Perch for the Pan

Last Saturday, my Dad and I decided to head out to the islands in search of a perch bite. After getting up at 4 in the morning two weekends in a row to go trout fishing on Caspian, we decided that sleeping in for a good weekend nights sleep was in order. After getting up at 7:30 and putting a good breakfast in our tanks, it was time to hit the road. The Gut was our destination, and as we crossed the drawbridge, we saw a large shanty town right off of Knight’s Point. With the state park fairly empty, we had no trouble finding a parking spot. After spending way too much time loading up all of our crap onto the sled, it was time to hit the ice. Large patches of snow on the ice made for easy walking, and the morning sun warmed our faces as we made the journey towards our spot. It was dead calm out, wind wise, and it wasn’t long before I was opening my jacket and stripping off layers. The first set of holes that we punched was just outside of the shanties in eight feet of water. I tipped my jig with spikes and sent it on it’s way, down to the weedy bottom below.

We struggled to find fish for the first hour, with only one or two fish per hole. It wasn’t until we got away from the other anglers that we started to catch fish. We found a nice spot that had plenty of fish and decided to settle in for the day ahead of us. I was catching one right after another in this one hole, most of them keepers. After icing ten or so, the bite came to an abrupt stop... I danced my hali style jig in place, knowing that the maggot packed hook would be hopping around down there, irresistibly. I was able to entice a nibble and set the hook. My rod doubled over and I could feel the 3 lb. test mono stretch under the weight of the fish. It gave a couple of vicious head shakes, my rod throbbing up and down, before deciding to take off. The reel screamed and so did I. “Dad, I’m gonna need some backup!” My faithful fishing partner came running over to me and crouched down beside the hole. We both stared down the hole as my quarry drew near. It was a pickerel. Not very big, but full of spunk. Once in the hole, my Dad muckled onto him and pulled him out of the cold water. At around 18”, he was released to live another day, his tail waving a goodbye as his sleek body plunged back towards the depths.

Our buckets began to get heavier as the day went on and the perch bite persisted. We had set up the Clam Junior, but every time I would drag it over to a “hot” hole and go inside to fish, the little buggers would disappear. I guess you have to choose between staying warm and catching fish. Hmmmm??? Well, getting cold is an occupational hazard as ice anglers, so... catching fish it was.

As I moved from hole to hole in search of the school, I found them. I had caught over two dozen fish and 18 keepers out of this one location, when the fish stopped biting again. After a minute of jigging, sure enough, I got a big thump. I lifted my rod with a sharp snap, only to feel weight for a split second. Missed ‘em! My heart began to race as I lowered my jig back down slowly. Seconds later I had another big hit, only this time the hook stuck. This was the biggest fish that I have hooked into in a while with drag peeling run after drag peeling run. I knew I had a good one as the fight passed the one minute mark with a stalemate. The fish eventually ran out of gas and came up to the bottom of the hole. With the size 12 hook sunk into the corner of the fish’s mouth, it wasn’t going to be easy to get it’s long head turned up the 4.5 inch hole. After using some extreme finesse, I was finally able to get it up the hole. Once it’s head surfaced, my Dad struggled to get a grip on the slimy fish as it decided to come to life. It took three hands to slide the ~23 inch chain pickerel out of the hole. This one was headed for the dinner table.