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Cold Weather, Hard Work, and Big Rewards

I don’t think that I can remember a day where I actually wanted to waste time in the morning before fishing, but with temperatures well below zero when I woke up last Friday, I figured it couldn’t hurt to let the mercury climb a little before hitting the ice. The destination for the day was Knights Point State Park in North Hero where my Dad and I would have easy access to an isolated body of water called The Gut. The target species for the day was Yellow Perch, but I was also planning an experimental attempt to target larger predatory fish with a half dozen tip-ups, a 4 1/2 inch hand auger and a spud bar. Upon arrival, I spotted a permanent shanty already parked in the southern part of the bay and a couple flip-overs a mile and some change away from the state park. Not a trek that I felt like making with the thermometer in the truck reading a mere 2 degrees, but someday I wouldn’t mind seeing what the big attraction is. After putting on one layer too many, we unloaded our jet sleds and struck out for a predetermined location that has brought us some luck over the past few years when it comes to catching some fish for the pan.

My first impression when I stepped onto the ice was that it was going to be a comfortable and easy walk to our fishing spot with the snow drifts packed solid by the prevailing winds only the day before. That feeling went away soon after. My face and hands were already getting cold, but my head and body were on fire. I quickly started unzipping layers to let off some of my excess heat and took my hat off for a minute until I had cooled off a little. The entire day was just one big body temperature roller coaster. One minute I would be sweating buckets, the next a chill would engulf my entire body. I was relieved to finally drill a couples holes, sit on my bucket, and get to jigging. Almost immediately both my Dad and I were catching tiny perch after tiny perch and we set aside a select few who made the cut to be pike bait. Now, the fun part.

For my first experimental tip-up hole I decided to drill three holes each about an inch or two apart from each other in a triangle. Then I began chiseling out the ice separating the three holes until the center chunk was reduced to ice shards and broken free. After scooping out the hole I was able to flare out the bottom of the hole to ensure that there weren’t any line shredding edges that would cost me a lunker if I was lucky enough to hook into one. The first hole seemed to go smoothly enough, so after putting down the first tip-up, I walked about 80 yards away and started on another hole. The sharp blades of both the auger and the spud bar would’ve been able to make short work of each hole if there was only 4 inches of ice and it was 30 degrees outside, but instead there was 10 inches of ice and with every hole more and more ice would build up on the auger, making it more and more difficult to turn. It was like dipping a string into a can of hot wax repeatedly and watching a candle form, only this time I was making an augercicle! By the end of the day I had a solid 2 inches of ice over the entire auger, and that’s after cleaning the whole thing off halfway through the trip. I guess that’s how you know it’s cold outside. That and when your wet glove freezes instantly to any piece of metal it touches.

The perch fishing was deathly slow in the area that we were fishing with only 3 keeper perch caught over 1.5 hours of jigging. With the exception of three flags in a row that resulted in an eater pickerel, the day was beginning to look like a bust. We needed to make a move. I struck off on my own with the auger and spud bar and punched three new holes, while my Dad set up the shanty to offer some shelter from the constant shower of ice crystals falling from the lower atmosphere and the light breeze that, although barely noticeable, was quite bone chilling. By the time I had finished the third hole in the set, my shoulder was sore and my tank was running on empty. My Dad brought the last tip-up over to the hole I had just chopped out and quickly placed the perch into the water in an attempt to thaw it’s frosted fins and keep it good and lively. As he walked by he looked at his watch. “Whoa, we only have about an hour left to fish! I didn’t realize how late it was already.” I didn’t realize the time either! I was so frustrated with myself for wasting a good two hours cutting holes in the ice like a caveman, putting tip-ups in random spots around the bay, when I should’ve just focused on finding some panfish. I immediately drilled a hole where I was standing and began fishing. A while later I moseyed back to the shanty, cold and defeated. I sat down next to my Dad in our Clam popup and welcomed the shelter. While I really wanted to keep trying to find the resident school of perch, my fatigued body told me to just give it a rest.

With the windows of the shanty covered in frozen condensation, I peered through a small opening in the door to see if we had any... FLAG! I didn’t know I could run that fast with the number of layers that I had on! I sprinted across the snow covered ice with a new found, adrenaline-induced energy and excitement. When I walked up to the iced over hole I could hear the spool screaming line. I broke the ice with my fingers and watched as the spool came to a sudden stop. My heart sank. Had the fish dropped the bait? I stared intently at the motionless line. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but after what felt like a whole minute, the spool twitched twice and then started feeding out line at a leisurely pace. I carefully pulled the tip-up out of the hole and grabbed the line. When I set the hook the line seemed to go slack, but as I yanked it in I eventually caught up to the fish again and the battle was on. The fish darted away from the hole and straight into the thick mat of weeds on bottom. I knew that this was the perfect opportunity for the fish to throw the hook, so I kept the pressure on him and slowly pulled on the line. Eventually I broke free from the bottom and was able to just pull the line in hand over hand. A massive ball of weeds was the first thing to break the surface of the water and at that point I had my doubts about whether there was actually a fish still on the line. About three feet below the first ball of weeds I saw a thrashing head enter the hole. My Dad quickly muckled onto the 32.5 inch pike and slid him onto the ice. By this time I was freaking out, overwhelmed with joy and the sense of accomplishment. The ceremonial fist bumps were exchanged, as I hoisted up my reward and carried him back to the shanty. Victory at last.

While this was certainly an experience that I may never forget, I think next time I’ll just bring the ol’ Jiffy Model 30 and spare my muscles.

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