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Spearing How-to-Articles


merkman

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The author of that article is from Minnesota. His book is a good read and nice addition to a sporting library. The big northern in the picture was taking on the author's second spearing fly-in trip with his wife to Alaska! There are some interesting stories in that book, a lot of history and great information.

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great stuff, fun to read.

I remember when I was just a kid 30-35 yrs ago going spearing with my dad and was always in amazement at the thickness of the ice blocks he pulled out and remembering him saying dont get to close to that hole or it will suck you up like quick sand. and he'd laugh as he would slid the shack over the hole. Its really cool that now I'm spearing and using his spear that he built in the 1950's. He often asks me how is the spear working? or you got it easy kid using that power auger to cut those hole and he goes on about how hard it was chiseling thru 30 inches of ice .

we share some pretty good memories of fishing and spearing.

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this is what its all about elwood.

This is what people dont understand about our sport. I talk about this all the time to people about the sport, on how it really isnt a sport to me or anyone else. Its a family tradition that has been passed down from generation, to generation. A time where you sit back and remember what it was like going out with your dad, or grandpa. I know that most of the people here can say the same. That there has been times where you sit back and talk about them times.

For the new and upcoming people that get into it, your going to understand it more when you take people out and teach them for the first time.

This is what its all about, and im glad someone else said it as well.

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Here is another article.

 Quote:

Northern Pike Spearing

By trout whisperer @ 9:08 PM :: 361 Views :: 1 Comments :: :: Ice Fishing, Fishing - Northern Pike Fishing, Tales from the Woods

Pike, Thy, Sting.

I’m encased in warmth, shrouded in darkness, and below me water shines softly translucent green. Dangling two feet below the ice decoying for all its worth is a perch colored stick bait.

I have chased two hammer handle sized northern’s away more than once so far this morning. They ghost in, applying water brakes with barely perceptible fins, then gill flair. These small northern’s are possibly dense, unsure or curious. Its action, but frustrating.

After awhile I get lulled into a stupor. The stove hisses. Its dark and I get drowsy. My five tined spear tips keep grabbing my focus and I should be staring at the chopped holes fringes. The brilliant filed silver sharpness is a color contrast as it crawls up the individual tangs and ends in the black iron and dark shelter.

With a heart start, I have one drifting into the hole and before he can strike the bait I pierce him trident style just back of the narrows of its gills. Its buck fever in my hands. The northern of close to six pounds shakes and shudders. The spear weight and the thrashing fish are hand over hand tethered back into the shack by my white rope.

Throwing open the shack door I’m snow blind. The brilliance of the daylight and hours of darkness sting my pupils and I squint to stop the eye pain. During recovery I shake the big pike loose. Its green on white snow with red blood splotches as the fish rolls its self into a large sugar coated looking fish donut.

Thirty feet away small smoke wisps are coming from my buddies shack. He will never ask me what I got, so in major actor mode I yell to tell him a just got a twenty pounder. His door flies open and the eye circus gets repeated on his face. Then he comes stumbling to see my fish.

It’s good his spear is still in his shack.

We get back inside our respective shacks and I hit another one in less than fifteen minutes. He slid in from the far side, as he was half turned thrusting to strike, I frog forked him back farther than I’d like but it’s a four pound keeper. Nailing the fish back in the prime of the fillet is more common for me with cold shaky hands, but I’m getting better.

I open the door; slam my eyes shut and wait for the pain to ease form my head. The eye sting must be close to the tines hitting the northern pike. I get them, the light gets me. Mike has one lying on the snow, so after I get mine off the tangs I go check his out.

I did not hit mine as far back as he did. I yell through the door, “Did ya take that one as it was swimming away”?

Mike said he felt roused at the sight of the pike, then stunned, the fish was aquarium style ascending so he could not move, he got a rolled eye from the pike, full spear into it as the fish was melting away head first. Said he was lucky to get it at all.

All the fish came through in the same few minutes. Underwater it must have looked like a street gang cruising. I pack up with two, and call it a day. 11 below back to the blazer. The snow is so bright. When I hit the key, mikes shack door flies open and he does the eye thing, then flips off a nice fish I guess at around five pounds. I beep, he waves. My truck is thawing. It’s starting to feel warm again, only with the lights on.

The trout whisperer

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