Eventually, though, they run out of bourbon, and they don’t want to leave the house to get more. They might even get tired of hearing Ted Neeley bring the Holy-Funk. And they’ll let everyone on Facebook know just how sick of shoveling and making snowmen they really are. Well if you ask me, and I know you did, complaining never helped no one, no how. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can coexist peacefully with the weather.
Our northerly neighbors, the Canadians, have very much embraced their winters with all sorts of festivals and activities. And booze. Plenty of booze. The Canadians of America, also known as Minnesotans, have done something very similar. This winter I was lucky enough to spend some time with a real life Minnesotan. He’s known around these parts as Big R. He tried teaching me the ways of his people. So, one chilly morning we decided to go ice fishing. The following is an account of our ice fishing adventure…
We spent the better part of the morning preparing for our excursion. If there is one thing that I’ve learned about keeping warm in Wyoming it is the importance of layering. With this fabulous technique you should be able to get away with not owning anything too fancy. Or you can go out and spend $1000 on boots, pants and a coat designed for some jerk who wants to climb Mount Everest. Whatever you’re into. The fishing gear is also important to bring along. This should include at the very least an ice auger, ice fishing poles, bait, and beer. If you’re like my father then you should have at least a dozen ice fishing poles in buckets in the garage that you’ve been collecting at yard sales for the last thirty years. If you’re not like my father, then what exactly have you been doing with your life?
With all the preparations complete, we load up the truck and begin our long journey to the ice. Big R cranks up the Lady Gaga. The mood goes from anticipation to exhilaration. We’re ready for some action. As we drive across the Wyoming byways, the landscape begins to change. Barns become silos. Horses become cattle. Fences become slightly older fences. We’re not in Park County anymore. We’ve come at last to the Bighorn Reservoir, located near Lovell, WY, where it is rumored that everyone in town is related. I don’t hear any banjo music, but they all look a little too Deliverancey if you ask me.
We stop off at a gas station to pick up some minnows and corndogs. The minnows for fishing. The corndogs for my face. The clerk informs us that the only minnows she has left are a tad on the small side. “You still want em?” she asks. Big R hits her with his Minnesotan stare, and an empty sounding “Yeah.” A few minutes later she returns with a bucket of fish. Big R inspects the catch, and seems pleased with their stature. We exit, no more certain of the town’s mental capacity. Cousin fuckers, no doubt, but at least they know how to cook a corndog.
We pull up to a boat launch and start pulling out the gear and loading it up on sleds. The spot we plan on fishing is a good mile or so from the parking area, and the gear required for ice fishing is a bit more extensive than a pole and tackle box. For this reason, sleds are a good idea. Ice, as you might be aware, can be slippery. If there are patches of snow on the ice, you should keep on those for better traction. Big R hands out a pair of ice grippers. One of our sled pullers, May, slips them on over her boots. Her ice walking skills go instantly from Betty White to Ninja. She is ready to pull some sleds.
Surveying the reservoir, Big R starts leading us toward a small alcove where he reckons he’s had some luck before. Although devoid of fishermen today, as we walk across the frozen waters of the lake we pass by old fishing holes. So full of history. Joy and sorrow. Triumph and failure. Fish and beer. Now frozen mounds, like scars on the face of a leper, where tears mingle with fish guts. The fishermen have all gone home now. Distraught by the size of available minnows, perhaps. They’ve gone to seek comfort from the familiar. Ted Neeley and bourbon…
While the rest of us are lost in our thoughts, Big R seems to have already hoofed it halfway across the reservoir. After much trudging and several close calls of eating ice, eventually we arrive at our destination where Big R is already hard at work with the auger. An ice auger consists of two sharp blades on the end of a big drill bit. Above the bit are two handles, the top one which is stationary whilst the lower one rotates around the shaft. So while pushing down on the auger with your one hand, you use the other to rotate the drill. It takes a bit of work, but anyone that’s not completely useless should be able to do it. If you wanted, you can go out a buy an electric auger, which does most of the work for you, makes you a complete pansy, and pretty much sucks all the fun out of the day. If you aren't totally feeble, or you can't afford an electric auger, then you just gotta put your back into it. Heave!
The ice gives way with a crunch and the auger hits water. A good solid heave-ho and it should slide out and take most of the ice chunks out with it. The rest of the ice bits are scooped out with a fancy ice ladle. Now that the hole is clear, the fishing may commence. An ice fishing rig does not appear to have much in common with a fishing pole. They're kinda like fish traps, or something. It's basically just a contraption that sits on top of the hole with a little length of line in the water. A minnow or some other bait or lure is placed on the line and then you simply wait. Most of the traps have a flag that will flip up when a fish grabs your bait and starts pulling line out. Some rigs might also have bells on them. All very clever designs to wake you from your drunken stupor.
The hours tick by slowly. More holes are drilled. No fish are biting. There is much waiting around during ice fishing. So what do we do while we wait? “Have another beer,” Big R suggests. The experience of drinking cold beer while enduring sub-zero temperatures is something to cherish. However, if you somehow get bored of sitting around drinking beer, you can always try your luck with a regular fishing pole. Just drop it in the water with your bait or lure or whatever. Do a little jigging if it floats your boat. It certainly couldn’t hurt your chances of catching a fish.
The day wore on, but we still had no fish. Looking out across the lake, there were at least a dozen fishing rigs set up around us. We’d been out on the ice for four or five hours and the daylight was starting to fade. The time had come to call it a day. A most unsuccessful day. We start collecting our gear. Big R heads out to one of the further fishing rigs. The flag is up. He brings in the line, and sure enough there’s a fish on it. It’s a sauger, similar to a walleye. It was pretty much the best ice fishing trip ever. We brought our fish home, punched it in the face, and cut off the delicious meat that it was hiding in its body. Then we ate it. Good times!
these look great! hope the how-to-style commentary is as useful and amusing to others as it appears to me. sorry to about the folks of lovell.
ReplyDelete