Best 1st Ice Story

[WallEYES]

T-BONE
I remember that "TONKA" trip vividly, I have not had a hemeroid problem 8 months after that ordeal. We have to do that again, I have been haffin lots of flairups recently!

[Greg Clusiau]

FIRST ICE TWICE: About 5-6 years ago, I was able to fish first ice twice. The first time was just prior to the St Paul Ice Fishing Show in December. I did a tv segment north of Nashwauk, MN. on first ice, fishing with Terry Wickstrom. Terry, originally from Hibbing, has a top-rated television program in the Denver area, "Mt. States Fishing". We fished until we could feel the ice getting soft and disappearing on us. The next day, the lake had opened up. We didn't care, as we got the needed video footage. When we went to the St. Paul Ice Fishing Show, there were many surprised people, who looked over our still photographs, asking if they were from last year. We I went home, the lake had just froze over and I got to do the first ice thing all over again!

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[TRZ]

When i was 18 i started to really get into mille lacs. i had a 88' cavalier that ws great in the snow. me and my fishing partner went out of sunset bay, it was very early driving ice up ther 12 inches at best and much less furthewr out in the lake there were no bridges out yet. anyway we made our way south toward isle not catching anything, then about 3:30 we got into some heavy perch and they wer mighty nice, a couple were around a pound. we were in our glory it was our first success at mille lacs. but by that time we had no idea where the heck we were. but of couse that never crosses your mind when your filing a bucket, good thing i learned better. so we fished till dead dark and started to drivew toward a light on shore as wqe do we cross many pressure cracks, of couse i was invinceable just get a run and cross'em. after crossing at least 20 we got to a big one with no other cracks, i say what the **** and gun it, the tires spin for a second then BAM. we think the car is going down, we bail, we are in the water we climb out onto the ice and just look at the car pointed at a 45 degree angle with the car still running and lights up in the air. and there was a good road 10 feet on the other side of this crack. scared out of my mind i run a mile into shore and call the police from a guys house they advise me to call a tow, but the guy isn't home. so the homeowner takes us to a bar and a huge guy about 6'6 275 says he'll get us out for 50 $ i jump at the idea and the guy riped us out. learned a very valuable lesson for only 50$. i truely respect the ice now especially mille lacs!

[Guest]

Cmon Cyberfish, I know you've got some stories. I can think of two from Shakopee alone.

PS Keep in mind Cyb first ice

[Guest]

Two words: Wet Feet

[Guest]

Two words: Wet Feet

[Crawlerman]

I only have one; Prally not the "biggest" fish anyone's gotten by far but it was a suprise considering the inexperience with the lake and the limited gear I had.

Christmas Pike

A few years back (about 4 or so) I had gotten my first Auger, my current: A simple 6" hand mora auger. I had also recived my first spinning jigging rod and terminal tackle. It was a very warm season; and there was no snow on the ground. There had been a cold snap a week earlier; but it was fairly mild in my area of the twin cities.

My uncle owns a house on Linwood lake; and every year they have a Christmas party. I brought my new ice fishing gear just incase; Altough I didn't think that there would be enough ice to fish. I'm glad I did.
After stuffing my face full of ham and cookies; I rushed to the car, got the gear and ran down to the lakeshore. Since there was no snow; the ice was completly clear and I could see bubbles underneath it. My young 2nd cousin; who had seen me grab the auger from the car; rushed out to the lakeshore with me screaming "you gonna get a Northern? You gonna get a Northern?" I shruged and shook my head "not likely.." I said and escorted him back to the house. Funny thing that a 5 year old would be turn out to be right...

My uncle's neighbor owns the local gas/bait store, who also attended the party, gave me some crappie minnows. I ventured forth onto the ice slowly; it didn't pop, creak or crack and felt pretty solid. I drilled a hole near the shore and used the end of my skimmer to measure the thickness. Oddly enough it was a good 8" of solid, crystal clear ice; plenty for walking. It was the only time I've ever fished without snow on top. I went out a couple hundred feet, shruged, not knowing the lake past the shoreline and not having a flasher; drilled a hole and measured the depth. 12 feet. Could be crappies here, I thought. So I set the cork 2 feet from the bottom and hooked a minnow. No sooner than the stop had hit the float, wham! It dissapeared through the ice. I set the hook; and line started screaming off the ultralight reel. I carefully played the fish for about 30 minutes; as my 2nd cousin saw what was going on and came running out; watching eagarly from the shoreline. After I tired it out, I convinced it to poke it's head through the hole. I was suprised to see that it was indeed a Northern; a decent one at that! I used the end of the skimmer as a gaff to pull it through the hole, and brought it over to the shore to show my cousin. The smile on his face I'll never forget. The fish measured at 25" and we estimated it to be somewheres around 5 lbs. Sadly to say it still remains one of my biggest pike; I am not gifted with the ability of going up North to catch 20+ #'ers. Considering it was my first time ice fishing alone before, and on this lake w/o a flasher, house, lakemap or anything I still view it as a good expereince. Good way to get one into Ice Fishing; that's for sure.

[This message has been edited by Crawlerman (edited 11-19-2002).]

[codeman]

Here's a long-winded story. Grab a beverage, sit back and have at it:

Most fishermen have a "fishing buddy" with whom they prefer to fish. To even be considered a candidate for this much sought-after position, one must possess certain favorable qualities as perceived by the prospective host (the host being the owner of the involved boat or ice-fishing house). Such qualities usually include, but are not limited to: being a good listener, speaking only when spoken to, keeping one's opinions to one's self and possessing the skills of an expert net handler (which basically means the host hooks the fish--and the bragging rights--while the buddy bags it.)

When Jack and I hooked up (no pun intended) about 16 years ago, I sort of overlooked the prerequisites for him to be my fishing buddy. Basically, this means that he miserably failed to meet the fishing buddy criteria, but I was too naive to know it back then. Our very first experience fishing together took place on a Christmas Eve day, way back when I had an ice-fishing house on Ham Lake. Jack approached me one day and asked if I would like to go ice fishing with him. I had no idea who Jack was, but, since I was lacking a fishing buddy at the time and was curious as to how he was gonna' net a fish through the ice (I don't make the rules), I hesitantly agreed to give it a shot. "Great!" he said. "Since you have a house out on Ham Lake, let's go there." To this day, I have no idea how Jack became privy to that information.

On the day of our expedition, Jack arrived at my house early in the morning and we headed out to the lake. When we got to the fish house, we moved all of the gear into the house, got things squared away, and lit Old Rusty (my space heater) to ward off the chill (it was 20 below zero). Now, Old Rusty was quite the character when it wanted to be. It had a bad habit of "burping" every once in a while--sometimes twice or even three times in a while. Old Rusty was an oil burner, so I don't think the burping was due to gas, if you know what I mean. At any rate, every time Old Rusty would burp, a drop or two of flaming fuel oil would spew onto the floor of the fish house. I, in turn, would nonchalantly tap out the wee little fire with my boot, not too much of an inconvenience. That particular morning, it took a long time to warm the fish house enough to keep ice from reforming over the fishing holes. Again, merely a minor inconvenience. So it was chilly. Big deal. At least we were fishing. As the day wore on, I sat there jigging my pole, minding my own business. Occasionally, Old Rusty would decide to let out a small burp to see whether or not I was paying attention. I knew I was being tested, so I would simply keep jigging the pole. While still staring down at my bobber, I'd slowly slide my foot over to the fire and then tap it out as if nothing had happened.

The intermittent burps continued throughout the day. Each time, I would repeat my little fire-fighting maneuver, not allowing the circumstances to get the best of me. Jack, on the other hand, would throw me this quizzical look each time I tap-danced away the fire. I don't know if he thought I was doing a Fred Astaire impersonation (without the top hat and cane, of course--although I was sporting a stocking cap and a short fishing rod that may have presented the appearance of such) or, more plausibly, if I was experiencing involuntary muscle spasms. By the looks on his face, Jack clearly thought I was losing it. I figured I had better come clean with him about Old Rusty's nasty habit, particularly since the burps were becoming more and more frequent. After explaining the situation to him, Jack no longer seemed overly concerned about Old Rusty's belching episodes--until it decided to let one fly that nearly knocked us out of our seats. We were both in
a catatonic state at the time (I think that's the state next to Idaho, but I have never been all that good with geography), jigging our rods, staring down at the bobbers, when Old Rusty suddenly burped out most of its innards. In an instant, a huge, smoke-laden fire spewed across the floor. We both made a bee-line to the door, which was originally engineered for use by one person at a time, and, with utter disregard for countless basic laws of physics, we exited simultaneously. The feat might aptly be compared to how a piece of straw can be forced through a steel pole by a tornado.

As the blaze continued to spread, we huddled outside in the 20-below air wearing only jeans and tee shirts, covered with soot from head to toe and trying to figure out our next move. This inaugural situation alone should have foretold our future misfortunes as fishing buddies, but it was one of those things for which the best course of action seemed to be to merely shrug our shoulders and get on with the business at hand. We grabbed a few handfuls of snow and threw them onto the fire. Luckily for us, our hands were already so numb from exposure that we couldn't even feel the cold of the snow.

It took a while for us to tell whether the fire was extinguished because the introduction of Arctic air into the relative warmth and humidity of the fish house resulted in an impenetrable fog bank. We had to feel our way into the fish house and back onto our loungers (buckets). During the next fifteen minutes or so, we just sat there and waited for the fog to clear, yelling to each other at the top of our lungs, despite the fact that we were sitting only six feet apart. When you can't see who you're talking to, instinct dictates that you have to yell to be heard. I mean, for all we knew, we could have each been seated at opposite ends of the fish house, which would have placed some ten feet between us. It was best that we yelled, just in case. Once the fog finally cleared, it became apparent that we would need to resort to experimental fishing techniques in order to continue. It also appeared as though maybe, just maybe, we could answer some of the age-old questions posed by that guy Playdoh, or Plate-Oh, or whatever that philosophizing fisherman's name was. For instance, do fish bite on soot-blackened minnows? Do they bite on soot-blackened wax worms? Can a thick coating of soot and/or fuel oil mask the human scent? We were chosen to be the ones who would unlock the mysteries behind these questions, not so much because we are such wise individuals as because oil and soot covered virtually every square inch of surface within the interior of the fish house. Even the water in the fishing holes was tar-black.

I've always been a firm believer that when you meet a challenge, you ought to face it head-on. So, we resumed the business of the day: fishing. Jack and I took our blackened fishing poles, let out a few feet of blackened line, and kept dropping our blackened hooks, laden with blackened bait, in the general direction of the blackened floor. After repeating this procedure a few dozen times, the ends of each of our lines eventually disappeared into what we assumed were the blackened holes in the blackened ice. And with that, we were fishing once again! It took some practice, but we adapted well to the situation. In fact, (our little scientific study produced some surprising results, finally allowing Old Playdoh to rest in peace. Do fish bite on soot-blackened minnows? Do fish bite on soot-blackened wax worms? Does a thick coating of soot and/or fuel oil really mask the human scent? Sorry, but a little known criterion of fishing buddyship, known as the "Secret's a Secret" clause, prohibits me from sharing such information with the general public.

codeman

[Jitterbug]

A couple of years ago I had a scary situation when I went out for the first ice fishing trip of the season. It was after dark and I was walking on about 4 inches of ice on Elk Lake in Sherburne county. As I held up my lantern to see my way I saw something in the distance. I slowly aproached the object and discoverd a sled full of fishing gear. Upon further examination I saw chunks of ice on top of the ice and realized the sled was next to a large open hole. I looked closer and saw some blood! At this point I was conviced someone was at the bottom of the hole. I ran out to some other fisherman and asked them if they had seen anyone walk out recently, they said no. One of the fisherman had a phone and we called 911. The 911 operator said a man just called and said he fell through the ice on Elk lake and wanted the DNR to come and retrieve his gear. About an hour later a Conservation Officer or a Sheriffs Dupty walked out and retreived the gear. The man was alright but nonetheless this makes a guy think twice about fishing on first ice.

[This message has been edited by Jitterbug (edited 11-20-2002).]

[Rick]

Ok all.

Vote for the best story.

Please consider writing style, content, usefulness, and how it made you feel.

[Guest]

My votes for MJ5

"At that moment I was in a state of sublime, nothing else mattered"

Hope everyone can relate to that at least once in their life.
Big walleye
Good job Matt

Coldpole

[Crawlerman]

I vote for mjgrose's story about Dave. That sounds like something that could be on that show "stupid behavior caught on tape". I hope that "Dave" is allright after all that

[This message has been edited by Crawlerman (edited 11-29-2002).]

[Fish Toys]

It looks like I’ll vote for codeman’s story. Same thing happened to one of my friends. 3 of us were on LOW and every thing happened to my friend in his house, oilburner leaked, caught his house on fire, filled the holes with fuel, a CO. checked him out and not us, the snow downwind from him was all black from the soot from the oilburner, he also turned all black from the smoke in his house so he looked like a raccoon, and he picked up a nickname? SOOT. The sad part he outfished us but I still wonder if it was because we were checking on him and laughing too much and not paying attention to our Icebuster bobbers.
“FISH”

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