Ice Fishing for Perch on Cook's Bay
I perk up when we turn right onto Gilford Road. The annoying, grating roar of snowmobiles, suddenly and strangely becomes pleasant, like the voice of a jilted blonde, but outdone yet by the sight of the frozen lake, confused with the overcast sky were it not for a thin line of trees and houses. The morning's struggles- waking up in the dark, hobbling up the stairs, and braving a slippery driveway- are quickly forgotten. I don't need coffee on a morning like this. It's been months since I've fished, and heaven only knows when I'll be able to fish again.
This is my first time ice fishing. I never really understood the appeal of sitting in one or two spots all day, waiting for the fish to bite. It's always seemed kind of monotonous, especially for me -- I hold the word pursuit in high regard. Maybe I prefer over the solidity of the ice the fluctuation and freedom that is open-water. Maybe there is something soothing about the cadence of the waves. Or maybe animal instinct inspires in my mind the maxim: to forage is to live; to ambush, to perish. But no need to extrapolate. I simply enjoy fishing from a boat: throwing crankbaits, skipping tubes under docks, and tugging poppers - that's what I do best.
In any event, I find myself smack in the middle of Cook's Bay, due west of Keswick, fishing in about 19 feet of water. We're looking for perch, and I'm looking for a few keepers. My hands, pale, hold a new Fenwick EliteTech 26" ice rod with a medium light action and a spinning reel spooled with 4lb fluorocarbon line. We're using small minnows as bait, and my drop-shot hook is about 6 inches up from the sinker. Nothing fancy. All we have to do is wait.
Throughout the day, we catch a bunch of fish in the 5 to 9 inch range -- nothing close to the 14" perch my dad caught a few months earlier. Of course, no keepers means no table fare. As a consolation, the new rod performs beautifully. I can't remember the last time I used such light gear. More than once, after setting the hook, I curse myself for pulling the bait away too early, only to realize a few seconds later that I actually have a fish on the end of my line. Having not caught anything since Thanksgiving, it's nice to at least feel that familiar pull. But I don't get what I'm looking for.
As we drive off of the ice and back onto the road, I realize that open-water season is still a few months away. Sitting in the passenger's seat, looking at nothing in particular as darkness descends on the 400, my eyelids close, the blue-greyness of my eyes stashed away somewhere with the stale-whiteness of Lake Simcoe. On evenings like this, I can't help but feel the weight of that inevitable, tragic wisdom, long ago heard on the Aegean. It's as if gravity, magnified tenfold, and other inarticulable powers are keeping me chained up in a place where there is no help for pain, and I am surrounded by impotence, dependence, and a frustrating conclusion: there is nothing to be done. I can only wait for those fatalistic forces to loosen their grip. Until then, pursuit is just a dream...
In any event, I find myself smack in the middle of Cook's Bay, due west of Keswick, fishing in about 19 feet of water. We're looking for perch, and I'm looking for a few keepers. My hands, pale, hold a new Fenwick EliteTech 26" ice rod with a medium light action and a spinning reel spooled with 4lb fluorocarbon line. We're using small minnows as bait, and my drop-shot hook is about 6 inches up from the sinker. Nothing fancy. All we have to do is wait.
As we drive off of the ice and back onto the road, I realize that open-water season is still a few months away. Sitting in the passenger's seat, looking at nothing in particular as darkness descends on the 400, my eyelids close, the blue-greyness of my eyes stashed away somewhere with the stale-whiteness of Lake Simcoe. On evenings like this, I can't help but feel the weight of that inevitable, tragic wisdom, long ago heard on the Aegean. It's as if gravity, magnified tenfold, and other inarticulable powers are keeping me chained up in a place where there is no help for pain, and I am surrounded by impotence, dependence, and a frustrating conclusion: there is nothing to be done. I can only wait for those fatalistic forces to loosen their grip. Until then, pursuit is just a dream...
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