Fishing : An Introspective View

Some view fishing as an art, the endless pursuit of perfection in form and technique that is never mastered; an art in which even the seasoned angler is forever an apprentice.  Some view fishing as a game of chess, the fisherman constantly trying to outsmart their opponent in a beautiful game of deception.  Many more view fishing as boring and uninteresting; a waiting game involving chance and patience - and therein lies a great misconception.  At times, I think the sport can be all of the above, but mostly I view fishing as the perfect time for quiet introspection.  The seclusion of the outdoors is what keeps me coming back for more, and the one on one time it provides with family and friends is irreplaceable.  I have had more meaningful conversations with friends and family while in the outdoors than all other places combined.  I have learned more about myself in the peaceful seclusion of the outdoors than I ever have in a classroom or the private recesses of my home.

                 "Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not the fish they are after."  

                              - Henry David Thoreau

A beautiful sunset on the Snake River

There are times when everything comes together in a surreal and beautiful way - when time seems to stop, and for a brief, fleeting moment...the entire world seems at peace.  The imagery of those moments are etched into my mind forever,  and the only thing more treasured than those memories is the assurance I have knowing that every time I step into God's country there are many more to follow.  One such moment came, as they all seemingly do, abruptly and unexpectedly.  

My wife Jennifer and I were expecting our first child, and with her delivery date approaching we wanted to spend some quality time together prior to the big day.  Many of my favorite fishing destinations aren't particularly inviting to an expectant mother, so we opted for a conveniently located pond just outside of Roberts, Idaho.  We arrived shortly after 3 o'clock in the afternoon with lawn chairs and a portable grill in hand, prepared to spend the evening grilling and talking, watching bobbers on the water in case an unsuspecting perch or trout happened along.  No sooner had we cast our lines and lit the grill when a late summer rainstorm blew in.  We frantically dashed for our car, where we sat soaking wet, laughing at the irony of it all considering the months long drought Idaho had been in.  As I glanced back our gear taking a pounding in the rain, I noticed my bobber bouncing along erratically in the waves.  Laughing, I leapt from the shelter of our car and clammered down the sandy bank to the fishing pole 30 yards away.  With a swift jerk I set the hook on a small yellow perch that the pond was known for.  I stood triumphantly in the sideways rain, holding  up my pitiful yellow perch for my wife to marvel at sarcastically.  Two more fish were caught in the same manner.

As quickly as the storm arrived, it left.  As the clouds cleared and the winds calmed we strode down to the bank, marveling at the beauty around us.  As the sun sank down over the horizon, it cast the most beautiful shades of orange and pink across the thunder clouds behind us.  As we stood in awe, the fishing turned on like a light.  For the next hour, we did something I'd only heard rumors of - we caught the elusive channel catfish in Roberts Gravel Pond.  One after another, we pulled in fish that hadn't been stocked in these waters for years.  

Roberts Gravel Pond

While attempting to rebait one rod while my wife caught fish with the other, I glanced up for one perfect moment.  Jennifer had been clumsily casting her line all evening with my hopeless coaching, but not this time.  Her tackle sailed over the glass-like water, and the only audible noise aside from distant crickets was the sound of her line sailing through the guides on her fishing rod.  As the tackle landed in the water it sent ripples across the darkening water, reflecting the sunset across the water like millions of tiny diamonds.  She turned back to see me standing on the bank with worm guts all over my hands in my sopping wet clothing, smiling.  As she smiled back, I recalled the very thing that brings me into the outdoors...the assurance I have knowing that every time I step into God's country there are many more moments just like this to follow...

Through the Ice

Henry's Lake

I have a love/hate relationship with Henry's Lake that dates back to childhood.  This lake can make you or break you as a fisherman.  Finicky trout abound in this lake - trophy trout.  Trout with eating disorders and bad attitudes.  Similar to other quality fisheries, food sources are equally abundant - and the fish act like it.  Combine that with shallow water depth, virtually no wind protection, and rapidly changing weather conditions and the even most seasoned fisherman can find himself frustrated.  Although I have played many a game of Angry Birds on the bank with my fly rod tossed aside, typically the good days far outweigh the bad.  Ice fishing, however,  is a whole other story...

This past winter I was lucky enough to make it out onto the ice a couple times amidst my marathon trips to and from Fresno, California for work.  If you have ever wondered why a bunch of rednecks would layer up in clothing that looks like a fat suit and run out on a "safe" frozen body of water in subzero temperatures to catch a stupid fish through a hole in the ice - you need to ice fish Henry's Lake.  With an ice tent.  And a propane heater.  And a frying pan.  Late November found me doing exactly that with a good friend and loyal fishing companion of mine, Chris Cutler (who blogs over at Living Fly Legacy).  Chris brought his 4 year old son along for the trip this time, and it was a sight to behold.  He exemplifies the phrase "I can't help it, I was born this way" when it comes to fishing addiction.  I can truthfully say that he pulled more fish through that stupid hole in the ice than I did.

We arrived shortly after daylight and set out on our trek across the lake, towing all our gear in pull sleds (while William, Chris's son, yelled "MUSH!").  The fish in Henry's Lake move up in the shallows starting in the early fall as temperatures drop, and remain there until the spring temperatures pull them back out to deeper water - so when we ice fish for these monsters in the winter, we're typically standing above a mere 5 feet of water.  Hand augers spook the fish much less than their gas powered counterparts when fishing in shallow water, so we got to work immediately.

I took this picture shortly after arriving - the cold, clear beauty of Island Park in November...

Our first stop of the morning took us to a secluded cove that we fly fished just before the ice came on the lake.  To our dismay, the moss was almost all the way to the bottom of the ice - making fishing somewhat difficult.  Similar to the fall, when the fish come in from the shallows they tend to group up and stay put - so locating the fish is the first order of the day.  If you aren't catching fish - don't stick it out, move on!  After only catching a few fish in the first hour, we continued to search for a better holding area.  Ever mindful of the structural character of the lake bottom, Chris drilled a couple holes directly above a small channel that holds fish in the fall.  The jig hadn't even so much as sunk to the bottom before a hungry cutthroat slammed it.  William landed it like a pro.  Again, within a few moments of dropping the jig back into the water another fish grabbed it.  This continued for about half an hour, but eventually died out, at which point we moved to another location in search of another pod of fish.

Father and son take a much needed oatmeal break

We relocated to a different side of the lake - a remote cove littered with underwater structure. Chris and I invariably find the hardest to get to places to fish, simply because no one else is willing to put in the effort.  Most of the time, it pays off - and today was no different. Once we had a couple poles down in the water we put the shelter up and kicked the heater on as we continued drilling.  It wasn't long before we were sitting in our tee shirts munching on Doritos - all while enjoying some of the best ice fishing the state has to offer.  November is a phenomenal time to be fishing the lake - the fish are actively feeding and they strike with all the ferocity of a fat kid eating a cup cake.  Typically it's too dangerous to fish with more than just a couple rods per person, simply because the possibility of losing a pole down the hole is very real on this lake.

Sunlight heavily affects the activity level of the fish - even through 5" of ice

It was interesting to watch the sunlight affect the fish activity level.  Cloud cover would blow over the lake every so often and the fishing followed suit - more sun, more fish.  This continued throughout the afternoon.  Sunlight heavily affects the activity level of fish, but with vastly different results during different seasons.  A bright, calm, sunny day in the fall can make for a very poor fishing day as the fish become sluggish and lazy like the weather.  Conversely, I can think of one very memorable cold March afternoon on the Henry's Fork of the Snake River when quite the opposite was true.  High winds in the upper elevations blew clouds over rapidly - and every time a cloud blew by the fishing all but turned off.  Moments later when the sun emerged again we would be landing doubles and triples, just like this day on the ice.

25" Cutthroat through the ice.  I may need a bigger auger!

As the afternoon wore on and the mid day doldrums set in with full strength, we decided it was time for lunch.  We quickly filleted our freshest brook trout and put it in the frying pan - with nothing more than butter and lemon pepper.  The highly prized brook trout always seem more aggressive at this time of year, and as such is a darker pink meat that tastes better than the less active cutthroats - aside from being a more choice entree to begin with.  As the ice tent filled with the scent of frying fish, our luck changed in an instant.  Chris was hooking fish with his left hand and frying fish with his right!  One after another, Chris hooked and cooked.  As the school of brookies passed, we turned our attention back to the fish in the pan.  Perfect.

  Cookin' and hookin' like a pro

Proof men CAN multi-task

As I sat in my chair inside a comfortable ice tent with a stomach full of fresh trout - I found myself thinking about how fortunate I was to live in a land where I was able to such incredible things.  Like sitting in heated shelter on top of "safe" ice on a frozen lake, surrounded by carbon monoxide gas from the propane heater - all the while fully aware that if this ice breaks - I'm a dead man.  It just doesn't get any better than that.




Gear List

Eskimo Quickfish 6
Nils 8" Hand Auger
Mr. Jigger Rod Holders
Shakespeare Ugly Stick Ice Rods
Mr. Heater/Cooker