And so it begins .....

I am getting used to this……. showing up late to the river, missing first light, being 11^th in line looking for a parking spot. It’s not that I think I have to be the first there or that I will miss out on that window of opportunity where the fish simply turn on and will thrash at a bare hook. The sound of the am alarm sparks the old ticker and I am sitting up like a jack-in-the-box. Then I sink back into the warm cozy comforter and moulded pillow contemplating just how much more time I can afford before I have to get moving. There seems to always be some event happening the night before that keeps me up later than I should when there is an early start to the day ahead.

Last night was no different. Our son’s competitive hockey season has come to an end. Coach had a final skate with the team splitting them up and playing a fun 3 on 3. Afterwards we had gathered for some pizza and nachos. I finally excused myself from the festivities around 11pm. By the time I got home and settled in, it was near midnight. I always think it that it will be fine. There are always Red Bulls or 5-hour shots if need be though more and more, one should really stay away from that stuff.

Traffic on the road was lighter but not the case at the access. I knew I would not have pole position however rolling up to a parade of trucks and small imports; the day was not looking grand. At the bottom of the path, it was a toss-up on whether to veer right or left. I went for the most productive pool I frequent. Of course, three others were occupying the real estate I wanted so I settled for the inside seam on the opposite side of the river. At least I was alone here. It was not really producing as I watched several bent rods and photo sessions across from me.

You do the math and figure that if these three were together, chances are they all came in one vehicle which meant the others must be scattered at the other spots. Most likely, good sections above and below would be occupied so I buckled down and started making adjustments and changing up presentations. Just when action had come to a lull, my float slipped under. A decent fresh fish determined to take me down through the tail out and into the rapids. I will admit, I love using 8lb tippets with the CTS 13.6. It’s really not fair. It was a quick turn back upstream followed with an effortless slide to the bank.    

Just when the water was looking to clear up, it seemed to go off. I could have pounded the drifts, change up to a searching leader set up but I don’t enjoy off colour water nor do I fish with that type of presentation anymore. I had picked up another fish and lost the same amount up to now. The wind was bitter and my face and finger tips were tingling despite the Buffs and wool flip ups. How much was another fish worth and did I really need any more satisfaction?

When I sit back and think about the last outing ( as I often do), regardless of the conditions and whether I hooked up with fish,  to be able to recoup and regroup at the river’s edge is something I will never take for granted.

High Bank

Back in 2006, I was young and determined to winter steelhead. This capture shows the ice build up along the banks. The rods in the picture do not show just how crazy this was. Over six feet high and possibly greater in some spots. Walking a hundred yards over this ice to get to the river, we said it would be the last time we would do so. It would not take much to bust you up if you were to fall through a weak point.

Not the brightest thing to be doing but after all these years,I went steelheading today despite having that gut feeling the year round open section of the river would have little to offer. A wise steelheader told me long ago that 10% of the water holds 90% of the fish. Somewhat similar, this available section at this time of the year has about that amount of productive drifts.

The sun was to make an appearance but it never showed. The air temps were still comfortable but not warm enough to run the reel gloveless. That metal is still very cold and sucks the energy from your hands and fingers.

The river, low and clear.

We started off slow, continued along the morning very slowly and the ending was as slow as molasses. I did not hit a fish until 11-ish...... and it was a sucker. Perfect. Are they coming in now? Admittedly, with nothing happenning, part of me was hoping for a few more suckers just to put a bend in the rod.

I adjusted the shot pattern  (to something totally opposite from what I had been running all morning), switch to a  4lb leader and put the float into the same seam I had been working for the past 30 mins. Recall I mentioned that there is not much productive water in the section and we had reached the upper limit of legal real estate to fish on. Wouldn't you know, my float shoots under. I set the rod back hard. There was a violent pounding on my rod tip, line zig zagging through the water cutting the surface up. It bolted up past me and into some big rocks. I could feel the line rubbing against the stones' edge as I stretched out with one arm while braking the reel, trying to steer it out. When I did get it back into the main current, the fish rolled me like an crocodile. The frayed fluorocarbon gave way.There was nothing more after that.

When I got home, I threw the 4lb leader into my fishing locker. Fat chance it will see light any time soon.

Third Time's the Charm

We have been talkng about it for several years but the work/home schedule had never worked out. Over the last few weeks, I made some effort to get on Jack's schedule to get him on the ice for the first time. The previous two times, the weather dashed our hopes. This third attempt was almost done in as well. My wife was unexpectedly notified at the last moment by her employer expecting her to be in Cambridge the very day Jack and I were making ice fishing plans. We thought about hitting up Simcoe for lake trout and whitefish in the morning with the fallback "guarantee" for perch if we did not fare well early on.

Local it was. Being a cherry busting trip for Jack, I wanted to ensure he got action. With my son able to wrestle up a few days earlier, it was obvious that we should return to the same ice grounds. With a comfortable start to the day ( 9am-ish), we got to the pond. I was fairly certain it had not lost any ice, just the snow on top having truned to slush. I was close, the snow was a thin layer but there was not much slush. It was pure H2o on top of the ice!! It was gonna be one wet day if we were clumsy and not mindful of things.

Jack set up with the flasher and immediately marked fish on the bottom two feet of the column. He got a hit shortly after adjusting to the depth but he had that steelheader hook set which usually rips the jig right out. I drilled my hole about seven yards away and found them along bottom as well. Trick for me was that I had on a smaller jig. We quickly switched Jack over. That was the ticket. He was " on like Donkey Kong" the rest of the day.

It's time ..........

Raising your children is may be the biggest of challenges any parent will face in life.  The more one reads up on this, the greater this may seem to be. They say nurses and doctors can be the worst people when it comes to the health of their own. Because of their knowledge and experiences, they can be overly cautious and preventative, some to an OCD level. We (my wife and I) try to give our kids the best we can afford and I am not just referring to this as financially but also to that of sacrificing a little more personally so they are happy.  A happy disposition can open up positive learning and creativity in them.

Brandon has been asking me for close to two years to take him ice fishing. I had not felt he was ready from all perspectives. Many dads almost force fishing on their children and some kids will take to it while with others, they end up disliking it into adulthood. This past Saturday I finally decided he was ready to take to the ice. He began to show a real interest in fishing over the summer, casting stick baits and drifting worms to smallmouth.

Gung ho he was. So much so that he had the sled down the hill and making his way along the path to the ice before I could zip up my float suit. As I gave him the safety protocol, he only questioned the ice once. We assured him that he would not be allowed out until we confirmed there was at least a six inch thickness of ice. I went out first and checked it.

He soon followed, pulling with all he could. The recent snow storm blanketed the pond and we were shin high. It’s good to know there is a new gear mule on the scene.

When we reached “the spot”, I immediately punched a hole and dropped a jig and wax worm to the bottom for him. A second rod was set up just in case. He wanted to use the flasher.

Who was I to deny such enthusiasm! 

With a quick tutorial, he picked it up with little hesitation. It was like a video game to him. As I drilled a second hole (about 10 yards away), he was putting a bend in the short rod.

He had just iced his first fish, ever. As I took a capture for the memories, I think the grin on my face was as large as his.

For the next little while, he would switch between rods and holes running and gunning for those panfish. There was even a bit of light cursing each time he would miss the bite or lose one on the way up.

There were a few instances where he reeled so hard, I thought for sure there would be burst bladders hanging out of the mouth or just a set of fish lips on the end of the jig.

Introducing something of which we are passionate about to our children requires tremendous patience and effort. One would be foolish to assume they will automatically like it or pick it up right away.

While the fish under us were moving around in pods and many of them having lock-jaw, the focus on what to do with him became a spontaneously different task. I was not quite prepared for this and eventually frustration and boredom deflated him and watching a colored screen and jigging had lost its appeal.

Taking breaks in the pop up got old. Add to this, his hands were cold from having his gloves off, the slime that started to dry and harden and his feet were chilling uncomfortably, it was time to call it a successful outing.  As I packed up, Brandon filled in the holes we had drilled.

He pulled the gear back along the path we came out, all the way to the bottom of the hill. I was very impressed and proud of him on this day. I think part of me was patting myself on the back for deciding to commit to make this work out the best I could. He never once talked sports, of his hockey playoffs or how his soccer team will fare this summer. For a few hours, most of what engulfs his daily life was not present. He didn’t even pull out his iPod.

90 minutes

Not sure why we decided to go icing on one, if not the coldest day of 2013 thus far. I think somewhere in this mass above my shoulders there was a thought that it would be cool to be first on the ice right after the recent warm spell that made most bodies of water unsafe to ice fish.  It was what, -26 with the windchill today? Forget who in their right minds would stand outside on top of frozen water in these conditions, why is the real question here.

During the first hole we drilled, a three way pressure crack popped out in different directions before we could get through to water.  I sprung like a mongoose avoiding a lunging snake and two-stepped ten feet back.  The ice was no more than four inches at best. It didn’t look like we should be fishing on this stuff but we decided to move further over to test another spot. What would make us think the ice was any better seemed illogical and if true, unnerving as to just how unpredictable ice formation can be.

I had a different ice scooper with me. One that did not have a measurement on it so I hand measured the thickness. It was five inches. Go figure it was better so we moved over more and repeated the test. It was also a good five. Now my hand is red and really feeling wintery. Where did common sense go when I decided to take off my glove off deserves no answer.

We lasted only 90 minutes out there. Why would anyone go through all this only to wimp out in such a short time?

Because…..

It’s what we do in the winter while we wait for the rivers to become ideal for steelheading again. It’s fun to see fish on the flasher. It’s like playing a video game. See the fish come in, dangle the offering to them, make them move for it and trigger them to strike.

The Rolling Rock, burgers and wings were instrumental in bringing us back up to normal body temps.

Got Ice?

I sit here looking out the window. With all this rain melting the driveway black, I am thinking of rivers and steelhead though just a few days ago, I was on the phone to Brad whilst standing in the tackle shop.

" You need anything while I'm here?"

Brad's reply made me chuckle out loud.

" Nope. I still have some of the stuff I bought last year, still in the package!"

I was in for new auger blades but could not help picking up a few tungsten jigs. Apparently they are the latest thing. They look identical to the lead painted ones I was using last winter but these are smaller and heavier. When it comes to ice fishing for perch and panfish, I am a big fan of small presentations. Maramooska's are my favorite, down to a #18 - #20 hook. The only downside is that I need to use shot on the line to get the jig down. These new tungsten jigs resemble the same jighead shape as the Maramooska but are weighted enough that I only need to send it down the hole. Having no shot on the line heightens the sensitivity.

Safe ice, from a personal comfort level, around here is scarce at the moment. The ice seemed still in its early stages so while there was good fishing to be had up on Cooks or down at Mitchell's, I was not willing to make those longer drives just yet. Instead, a local pond would have set up as thick as those farther away. I text'd Brad and told him to come by the house after 9am and we would head over to check out the ice conditions.

" Bring an ice rod with you just in case. "

When we arrived, we were alone though boot and sled tracks on the pond proved we were not only the first nor the stupid ones eager to ice fish. A slow shimmy with the rope in hand " in case", we followed the tracks to some pre-drilled holes. It was all solid so we popped a fresh one. Three inches of solid good black ice with another inch of white unstable ice encrusted on top.



Not what I consider 100% comfortable. We moved in away from the main channel of the pond and punch a few more holes and started jigging.

There wasn't much expectations of icing let alone getting into fish however, five hours later, I called it a day as I wanted to surprise my son at school and pick him up so he did not have to take the school bus home.





I don't think this weather we are currently having will do the ice fishing anglers any favors. Looks like the 13' rod will need to come out of hibernation next week.

With only a few weeks left to our season and the ever increasing amount of preparations to look after before the big fat guy comes down the chimney, a good friend and I made the last minute decision to take advantage of the opening in our schedules. I had just fished several days prior, coming home with fishy gloves. The river was a smidge higher and more coloured than what I consider as “prime”. I had also heard that it fished better the day after I was there. We could only guesstimate where they could be on the system and plan accordingly.

Brad offered to drive which turned out to be the better. On our way up, our speed was reduced to 60km/hour as the snow was coming down nicely and blanketing the road. My car would have been all over. We eventually got stuck behind a salt truck. Though we were not in a rush as I figured not too many would be out, the reduced paced with an obstructed view ahead did not necessarily agree with two anglers whom were having visions of steelhead dancing in their heads.

There was a calming that came over me when we got out of the car. Not another vehicle around and the river still had a good clip to her and the colour mixed quite nice. Taking our time, we discussed which run to hit first. For a moment, it seemed like we were engaged in some serious business dialogue. The calming had begun to developed into excitement.  At the end of the walk in, we decided to split up and hit different drifts in efforts to locate them.

Adjusting my float and adding some shot, I hear a crash that broke the zenquility. As I looked up and over, Brad was frantically trying to catch up to his line from one of those hero drifts. The fish came back up on him and then burst across the river. I think Brad was still gathering the slack line when it spit the hook. So like any good buddy would, as he re-tied, I slipped around to low-hole him…….. and banked the first fish of the day.

Payback is a bitch. On the next run, Brad took advantage of yet another re-tie I was blessed with.

Right in front of me his float would dip under however this time, he made no mistake and set the rod back hard.

It was a big buck that would tear up the run despite the reduced temperatures.

Eventually he could not break the heavy tippet. Brad slid him onto the grass for a quick pic and admiration before sending him back.

Squared up on the hijinks, we decided to hit as many runs before the mid-way point of the day and then work the same runs and pools back to the vehicle.

We were certain there would be more than one fish in them as we could only muster one at each stop along the way. Instincts proved accurate as we connected with a few more on the latter part of the outing.

One particular highlight was a very large fish that had Brad hopping across the river in pursuit. Never seen him go with so little caution. As I got down below him and the fish, I caught a glimpse and thought it was a late entry salmon. It was that big. We had to have been close to five minutes into the battle and a good 50 meters downstream. It was no surprise that the knot gave way and sent his rig directly back at him. He was fortunate that it all hit his chest otherwise he would be asking for his two front teeth this Christmas.

There may be one more trip out before the 25^th. For now, it’s off to wrap the damn presents…..

Our rivers got the rain they needed. There was anticipation and hope for a well-timed trip. More hope than anything else as I have not been timing things to its potential. There always seem to be something that takes precedence and admittedly, I don’t want to miss any of my son’s practices or games these days.

I had given myself half a day on Thursday which would leave plenty of time to return home, clean up and organize his hockey gear. Maybe even sneak in a nap. How nice would that be? What I did not plan was that the alarm sounded off at 4:30am and I decided to give myself a 90 minute snooze button option! I almost rolled over to stay in bed, contemplating a day of begging and changing appointments in order to go the following day. I have learned from past experiences to stick to the original course if I knew what was good for me.

Arriving quite past first light, several cars had easily beaten me there. I was to fish second water. Lately, I have come to accept it and have had success none the less. Today was nothing different. I started low on one tributary thinking the conditions would keep them short after entering from the lake. Didn’t think for a moment I would be alone.

And though it was never meant intentionally, I found myself drifting a piece of a tailout where I thought the fish would hold given the amount of presentations and float popping that was going on. It was also being drifted by another so I essentially pinned him from across the other side. He had more room and drift than I however I don’t think he could see the two rocks that I could see. These two rocks made a nice chute just ahead of the fast water. On my first drift through, the Oregon Cheese yarn pattern got smacked. Easily to hand but right after the click of the camera, it took my fly.

I only stayed a couple of hours here. The action slowed down and though I knew there were still a few there, I decided to leave fish for more seclusion and unpressured fish. After a drive around, several access points were occupied. It was doubtful there would be a chance at any non-spooked fish. While there was a notion to call it a day only after fishing for a few hours, I decide to drop back to a different system and hope for the best, that few would be there.

Pulling up, there were three cars cold to the touch. Assuming it would be only three others and there was plenty of water up or down, my hopes were rejuvenated when I saw the greenie water.  Double stepping to one of my favorite high flow runs and wouldn’t you know, not another around!  I should have changed floats but time seemed to be pacing out very quickly. Instead, adjustments to the set up were made in order to support the “wrong” float for the application. Within minutes, a quick take and a two second zig zag left my set up hanging on some bank brush.

My Blackberry chimed off the 60 minute warning. “Fish Fast” was what I had noted in my alarm pop up. And indeed I did. I wanted to cover two other drifts. Falling over growth that had not been knocked down by the weather, I stumbled to another run. Again, first drift into it, a feisty hen not happy that the meal she wanted was just hard plastic.

I wish I could have been on the river again today. Water levels would have made for easier navigations to various runs. Looking forward to the next outing. Perhaps I can leave the orange toque at home.

Paying attention

.......... then there are times I become so engrossed in the drift, you could walk right up to me and I would be oblivious to your presence.

This was evident towards the end of the other day when Rob and I were out looking for silver.  We had been undecided on what water to drift at first light. Turned out, we (as usual) were still driving as the sky went from black to blue.  Again, the access was empty. The river had some decent flow and the colour, nice. Combined, there were runs set up to hold fish.  Well, except the fish must not have known about them. The river had beaten us early this morning. I paraded my entire selection of patterns, threw down some organics and all I was rewarded with were a few creek chubs. We have always said that the sign of creek chubs meant there is a void of steelhead. We hiked back to the truck.

Still early in the day, it was mid-morning. A few suggested alternatives were thrown around but we both realized that it would be too late to make a day of those spots. Instead, we took a chance for fresh fish and most likely, occupied second water.

Surprised but hopeful. When we arrived, the only two anglers before us were just finishing up. That was the surprise we did not expect. The hope would be at the expense of seeing several very fresh silver brood stocks tugging at the clasp that was holding them back from freedom. There are always another few around after most spots have been fished. As much as I understand those that like to keep a few for table fare, I would think that a more selective harvest would be the sensible thing. It would also be shallow and inconclusive to suggest that perhaps they come from a far distance and do not have the same care and passion I have for the fish that run the systems I grew up on. To my limited knowledge, only the biggest of the systems has a program in place that seems to be receiving incredible results. The rest are subject to natural reproduction, minimal private stocking efforts and straying.

The morning let down had me focusing intently on every seam, bend and change on the surface. I adjusted several times in order to get the set up as right as I could.

With only my good friend nearby, I concentrated deeper with each drift. They were a tad longer than the norm. Ironically the first hit would be closer in and not very far down the edge of the seam in front of me.

Just before me, Rob laid into a duker of a male. I could tell, he was not happy to have been stuck and pulled at.

Twice he came in and as soon as I got close to tail, he took back five to six yards. The cold water temps helped keep him from shredding things up and bolting back to the lake.

                Our fish did not see any clasps or ropes, only the deep safe comforts of the river again.

Thinking back now, we left the city way too early. The fresh brewed coffee was most welcomed. As always, a good talk on the way up, sharing and catching up on what has been going on in our lives. It had made time fly and before we knew it, we had missed a turn. As we got to the river, the popular access already had four vehicles in park and headlamps were bobbing in the dark. Good thing we were just passing by. I am not sure I could have handled such a crowd with at least 30 mins to any bit of light to rise up on the horizon. A few minutes later down a gravel road, I had a tingling feeling that the one vehicle ahead of us was one I knew. Sure enough, Tony was there patiently pacing waiting for his friend. We spent some minutes and a few warming shots of Irish Creme, talking of the day ahead of us. With a wish for luck and safe journey, Brent and I were off, weaving the field to the river.

Colour was nice, flow was decent. My excitement got the best of me. I could not sit long enough in any particular run. I spent some energy carefully tip-toeing along the bank when Brent hollered. Rod tip pointing downward and that classic arc in his rod as it was fully loaded. I was very happy to see him take not only the first fish of the day, but his first for the season.

In trying to pack the morning before leaving, I neglected to check the camera for the SD card. I left it in the laptop. Internal camera memory allowed two pictures at the high pixel rate I had it set to. One is not a proud one and thus will remain buried, possibly deleted. Fish and new reel shot but both are out of the water along the bank. Not how I feel fish should be portrayed.

My wading eventually got the best of me. The new reel went for an honest swim under the surface and for all of the fish hooked, a small bow. Not a smolt but by no means a slab. Hope Ron does not hold this capture against me. I will try to get better quality takes.