I wrote this probably ten yeas ago now. I hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed the days most of the segments came from… Writer’s privilege heavily utilized.
Enjoy…

I Got my Limit Again’?

or

What’s so Great about Ice Fishing?

Approximately fifty of us decided to give it a go on Whitney Point Reservoir in South Central New York State. Whitney Point Reservoir is a man made lake the Army Corps of Engineers damned in the fifties as a flood control project. The flow of the original Otselic River is now interrupted by an impoundment approximately three quarters of a mile wide and three miles long, running North and South. Since it’s flooding, the lake has become one of the state’s foremost Crappie fisheries, not to mention the abundant Bass, Walleye, Perch, and occasional Tiger Musky.

As I proceeded to walk the three quarters of a mile across the lake to a spot I normally do pretty well, I couldn’t help wonder if my friends weren’t just a little smarter than I. Zero degrees, ten to fifteen mile per hour southwest winds, four to five inches of ice, seven a.m. Damn, what a beautiful day to be alive!

I started my heater even though I had warmed from the walk. I cut a hole with my spud and caught a fish before chipping my second hole. GREAT DAY! I’ll kill’em, who needs the heater? I re-baited, got my second line in, first hole’s frozen, clean it out… second hole’s covered with snow, clean it out… start over, twenty minutes, no fish.

I’m getting bored. I begin looking around and notice a group of four people about a hundred yards away speaking in a language I can’t quite identify. All the while I’m trying a tactic of fishing known as “foolin’ em.” With this tactic, you turn your head as far away from the view of your bobber (that’s already frozen in the hole) as you can. You then twist your eyeballs in their sockets until you feel twinges of pain. I looked back at the folks up the ice, forced the cross-eyed effect out the “foolin’em” tactic tends to invoke on one’s eyes, and saw one of these people walking towards me with what looked like a hibachi! Realizing these people are of some Oriental heritage, thoughts are going through my mind they’re being neighborly and are going to offer me some “ground cured” chicken eggs or some other delicacy from their homeland. Now imagine it… I’m trying to think of some lie – I’m too hung over, I’m allergic to rotten eggs, I have to leave, I just had six myself. Strange thing she, it turned out, only had charcoal briquettes in her hibachi. Unique way of staying warm while on the move, I thought to myself, carry an open flame with you. I’ll have to try that when my heater breaks. Anyway, when this gal gets near me, she says in broken English, “You got cha’ col? I need cha’col.” Now, I’ve used this fishin’ tactic in the past and know it tends to muddle the brain, but this sure looked like charcoal to me she already had. Maybe these people are as frugal as I’ve heard and she’s mixin a fishin’ trip with some type of home energy shopping spree – nope, can’t be it’- REVELATION! Maybe she doesn’t need charcoal after all! Maybe she needs something else! I say “no, no charcoal”, she says “oh relly?” Her squinted eyes seemed to accuse me of lying. “No, no charcoal,” I said, as she looked at my sled like she’s superwoman and can see the contents. She then went on to say, “You got any lata’ flid?” Lata’ flid? As slow as even I am right about now I figgered she must mean lighter fluid. Now I don’t know much about foreign technology. I do however start thinkin’ maybe her home heater burns anything – nope, can’t be it. Must want to start her charcoal. Now, I’m looking at this gal with an eerie type of respect because indeed, inside my sled, inside a bag, waaay down on the bottom I do have a can of lighter fluid. How did she know? I dug out the lighter fluid and gave it to her. “Thang u, thang u,” she said with a smile that would make Martha Ray envious. She took the can and proceeded to pour it on the charcoal. I thought maybe she’s going to cook right here – nope, she’s going to light it here and carry a flame the size of a pickup truck back to her tent! Not wishing to smell burning snowmobile suit, I suggested she take the can with her, and she did. “Thang u, — thang u.” – Good deed done for the day.

Time to get back to fishin’. I looked back at my holes and realized my bobbers were gone! Who needs a heater! Grab my rod – WHAM! – Nope, bobber’s froze – chip em’ out, bait’s gone – thank God for the heater – hav’n a great time.

One hour passes, one fish. Chip the ice, check the bait, chip the ice, and check the bait. Second hour, a fish, I looked around and saw the neighbors are hav’n a picnic. I’m thinking rotten eggs may not be so bad… this sure is fun.

Actually, as cold as it was, I hadn’t zipped up my coat or pant legs yet. I’d relied on my first four layers of clothes, both on top and bottom, for comfort. I held my outer layers in reserve in case I needed them. The Coleman heater in my sled believe it or not was warm enough that I didn’t need gloves or mittens – so far. With my back to the wind and hot coffee from my thermos I was quite comfortable. The ice is so serene it’s hard not to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet of The Fools Domain.

This hasn’t been a very productive spot with only five fish in four hours. I decided it’s time to move – gotta’ find the hot spot. (Forever the optimist.) I Chipped out the bobbers, reeled up the rods, threw the dead minnows down the hole – I’m on the road again.

The wind’s died down. Watching the ice as I go, so I don’t step in a hole previously cut, I’m aware of the alternating patches of ice and snow. As I drag my sled behind me, the sled damn near jerks me off my feet as it hits a patch of snow — sleds on snow, feet on ice — slip & slide, feet on snow, sleds’ on ice, sled damn near runs me down, – so it goes…

“Bad, bad, Leroy Brown,”…….

Husband, wife, two kids — look at the size of that guy! — steam rolling off his bald head like he’s on fire.

”Baddest man in the whole damn town…”

Guy over there, got his head down the hole? Must be the “Big Foot” technique I’ve heard of, either that or a rough morning after..)

“And you don’t mess around with Jim…”

Caught a nice bass here last spring

HEY! there’s a guy in the spot I wanted!!! I’ll bet he’s killin’ em’ — just my luck… “Ed! How ya’ doin’? Havin’ any luck?”

“Naw, only got twelve Clem, how about you?”

Show off “ Well, you’re doin’ better n’ me, I only caught ten” Well, I did cut em’ up in pieces – I’m outa’ here – just my luck, him stealin’ MY fishin’ hole. That’s probably all that’s left here anyway. “Well, good luck Ed” Yeah right, hope your bait dies, you hole thief.

“Da da da da de de de —-.”

Well, been here another hour and a half, no more fish. I knew that thief had the hot spot. There’s George’s shanty over there, he’s the best fisherman on the lake, I wonder how he’s doin’…

Damn, here comes somebody, I better hide some of these fish — shouldn’t hav’ to. Who made that stupid twenty five-limit rule anyway? — Plastic bag’l work, I’ll tie it off, shove it down the hole, jes’ looks like a piece o’ rope left o’er — nobody’l know.

“George!!!, You in there?”

Hell, it’s that pest Clem.- “Yea, who’s there? — Oh, hi Clem, good to see ya’.”

“Doin’ any good George?”

“Not t’bad, I got twenty r’so, how bout’ you?”

“ You’re doin’ better n’ me, I only got seventeen” I had to lie, I didn’t cut em up that small! “Mind if I dig a hole somewhere here? – Don’ wanna impose.”

“Nah go ahead, it’s a free lake, glad to hav’ ya.” Damn!.

Dug a hole, bated up, holes froze, chipped out the ice – here I go again. “George! I heard 4 people went through last week end.”

“Yea, damn fools don’ pay attention – helped two of em’ out m’ own self”

“You were out here? There was still open water over the old river.

“Yea I was here, people don’ unnerstan.’ Y’ gotta stay on the sidewauk on thin aas. (Ice.)”

“Sidewalk? Boy, nice fish y’ got there. What’s that, three in the last ten minutes?”

(Shrugs) “Yea, y’ know Clem, y’ got cracks with thin aas, water seeps through, snow hits it, freezes. Y’ end with a whole inch or so – gotta stay on the sidewauks”

An inch? this guys nuts! “Ah — I gotta go George, my chef’s callin’ me. See that hibachi way up there? Dinner must be done. Oh, y’ got somethin’ stuck in your hole!”

“No Clem!!…”

“No, I don’t mind, jes’ a rope, ya’ hate t’ see junk on the ice y’ know? There, sank clear to the bottom – “See ya’ later George!”

Boy, that George sure was upset I was leavin’, He’s still wavin,’ “See y’ in the spring George! We’ll have t’get t’gether again!” He’s still wavin’! A little nuts, but sure is a nice guy.

The wind’s shifted out of the north and wind’s picked up. The air’s crisp and just as clear as a bottle o’ pure hooch. Way up the north end o’ the lake it’s started snowin’. You can see the snow movin’ down the lake like pure white smoke rourin’ down a bottle. As it moves down the lake, it looks to be swaller’n up evr’thin’ in it’s path – could be a rough trip back.

Looks like a bad storm comin’ I zipped up my pant legs, zipped up my coat, and pulled my scarf up around my neck. The only thing exposed were my eyes, so I can see. The storm’s drownin’ every shanty one by one as it passes through… gettin’ closer. The wall of snow in front of me, and still crystal clear behind. All of a suddon the solid wall of snow surrounded me like a cold, comfortable mood. My face stung from the cold and began to tighten up like the moisture was being sucked out by the wind. I couldn’t see my hand at the end of my arm, only white. This must be what it’s like to be blind… except this’ll end.

What did I step on? Fish layin’ on the ice! And look at them Walleye! Must be TWENTY-SEVEN INCHES LONG! Nobody around – somebody musta’ left em’. Jeez, now I caught – six, seven, eight, nine…

“Hey, WHAT ARE YOU DOIN? Those are my fish!”

Sez a guy so close to me his eyes look like bloodshot bowlin’ balls. “Whaaaat!……? Oh, you scared the behoomies out o’ me! Sorry, I jes’ figgered’ some body forgot em’ – didn’t wanna see em’ go to waste. What d’y’ got there fifteen, twenty?”

“NO, I didn’t leave them and NO there’s not TWENTY, there’s TWENT-THREE! I’m just waiting to catch another two so I can leave!”

Touchy! “Oh, sorry buddy, I really did think somebody forgot em’, woulda’ been a pain anyways. Didn’t wanna clean em’ anyhow. Jes’ didn’t want em’ to go to waste. Got my limit earlier. Jes’ gave twenty to George down the lake. You know George? He caught five hisself. Didn’t wan’ him to be illegal would we?”

“No I don’t know George. – Well, OK – yea I’ll take your fish, if you don’t want em’. That’l end my day.”

Whew, he don’t know George! “OK buddy, we’ll see ya’.” He’s got twenty-eight Crappie! Where’s the game warden when y’ want em’, heh, heh, heh..”Have fun there buddy!”

Still can’t see nothin’ but white. Last I knew, the wind was outa’ the north. If I head in t’ the wind I oughta’ end up across from the truck. Slippin and sliddin, blinded by white. This oughta’ be far nuff’. Gotta turn so the wind’s ticklin’ my left ear. There’s the end o’ the ice; there’s shore. Nothin’ looks familiar. Oh yea, there’s the flagpole. Wind and snow’s die’n down, truck can’t be far away. I sure was lucky to end up this close, THERE she is.

Well, I’ve got my sled loaded and the truck warmed up. Got my limit Jes’ like always. Twenty-eight crappie and two walleye! Too bad I gave em’ away. This was another GREAT DAY on the ice. The only thing that bothers me…….

What’ll I tell the guys at the pub?

Nothin’ special ever happens to me ——

Well, ah could make up a story…

Foosis