Our footprints were the only ones
on the lake aside from the coyote tracks we followed to our spot. It was a deliberate
walk in single file, testing the ice in front of each step with whacks from a heavy
steel chisel. There should have been more ice than there was, but a recent snow
had slowed its growth and hid her imperfections. Even still, there was enough black
ice under a grey layer to make us feel comfortable, and temps would be stuck in
the 20s all day.
It was mighty good to be ice
fishing again, but in the back of our minds we knew it was fleeting. Just like last
season, it looked like we could be in for only a short window, so we had to make
it count. That’s why we took the day from work and set our alarms for 3 a.m. It’s
also why we brought more gear than we needed. What’s the point of owning all of
this stuff if we don’t get to use it?
A flag went up just as snowflakes
from a light system started to come down. Jeff noticed it first, standing tall
on the farthest tip-up in my spread. The bait was a large fallfish that I had
trapped in my home waters and vacuum-sealed almost two years before. It’s hard
to describe the feeling when approaching a dead bait flag on a windless day. Suffice
to say, it was exciting to look down and see a slow rolling spool with line off
to the side.
With a firm tug on the Dacron, my
hook found purchase in the maw of a hefty pike and the fight was on. Euphoria was
soon replaced by despair when the tension went slack. The predator below had
bolted toward the hole, fooling me into thinking I had lost her. Once I retrieved
enough line to come tight again, our spirits lifted and the battle resumed in
close quarters. The fish was still green when her jaw opened just enough for a
plastic gripper, and we kept her in the water as we removed the hook and readied
the camera.
When we pulled the entire fish from the hole, what struck me first was its color. It sported the darkest greens I had ever seen on an esox—just an absolutely gorgeous specimen, thick from head to tail, well on its way to becoming a true trophy. After quick photos and a measurement, she kicked away strong and cemented a memorable first-fish-of-the-year moment. Jeff and I were flying high for the rest of the outing and it set the tone for the ensuing days, which may or may not have been the last of the ice season. Time will tell.
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