to deter ice fishermen Outing enjoyable despite few strikes

When another weekend snowstorm forced the cancellation of an ice fishing outing to Squa Pan Lake, our group of four hard-water anglers was disappointed. By midweek two more ice-drillers had signed on for the upcoming Saturday outing, but once more Mother Nature joined hands with Ol’ Man Winter and a half dozen very frustrated winter anglers were forced to postpone once again. As the third weekend of February approached our cluster of cronies had grown to lucky number seven, and come hail or high water we were going ice fishing!

Pete Delano and his son Sam came from Robinson hauling a snowmobile, a tote sled and an auger on a trailer behind their pickup truck and met Tom Tardiff and Bob Lento in Blaine. Tom also had a snowmobile and auger in the bed of his pickup, and when he and Bob stopped in Mars Hill to meet Jay Peavey and Jim Shaw, a portable, collapsible ice shanty was added to the load. When the three truck caravan stopped in Presque Isle I added another tote sled to the gear, as well as more food and my packbasket of tip-ups and equipment. By the time everything was situated, covered with a tarp or tied down we had enough supplies for twice as many anglers or twice as long a trip.

Worse weather

If some piece of gear failed or malfunctioned, we had a backup, and in a couple of cases we even had a backup for our backup. Loaded and on time we headed for Ashland prepared for anything, and everything went great for the first 10 minutes or so, and then it began to snow. Half an hour later as our caravan parked, off loaded snowmobiles and hitched up and loaded tote sleds, big, fluffy flakes floated down slowly but steadily.

I’ve been on rollercoasters that had fewer ups, downs, and curves than the 10-minute trail trek to the shoreline midway to Big Cove. Thankfully, despite more than a foot of heavy snow the lake surface was smooth, with no layer of slush lurking between the ice surface and snow cover to bog down our heavily laden snowmobiles and tote sleds. Tom settled on a spot where he had experienced fast fishing previously and our crew dismounted and set to work – just like a military squad we all knew our assignment. Two guys began unloading dunnage, two others got to work setting up the portable shanty, and the remaining trio set out with a pair of ice augers and a shovel to drill holes and clear snow for tip-ups.

Within less than half an hour lines of ice holes radiated like spokes on a wagon wheel outward from the central hub comprised of our fish shanty, snowmobiles, packs, bait buckets and gas grills. Long ago our members had discovered that a warm lunch and a cold beverage can make the slowest ice drilling expedition more tolerable, so a selection of tasty provisions always accompanied us on winter fishing trips. Grilled hot dogs, sausage and burgers were common fare, and frequently venison or moose meat spiced up the menu.

As we each staked claim to a set of holes and trudged forth with ice scoop, bait bucket and traps to rig our lines, snowfall continued in earnest. Each huge flake that settled on an exposed cheek, nose or bare hand melted in a flash, feeling like a slight kiss from the frigid lips of a tiny frost fairy. Unique at first, the sensation soon became aggravating as the thawing flakes turned to cold droplets that ran chillingly down necks and arms.

Watching and waiting

Unlike fly casting or even trolling, both interactive styles of fishing, ice angling is a hurry-up-and-wait game. Rush to get to the lake, make haste to secure a prime location before anyone else, and then hustle to set out baits so that the first flag flies soon after the traps are in place. More often than not, that ideal scenario doesn’t occur, nor did it for our lucky seven sportsmen. We huddled near the hut, among the snowmobiles; eyes scanning through the falling flakes for a flag. Shuffling from foot to foot we concentrated mostly on our own string of tip-ups, but soon found ourselves frequently scanning all directions as conversation ebbed and flowed. After 30 lackluster minutes of waiting, anyone’s flag would be a moral victory for everyone.

Sam broke away first, shuffled to his far trap, pulled it up and sat on a bucket wielding a jigging rod and cut bait, just in case some smelt were biting. Jim opted for the warm cover and comfort of the fish hut, also trying to entice enough silver darters for a tasty breakfast the next morning. The rest of us continued the vigil; waiting and watching.

At least three guys hollered FLAG! at the same time as Tom’s closest trap flipped its pennant, and our entire group trouped along to offer moral support. We couldn’t have been more excited if a truck serving ribs and free beer had swung by. That the end result was only a 14-inch salmon was insignificant, we were on the scoreboard. Minutes later Jay got the call on his closest trap, a yellow perch this time, a catch that might have elicited cat-calls another day, but we flagless fellows kept our mouths shut.

Finally after almost half an hour of jigging, Sam hooked and pulled in a smelt. Jim’s efforts had yielded no interest from smelt, perch or any other species. For some unknown reason, Sam decided to use his single 6-inch smelt as bait, the shiners we were all using certainly weren’t ringing the gamefish dinner bell. After replacing his smelt-baited trap back into his farthest hole where he’d been jigging, Sam sauntered back to join us at hub central, where for lack of action talk had turned toward lunch.

Bob set up his small portable gas grill, while Pete got another assembled and ready to fire up. Red hot dogs, sweet Italian sausage and moose burgers were the main course with a variety of condiments, chips, and soda. Homemade brownies and chocolate chip cookies were dessert. Despite everyone busily preparing for lunch, frequent pauses were made to survey our wagon wheel of tip-ups just in case a miracle occurred and some foolish fish became suicidal. Before either grill could be lit, one did.

Oddly enough the flag flew from Sam’s smelt-rigged tip-up. Realizing no perch had grabbed that large a bait, we jumped on snowmobiles to hasten the investigation. Upon arrival, line was spooling from the reel steadily and the trap was literally hopping back and forth on the ice from the strain. Sam gently lifted the tip-up from the hole, handed it to his father who would help control incoming line, and then snubbed the line and gave a hearty hook set.

The fish was neither small nor happy and proved this by initiating a run that forced Sam to release tension on the line lest the hook rip free. After several minutes of spirited give and take a very hefty and colorful splake was herded into the hole and put onto the ice surface. For all of us, that one bragging-size trout hybrid made the trip worthwhile, and lunch would be even more enjoyable.

As it happens, Sam’s large splake was the gamefish highlight of the outing, although we did catch and release two more small salmon and a trout. Snowfall slowed as lunch sizzled on the grills, and we sat in folding chairs or on snowmobile seats to chow down and chat. Everyone displayed an excellent appetite and I attribute that to just being outdoors as it certainly wasn’t due to running about tending traps due to fast fishing. I know Bob had 20 hotdogs grilling at one point and thought to myself that was way too many, but somehow they all disappeared.

Pesky perch

Our leisurely lunch was interrupted three times by flags, yielding two fair-sized perch and missed hookup, and every tip-up was close to our fishing hut where the water was more shallow. Within five minutes of putting on fresh minnows, these same two traps were hit again and a couple of minutes later another shallow water tip-up had a hit. We took turns and were batting about .500 on hooking and landing the pesky perch, but that’s common when using good-sized shiners for baits.

After awhile we came to the conclusion that there was a fairly large school of yellow perch cruising the shoreline and since other species were apathetic to our deep water traps, a few of us decided to go with the flow. Jay pulled up his nearest tip-up, perched on a chair and got his jigging rod into action with a small lure. After two more perch were on the ice in less than five minutes, Jim, who was still rod bobbing from the comfort of his Otter fish hut, changed lures and also began to reap the benefits of this cruising cluster of perch.

For the best part of an hour, those of us with jigging rods teased and tempted the yellow perch until the action cut off, and there were several piles of yellow perch totaling more than 25 strewn along the ice. As the snowfall began to pick up again, we began to pick up as well, and since the action was nonexistent, no one complained. More often than I care to think about I’ve spent several hours ice fishing with only one or two flags, so in the entire scheme of things this wasn’t such a bad trip. We enjoyed lots of food and lots of fish and great fellowship, and regardless of the fact that only a couple catches could be called real gamefish, the perch filets would yield a few tasty fish frys. There are lots worse ways to spend a snowy February day.

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com