FLYING ACROSS THE SNOW
By: Ray Hansen
We have had a run of brutally cold weather here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The ambient temperature was seventeen below zero last Sunday night when I returned from an ice fishing trip here on Little Bay de Noc. This is the kind of weather that firms up the snow base and makes the local snowmobile trails a lot of fun to play on. I don’t do too much trail riding on these machines, but occasionally have the opportunity.
A friend and I had trouble starting his two snowmobiles in the extreme cold temperatures we encountered in Rhinelander, Wisconsin on a recent ice fishing trip. Once the machines warmed enough to idle without us having the keep our thumbs on the throttles, they proved ready to respond and would restart easily if we shut them off.
This trip was to be one in which he and I roamed relatively shallow lakes in search of mid-winter pike and panfish. We did it two years ago with good results, and hoped to enjoy a replay of the excitement from the previous excursion.
To be able to zip from place to place, we used the two Polaris snowmobiles he keeps stored in Wisconsin. These machines are nothing short of amazing. I quickly found that they would go a lot faster than I cared to attempt.
While I am not an experienced snowmobiler, I’ve spent a fair amount of time astride a Harley-Davidson. I have also enjoyed some dirt-biking, and I ride a Honda all terrain vehicle each year while deer hunting. The snow machines however, are really suited to the conditions and a type of terrain no other vehicle can conquer.
At twenty miles an hour, I slowly cruised the frozen lakes and woodland trails connecting various bodies of water. The pace allowed me to see lots of detail, and feel that I was in control of my ride. I saw interesting homes, great looking patches of woods, and other sights that made me appreciate this northwoods experience.
At thirty m.p.h., I felt the jarring of snow clumps, old snowmobile tracks, and old ice fishing holes I blasted across. I could not spend much time sightseeing. Anything I wanted to study closer required that I back off the throttle at least momentarily.
At forty m.p.h., I had to concentrate on strictly on steering the machine, and to watch that no stumps, bumps, or humps launched me airborne. Turns were made gradually, and I had the constant feeling that I was going just about as fast as I could safely travel – as long as I focused solely on controlling the machine and did not steal a glance at any of the surroundings.
Of course, experienced snowmobilers cite times and places where they had reached speeds much higher than I dared to try at my level of competence. Tales of triple-digit speeds left me wondering how it was possible to keep the machine in even occasional contact with the snow at that pace.
I saw just enough of the “snowmobile culture” in Rhinelander to begin to understand its appeal. Some great trail food, magnificent scenery, the opportunity to jump from lake to lake with a little fishing at each, and shutting off the machines at a hill far from town to listen to a coyote chorus from a nearby swamp at night made using the machines unforgettable. I’ll be back.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
WINTER WONDERS IN THE NORTHWOODS
WINTER WONDERS IN THE NORTHWOODS
By: Ray Hansen
While hunting the Channing / Sagola area of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, I once saw a Fisher lope across an old logging with its odd, sinuous gait. A sleek dark brown to black body about three feet in length (including the long tail) contrasted with its white-streaked head. Strangely, it startled me, like suddenly seeing a snake will do. I was in a tree stand, and it posed no danger. I’m sure if it had been aware I was a round I would never have seen it.
Fishers don’t fish. Their relatives, the more common mink rely on fish for much of their diet, but not these larger creatures. Hunters who watch for deer from elevated tree stands during the fall and winter often notice a sudden decrease in the local red squirrel population. The fisher will stay around until these tasty little treats are all caught, then move on. Don’t worry about the squirrels though. They quickly re-populate.
The fisher is one of the few animals that will take on a porcupine. They are said to take them face on, grabbing the porcupines snout and holding on until they can work their way down to the throat for the kill. You may find the ‘pine’s skin in the woods, feet up, with the edible parts removed from the inside starting at the soft belly, which is not protected by deadly quills. I have found deceased porcupines in this condition, usually in the winter.
Seeing one of these graceful predators while hunting is a rare, but fascinating sight. After a day in the woods, the experience makes a good story to relate around the night’s campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
By: Ray Hansen
While hunting the Channing / Sagola area of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, I once saw a Fisher lope across an old logging with its odd, sinuous gait. A sleek dark brown to black body about three feet in length (including the long tail) contrasted with its white-streaked head. Strangely, it startled me, like suddenly seeing a snake will do. I was in a tree stand, and it posed no danger. I’m sure if it had been aware I was a round I would never have seen it.
Fishers don’t fish. Their relatives, the more common mink rely on fish for much of their diet, but not these larger creatures. Hunters who watch for deer from elevated tree stands during the fall and winter often notice a sudden decrease in the local red squirrel population. The fisher will stay around until these tasty little treats are all caught, then move on. Don’t worry about the squirrels though. They quickly re-populate.
The fisher is one of the few animals that will take on a porcupine. They are said to take them face on, grabbing the porcupines snout and holding on until they can work their way down to the throat for the kill. You may find the ‘pine’s skin in the woods, feet up, with the edible parts removed from the inside starting at the soft belly, which is not protected by deadly quills. I have found deceased porcupines in this condition, usually in the winter.
Seeing one of these graceful predators while hunting is a rare, but fascinating sight. After a day in the woods, the experience makes a good story to relate around the night’s campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
GLOW BAITS GRAB ATTENTION
GLOW BAITS GRAB ATTENTION
Bay de Noc Burbot and Walleye Opportunity
By: Ray Hansen
Burbot or Eelpout are not a fish targeted by many winter anglers, but those who know where and how to catch them rave about their fighting qualities, and the ability to make a dish called “Poor Man’s Lobster” from them.
Little Bay de Noc in Delta County Michigan provides an excellent opportunity to catch these fish through the ice, and action often peaks for a while around mid-February. Chris Wahl, owner of Bay View Sports in Gladstone, Michigan (www.baydenoc.com/bayviewsports) chases these fish each year, and is a wealth of local information about how to proceed.
Chris reports that “glow” baits like the locally produced Swedish Pimple Spoon, the Buckshot Rattle Spoon, Rapala Jigger Shad, and simple live bait rigs with a “glow-stick” attached to the line near the bait (minnows are best) can do the trick. He often works the long drop-offs on the bay near his shop on Highway 2 / 41, concentrating on depths of 25 to 38 feet of water. Night produces the best bite, so you can tailor your ice fishing trips to be on a potentially good walleye spot at the prime bite just before and after sunset, then continue on into the night with the expectation of burbot action.
Incidentally, Chris says that many anglers are somewhat repulsed at the sight of a wriggling burbot on their lines because they look like an eel. He cautions ice fishermen to release them carefully however, because they are “gobie eating machines”. Area anglers have seen the non-native gobies populate the bay over the years, and welcome any fish that will consume them.
Little Bay de Noc is actually the northernmost portion of Lake Michigan, on the Great Lakes. Excellent fishing for northern pike, perch, smallmouth bass, walleye, salmon, trout, and many other species can be found there throughout the year. Check www.baydenoc.com for details about area attractions, lodging, and related information.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Bay de Noc Burbot and Walleye Opportunity
By: Ray Hansen
Burbot or Eelpout are not a fish targeted by many winter anglers, but those who know where and how to catch them rave about their fighting qualities, and the ability to make a dish called “Poor Man’s Lobster” from them.
Little Bay de Noc in Delta County Michigan provides an excellent opportunity to catch these fish through the ice, and action often peaks for a while around mid-February. Chris Wahl, owner of Bay View Sports in Gladstone, Michigan (www.baydenoc.com/bayviewsports) chases these fish each year, and is a wealth of local information about how to proceed.
Chris reports that “glow” baits like the locally produced Swedish Pimple Spoon, the Buckshot Rattle Spoon, Rapala Jigger Shad, and simple live bait rigs with a “glow-stick” attached to the line near the bait (minnows are best) can do the trick. He often works the long drop-offs on the bay near his shop on Highway 2 / 41, concentrating on depths of 25 to 38 feet of water. Night produces the best bite, so you can tailor your ice fishing trips to be on a potentially good walleye spot at the prime bite just before and after sunset, then continue on into the night with the expectation of burbot action.
Incidentally, Chris says that many anglers are somewhat repulsed at the sight of a wriggling burbot on their lines because they look like an eel. He cautions ice fishermen to release them carefully however, because they are “gobie eating machines”. Area anglers have seen the non-native gobies populate the bay over the years, and welcome any fish that will consume them.
Little Bay de Noc is actually the northernmost portion of Lake Michigan, on the Great Lakes. Excellent fishing for northern pike, perch, smallmouth bass, walleye, salmon, trout, and many other species can be found there throughout the year. Check www.baydenoc.com for details about area attractions, lodging, and related information.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
COYOTES IN THE DARK
Author's note: The predator hunting season has started here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The following account tells of one experience I had with a pack of coyotes.
COYOTES IN THE DARK
By: Ray Hansen
Venturing out into the woods in the dark can produce all sorts of adventures. Most are not dangerous, but many will get your heart going or provide a shot of adrenaline. As hunters, most of us will walk out to stands well before sunrise, or trudge back to camp in the dark well after sunset. At these times, humans lose many of the advantages they have during the hours of daylight. Animals generally see, hear, and smell better once it is dark.
One morning I was silently slipping along a trail through hardwood ridges on a moonless night about an hour before sunrise. I had a ground blind made of natural materials on a good spot and I wanted to be there before any other hunters moved through the area, so that when they did show up, they might move deer past me. To get this advantage, I had to be very quiet and that meant going slower than usual. I also had to get there early, so I allowed plenty of time for the hike.
At the half-way point, the trail ran along the top edge of a steep bank that dropped almost vertically into a deep creek. As I walked through this stretch, a pack of coyotes suddenly began chasing a deer, and they were close! Yipping, wailing, and barking, they pushed the panicked animal toward the trail where they would have an advantage in being able to run faster without having to dodge and twist through the heavier cover in the woods.
Within seconds the deer would hit the trail, and would not likely leap over the steep embankment. Instead, I could tell it would turn either east and run past me, or west, and move farther away from where I stood.
Heart pumping, I jacked a round into the chamber of my pump-action slug gun – not that it would do me much good. I knew the coyotes were very unlikely to attack me. I just did not know what they would do if they suddenly ran into me on the same trail they chased the deer on. Maybe the sound of a shot would scatter them.
Within seconds, the deer burst out of the woods just yards from me. Turning west, it ran away from where I stood pointing the gun. The screaming pack of canines followed, and I simply stared out into the darkness, taking huge breaths as I tried to recover. The entire episode began very suddenly and was over in seconds.
The brush-wolves were simply doing what comes naturally to them – hunting deer. I was on my way to a spot deeper in the woods to do the same thing. That we almost crossed paths was purely a co-incidence. I’ve walked the same trail many times since, and have even heard other coyote packs chasing deer – just not that close. These are the types of outdoor experiences that always become good stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
COYOTES IN THE DARK
By: Ray Hansen
Venturing out into the woods in the dark can produce all sorts of adventures. Most are not dangerous, but many will get your heart going or provide a shot of adrenaline. As hunters, most of us will walk out to stands well before sunrise, or trudge back to camp in the dark well after sunset. At these times, humans lose many of the advantages they have during the hours of daylight. Animals generally see, hear, and smell better once it is dark.
One morning I was silently slipping along a trail through hardwood ridges on a moonless night about an hour before sunrise. I had a ground blind made of natural materials on a good spot and I wanted to be there before any other hunters moved through the area, so that when they did show up, they might move deer past me. To get this advantage, I had to be very quiet and that meant going slower than usual. I also had to get there early, so I allowed plenty of time for the hike.
At the half-way point, the trail ran along the top edge of a steep bank that dropped almost vertically into a deep creek. As I walked through this stretch, a pack of coyotes suddenly began chasing a deer, and they were close! Yipping, wailing, and barking, they pushed the panicked animal toward the trail where they would have an advantage in being able to run faster without having to dodge and twist through the heavier cover in the woods.
Within seconds the deer would hit the trail, and would not likely leap over the steep embankment. Instead, I could tell it would turn either east and run past me, or west, and move farther away from where I stood.
Heart pumping, I jacked a round into the chamber of my pump-action slug gun – not that it would do me much good. I knew the coyotes were very unlikely to attack me. I just did not know what they would do if they suddenly ran into me on the same trail they chased the deer on. Maybe the sound of a shot would scatter them.
Within seconds, the deer burst out of the woods just yards from me. Turning west, it ran away from where I stood pointing the gun. The screaming pack of canines followed, and I simply stared out into the darkness, taking huge breaths as I tried to recover. The entire episode began very suddenly and was over in seconds.
The brush-wolves were simply doing what comes naturally to them – hunting deer. I was on my way to a spot deeper in the woods to do the same thing. That we almost crossed paths was purely a co-incidence. I’ve walked the same trail many times since, and have even heard other coyote packs chasing deer – just not that close. These are the types of outdoor experiences that always become good stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part three
Author's note: This is the final part of the series I started Monday. I hope you have enjoyed it.
It was one-thirty in the afternoon when we got situated. Within the first half-hour something slammed a rod downward that I had balanced on a bucket while changing baits on another. It hit like a small pike does, slashing past, grabbing the bait like a running thief grabbing an apple off a fruit wagon without stopping. I missed that fish as well, and that’s when we packed it in for the day.
On the way back to the truck, we detoured past an eighty-acre island surrounded by marshlands with plenty of cat-tails and open areas between brushy pockets of cover. An ancient railroad grade crossed the island diagonally like the spine on a razorback hog. I once stalked to within twenty-five yards of two bedded deer on this island while hunting with a bow along the elevated trackway. Thick brush along its sides however, prevented me from getting a clear shot, and the deer soon bounded away.
We found several sets of coyote tracks leading into the interior, so we put together two brush blinds on the perimeter where we could hide while using predator calls and rabbit decoys to try to get the brush-wolves to show themselves. We’ll come back with small caliber rifles in late January when the coyotes are always hungry. I would like to get a big pelt to hang on the wall along with mounted fish and deer antlers.
As for today’s fishing, I enjoyed the experience despite the meager results. I’m lucky to be living in an area where I can enjoy the outdoors as often as I do, and we’ll have ice into April on the bays around here. I’ve got plenty of time to explore new areas and look for new ice-fishing adventures. And you can be sure I’ll have some new stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
It was one-thirty in the afternoon when we got situated. Within the first half-hour something slammed a rod downward that I had balanced on a bucket while changing baits on another. It hit like a small pike does, slashing past, grabbing the bait like a running thief grabbing an apple off a fruit wagon without stopping. I missed that fish as well, and that’s when we packed it in for the day.
On the way back to the truck, we detoured past an eighty-acre island surrounded by marshlands with plenty of cat-tails and open areas between brushy pockets of cover. An ancient railroad grade crossed the island diagonally like the spine on a razorback hog. I once stalked to within twenty-five yards of two bedded deer on this island while hunting with a bow along the elevated trackway. Thick brush along its sides however, prevented me from getting a clear shot, and the deer soon bounded away.
We found several sets of coyote tracks leading into the interior, so we put together two brush blinds on the perimeter where we could hide while using predator calls and rabbit decoys to try to get the brush-wolves to show themselves. We’ll come back with small caliber rifles in late January when the coyotes are always hungry. I would like to get a big pelt to hang on the wall along with mounted fish and deer antlers.
As for today’s fishing, I enjoyed the experience despite the meager results. I’m lucky to be living in an area where I can enjoy the outdoors as often as I do, and we’ll have ice into April on the bays around here. I’ve got plenty of time to explore new areas and look for new ice-fishing adventures. And you can be sure I’ll have some new stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part two
Author's note: This is part two of a blog that details one recent day of ice fishing on Little Bay de Noc in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The final installment will be posted tomorrow evening.
We set up the shanty directly at the point where the drop-off leveled out onto the flat. I baited a double-hook minnow rig with one flashy three-inch shiner at one foot off bottom and another at three feet up. That rod had a spring-steel strike indicator on the tip and I set it in a holder so it could work itself while a readied a second rig for perch. This one had a bright gold spoon as an attractor, a two-inch clear leader off the spoon, and a bright orange, needle-sharp plain hook on the end of the leader. It was baited with a live wiggler and lowered down so it rested just above the boulders.
I settled in to work the perch rig by lightly jigging it, while the walleye rig worked itself. The two shiner minnows swam around, keeping the strike indicator dancing lightly. After a while, the spring steel on the tip of the double-hook rig bent downward very slowly, which told me a fish was mouthing the bait. I rested the perch rig on the edge of the seat and took the other rod in hand. I lowered the rod tip for a few seconds to let the fish get the minnow fully, then I raised the rod tip until I started to feel the weight of the fish.
I was sure I’d set the hook into a walleye, but when I snapped the rod upward, the perch rod shot downward, falling to the floor. I grabbed for it while continuing to raise the other rod. Almost instantly I realized that whatever took the shiner minnow had crossed the line on the wiggler rig. The two were tangled! I tried to open the bail on the second rod so I would have a chance to land the other fish, but it just didn’t work. Whatever hit the shiner rig was gone and that was that!
While this was going on, Duane tried to quickly reel in his lines, and possibly take the perch rig from my side of the shanty, but it all happened quickly and we did not salvage anything from the brief flurry of excitement.
After a couple hours or so we had no more action on that spot, so we moved up to the weed edge on top of the underwater slope. There we could easily see the bottom in ten feet of water and we sight-fished small ice lures tipped with wigglers for perch, but had absolutely no action.
O.K., if nothing was going on shallow or at the base of the drop-off, we decided to head out to fifty feet of water east of the place we started and try for bigger perch from the depths. This was also the type of place whitefish sometimes hold in, so I put a simple split-shot and plain hook rig down, with the shot laying on bottom and the minnow swimming around it. This is generally the way whitefish like their bait presented.
Here again, we spent time trying to make something happen. I did see one fish approach on the screen of my locator and it may have picked up the minnow – the signal produced by my bait and that of the fish merged on the screen – but I did not get a good hookset. Too much stretch in fifty feet of four-pound test monofilament I guess. I also worked a deep-water perch rig baited with a wiggler here, but nothing bit.
We moved a few hundred yards at a time, working our way toward south toward the mouth of the Escanaba River, looking for roaming bands of perch, but it seemed that when we zigged, they zagged, when we hopped, they skipped. In the end our paths just didn’t cross. Arriving at the river mouth, we set up well out into the bay, because the constant flow of the river itself makes the ice there unstable. The mouth of the river forms a kind of broad delta that ranges from five to fourteen feet deep, then drops into twenty-six feet well out into the bay. That’s where we made a final attempt to salvage the day.
End of part two - check in tomorrow evening for part three.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
We set up the shanty directly at the point where the drop-off leveled out onto the flat. I baited a double-hook minnow rig with one flashy three-inch shiner at one foot off bottom and another at three feet up. That rod had a spring-steel strike indicator on the tip and I set it in a holder so it could work itself while a readied a second rig for perch. This one had a bright gold spoon as an attractor, a two-inch clear leader off the spoon, and a bright orange, needle-sharp plain hook on the end of the leader. It was baited with a live wiggler and lowered down so it rested just above the boulders.
I settled in to work the perch rig by lightly jigging it, while the walleye rig worked itself. The two shiner minnows swam around, keeping the strike indicator dancing lightly. After a while, the spring steel on the tip of the double-hook rig bent downward very slowly, which told me a fish was mouthing the bait. I rested the perch rig on the edge of the seat and took the other rod in hand. I lowered the rod tip for a few seconds to let the fish get the minnow fully, then I raised the rod tip until I started to feel the weight of the fish.
I was sure I’d set the hook into a walleye, but when I snapped the rod upward, the perch rod shot downward, falling to the floor. I grabbed for it while continuing to raise the other rod. Almost instantly I realized that whatever took the shiner minnow had crossed the line on the wiggler rig. The two were tangled! I tried to open the bail on the second rod so I would have a chance to land the other fish, but it just didn’t work. Whatever hit the shiner rig was gone and that was that!
While this was going on, Duane tried to quickly reel in his lines, and possibly take the perch rig from my side of the shanty, but it all happened quickly and we did not salvage anything from the brief flurry of excitement.
After a couple hours or so we had no more action on that spot, so we moved up to the weed edge on top of the underwater slope. There we could easily see the bottom in ten feet of water and we sight-fished small ice lures tipped with wigglers for perch, but had absolutely no action.
O.K., if nothing was going on shallow or at the base of the drop-off, we decided to head out to fifty feet of water east of the place we started and try for bigger perch from the depths. This was also the type of place whitefish sometimes hold in, so I put a simple split-shot and plain hook rig down, with the shot laying on bottom and the minnow swimming around it. This is generally the way whitefish like their bait presented.
Here again, we spent time trying to make something happen. I did see one fish approach on the screen of my locator and it may have picked up the minnow – the signal produced by my bait and that of the fish merged on the screen – but I did not get a good hookset. Too much stretch in fifty feet of four-pound test monofilament I guess. I also worked a deep-water perch rig baited with a wiggler here, but nothing bit.
We moved a few hundred yards at a time, working our way toward south toward the mouth of the Escanaba River, looking for roaming bands of perch, but it seemed that when we zigged, they zagged, when we hopped, they skipped. In the end our paths just didn’t cross. Arriving at the river mouth, we set up well out into the bay, because the constant flow of the river itself makes the ice there unstable. The mouth of the river forms a kind of broad delta that ranges from five to fourteen feet deep, then drops into twenty-six feet well out into the bay. That’s where we made a final attempt to salvage the day.
End of part two - check in tomorrow evening for part three.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part one
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY!
By: Ray Hansen
Dateline: Saturday, January 10, 2008 – Gladstone, Michigan
I chased fish all over the bay today but it was one of those tough times. Things just did not go right - on top of a tough bite – and I failed to land a fish for all the effort I put into looking for a few that would hit.
I started out in the darkness prior to sunrise with life-long friend Duane Deno of Gladstone, Michigan. We left from a lot he owns on the shores of Little Bay de Noc where we rode out onto the bay on his Honda four-wheeler. He drove and I sat backwards on the cargo rack on the back of the machine. We pulled a portable ice shack and all our fishing gear on a high-sided sled behind the all terrain vehicle like a small train with a couple boxcars behind it. I should have been swinging an old red lantern like a brakeman leaning out from the caboose.
Sunrise / moonset was spectacular. The sun brightened the eastern horizon into pink, orange, and mango streaks, as the moon touched the treeline to the west like a massive painted parchment pancake. It is at its closest approach to earth and has been putting on a show for the past few days. I’m sure astronomers worldwide have been seized with spasms of near-orgasmic delight in the past forty-eight hours or so by what they observe through telescopes trained on our celestial neighbor.
About 10 o’clock last night Kate and I went for a hike in the frigid woods around our home, just to experience this wonderful phenomenon. The moon was so bright it would have been possible to read a newspaper by moonlight alone. Almost no artificial lights exist nearby to compete with the intense lunar luminosity. We saw deer silhouetted against the snow as we made our way past hardwood ridges and spruce covered hillsides. In every direction snow crystals caught the moonlight, reflecting like tiny diamonds sprinkled along the path.
Anyway, Duane and I headed for an area we had not previously fished through the ice. Since we had taken walleyes there very late in the autumn season in open water, we figured we might still find them in the same location now that the lake was frozen. In most other years we had not been able to safely traverse the ice there until late January, but the freeze has been quite early this year. Just a few days ago an icebreaker passed this point and its course is still visible on the frozen bay as a jumble of clear, jagged ice like broken glass scattered along a highway after a crash.
In this spot, a sand and weed flat broke sharply at ten feet, descending into a thirty-five foot depression where a field of scattered boulders provided cover for perch, gobies, and various minnow species. Walleyes just had to be there, didn’t they? Duane and I were completely confident.
End of part one - check in tomorrow for part two
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
By: Ray Hansen
Dateline: Saturday, January 10, 2008 – Gladstone, Michigan
I chased fish all over the bay today but it was one of those tough times. Things just did not go right - on top of a tough bite – and I failed to land a fish for all the effort I put into looking for a few that would hit.
I started out in the darkness prior to sunrise with life-long friend Duane Deno of Gladstone, Michigan. We left from a lot he owns on the shores of Little Bay de Noc where we rode out onto the bay on his Honda four-wheeler. He drove and I sat backwards on the cargo rack on the back of the machine. We pulled a portable ice shack and all our fishing gear on a high-sided sled behind the all terrain vehicle like a small train with a couple boxcars behind it. I should have been swinging an old red lantern like a brakeman leaning out from the caboose.
Sunrise / moonset was spectacular. The sun brightened the eastern horizon into pink, orange, and mango streaks, as the moon touched the treeline to the west like a massive painted parchment pancake. It is at its closest approach to earth and has been putting on a show for the past few days. I’m sure astronomers worldwide have been seized with spasms of near-orgasmic delight in the past forty-eight hours or so by what they observe through telescopes trained on our celestial neighbor.
About 10 o’clock last night Kate and I went for a hike in the frigid woods around our home, just to experience this wonderful phenomenon. The moon was so bright it would have been possible to read a newspaper by moonlight alone. Almost no artificial lights exist nearby to compete with the intense lunar luminosity. We saw deer silhouetted against the snow as we made our way past hardwood ridges and spruce covered hillsides. In every direction snow crystals caught the moonlight, reflecting like tiny diamonds sprinkled along the path.
Anyway, Duane and I headed for an area we had not previously fished through the ice. Since we had taken walleyes there very late in the autumn season in open water, we figured we might still find them in the same location now that the lake was frozen. In most other years we had not been able to safely traverse the ice there until late January, but the freeze has been quite early this year. Just a few days ago an icebreaker passed this point and its course is still visible on the frozen bay as a jumble of clear, jagged ice like broken glass scattered along a highway after a crash.
In this spot, a sand and weed flat broke sharply at ten feet, descending into a thirty-five foot depression where a field of scattered boulders provided cover for perch, gobies, and various minnow species. Walleyes just had to be there, didn’t they? Duane and I were completely confident.
End of part one - check in tomorrow for part two
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
