Sweet surroundings: A great way to enjoy winter. Fish or no fish.
Okay, this report on Saturdayâs ice-fishing outing is a bit late, but Iâve been toying with how best to sum up the comedy of errors that resulted in me coming home with just one fish for the smoker. Anyway, here goes:
Problem 1: The 4:30 a.m. rendezvous at Highway 404 and Aurora Road north of Toronto. I went to bed at 2 a.m. What can I say? It was poker night.
Problem 2: I got to drive Gordieâs vintage Skidoo. I do believe it is seven years younger than my 46 years. Donât get me wrong: I got it going on the fourth pull, and the motor still runs great. The steering, however, well, thatâs another story. Halfway to the lake (all I can say is that itâs just outside Fort Irwin, and just south of Algonquin Park), the steering went. As I stood waving my arms at the steadily shrinking dots that were Gord, PK and David on their machines, it soon became apparent that Iâd have to call on my inner-MacGyver. I popped the casing and quickly discovered the cotter pin holding the steering arm to the whatsit had sheered off. By the time I tied it back on with the rabbit snare wire from my SOL survivor kit, PQ roared up on his vintage â89 Cat. He came up with a much better fix. Now I donât have an O-ring on the lanyard for my line clipper.
Problem 3: So, a couple of hours in weâre fishless (which is perhaps the real Problem 3) and I leave my jigging hole to go get a cup of tea at the campfire, about 75 metres away at the shoreline. Yeah, I did it: I propped my rod against the fold-up stool with the line in the water (bait of choice for our targeted rainbows and splake: a creek chub tipped on a single blood-red hook hanging off a spoon). You can guess what happened. Letâs just say my tea survived the sprint with me to the escaping rod, but got dumped when I dove and shoved my arm down the hole, the cork butt just millimetres from my grasping fingers. I figure the thief was one of the lakeâs resident five-pound rainbows.
Problem 4: Perhaps sensing my despair over losing my set-up (Gordie, on the other hand, was poking much fun over the incident), David graciously lent me his jigging rod. As I re-rigged his rod, I left my tip-up unattended, falsely confident that Gordieâs circa 1958 buzzers would let me know if a fish hit. Then, the fish gods, perhaps rewarding David for sharing his gear, set off his buzzer. He pulled in his line and the hook was bareâ"but snagged on another fishing line. So he pulled in that line and found a nice splake on the end. Long story short: it was the friggin line from my tip up. Apparently the fish hit and the line sheered off on the crust of ice over the hole, all without tripping the buzzer.
Okay, to sum up: comedy of errors equals some good stories (and some good excuses for not catching a whack of fish; I usually do well on that particular lake). All was not lost, however. I did have a nice smoked trout to share with my neighbours at our local Super Bowl party. And best of all, I had a great winter day in the outdoors with some great fishing buddies.
Gordieâs ribbing notwithstanding.
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///// FOLLOW ON TWITTER: @OutdoorWalsh ///// Outdoor Canada Editor Patrick Walsh grew up fishing and hunting in Bracebridge, Ontario, where he began his magazine career in 1983 as assistant editor of Muskoka Life. Since then, he has worked for a variety of media, both in Canada and abroad, earning numerous writing and editing awards. In both 2011 and 2005, the Canadian Society of Magazine Editors named him Editor of the Year, while Outdoor Canada was honoured as Magazine of the Year. Learn more: www.outdoorcanada.ca.
