Simplicity

Simplicity.
Sometimes we just don't need complications. No, we don't ever really need complications. Complications make things, well, complicated! Taxes are complicated, civil law is complicated, your cell phone bill is complicated.

If your love life is complicated, you have a problem. If someone asks you "How's that going for you," and you say, "It's complicated," then it can't be a good thing. Nobody ever said, "It's complicated and it's great!" But many have said, "it's simply fantastic!" 

Simplicity isn't always easy. But it's always emancipating! 

And fishing should be just like that!

I'm willing to bet that more fish have been caught on a simple earthworm than on anything else, ever! 



You can spend dollar after dollar on fancy lures that you can toss, snag and lose. Spinner after spinner, crank bait after crank bait, spoon after spoon. And it can get quite frustrating! There's nothing simple about frustration, frustration is complicated.



But if you lose a worm, a couple of split shot and a hook, you re-rig your line and get right back at it! You've lost a few cents worth of tackle, not a $15, computer-designed lure with an algorithmically, fine tuned paint job. 











A simple worm, or a small minnow, is sometimes all one needs. I caught my first Northern Pike on a worm! Almost all the walleye I caught last year were taken on live minnows and a small jig head. All the mackerel I've ever caught were on a hook with a feather tied to it. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated! 

I've heard many anglers say that using live bait is akin to cheating, it's just not sport! I must beg to differ. The sport in "sport fishing" is all about locating the fish, presentation of the bait, live or artificial, and the fight! The ten-pound steel head I landed this past May was hooked on a well presented earthworm, the sport was in the 15 minutes it took to land it! 

The first fish I ever caught was on a Cheeto! I was four-years old! You would never introduce a child to fishing by casting and retrieving buzzbaits!

Sometimes half the fun for a child can be finding their own bait. Turning over logs and rocks, foraging for grubs; trapping crayfish and minnows with stale pieces of bread; watering the lawn of an afternoon and in the evening picking the worms that slither through the grass! Supplying your own bait, or improvising (Cheetos!) can be half the fun!

I'm not saying we should dump all those fancy lures in our tackle boxes. I'll admit to owning quite a few. And I've lost my fair share too! But sometimes a hook is all the tackle we need.

So, let's keep it simple. Let's appreciate our surroundings, the pure simplicity in nature's beauty. Let's find comfort in the company we keep when we fish with friends and family. When alone, an escape. A simple day on the lake, the riverbank or beach, should be a break from the complications of life. Let's turn angling into "simplicity," not a frustrating activity. After all, don't we have enough frustrations and complications in our lives?  

Ah, simplicity...

  

Never in my life have I ever worked so hard for one fish!

This is the kind of fishing that doesn't get you a corporate endorsement. There are no sponsors, and certainly no TV crews! It's not glamorous and it's not fashionable! The beauty though is raw and powerful.
Something pretty can in a moment turn ugly and deadly. One wrong decision doesn't mean a lost fish, it means a lost limb, or worse, a lost life.

Usually a day's fishing in the bush starts early, as the sun rises. Usually you're on the road by the dawn's early light. Usually the coffee and bacon sandwiches are consumed as the truck's headlights still light the way. This day was different. I had two hours of home time before leaving. And I hadn't risen until eight in the morning. Dogs were walked, news was watched and breakfast was leisurely. Were I in the city on this schedule, I could have attended church service before hitting the lake!

We drove for about fifty clicks. Beyond fifty clicks is the ice road. And in a month's time you can't go any further. Ice roads melt. After that, another three on the SkiDoo. This brought us to a stand of conifers that sloped down to a spruce swamp and eventually the lake to be fished.

I spent well over an hour snowshoeing through that stretch of bush. Taking a bearing, picking a tree and winding my way. As the crow flies, less than one kilometer was travelled. Travis and Brad following my trail, cutting a path that the SkiDoo could travel to the lake.

I fell once. The snow, even with my snowshoes on, came to my waist. It took me ten minutes to get back on my feet! Once, and fortunately so, one snowshoe released itself from my left boot. Strapping on a snowshoe with heavy gloves on is next to impossible. But removing one's gloves when it's twenty below is not comfortable! 

Eventually I broke free of the forest's grip and walked out onto our lake of choice! But it was more than an hour later before I heard the whine of a chainsaw and struggling motor of the SkiDoo. 

 

Once on the lake distance and time came into complete contrast to the past two hours. After a few moments we were digging three feet into the snow and drilling two feet into the ice. We then set our lines.



Again, any thought of corporate endorsements faded. Dreams of professional sponsorships were swept away by a wind that carried dry, stinging snow that easily could have been blown off Hudson Bay. Everything about this adventure became rudimentary. Depths were measured by arm lengths of fishing line. Strike indicators were branches cut from scrub on the frozen shoreline, our time of patience was used up building a "White Man's" fire.

We set lines, simple lines. Two or three split shot, a #2 hook and a minnow. There were no rods and reels; no fancy reflective glowing jig heads; just hooks and minnows. Minnows trapped in near by lakes.

So we set our lines. We stoked our monstrous fire and we waited. 

After about an hour and a half of fire building, a little food and something to drink, we checked our lines. And sure enough, one branch was down! And a fish was on!

Our first fish of the day!

We re-set the line. Moved the deeper set-ups to shallower water and returned to our fire.

There were two more fish to follow. We didn't fill our limits, we didn't even catch fish we were targeting! This outing was in search of walleye. Truth be told though, these were my first Lakers and I was more than pleased with the catch!

Soon after eight the sun had set. Our day on the ice was coming to an end. Now the trek home was to begin.

The journey back through the swamp and conifer stand was trying and exhausting! There were two slopes that were just shy of verticals. Maybe ten meter stretches that took twenty minutes each to traverse. But the snow glowed beneath the light of thousands of stars! The forest gave us shelter from the wind, and our struggles to move the SkiDoo and sled through the swamp warmed me almost as much as our fire had. 

Finally we arrived at the truck. We loaded the machine on the trailer, the sled in the bed of the truck and ourselves in the cab. Soon we would be warm in our own homes.  

I've fished with guys that refuse to use live baits. I've even fished with some that will change the lure in a fish's mouth just for a photo that promotes a tackle manufacturer. I'm not adverse to fancy tackle, I have my share. I'm not adverse to a day on a well equipped boat. I'm certainly not adverse to comfortable digs within a quick boat ride or short walk from my fishing hole! But an adventure such as this is something every angler should experience!

Were I have been told how difficult this day was going to be, maybe I wouldn't have gone. I'm glad I wasn't told! I've never worked so hard for one fish though, ever!

And by the way, I'm still looking for endorsements! 

Good Eats

Yes, we do eat everything we catch and keep! 

Angling, or fishing to you neophytes, is most certainly the oldest sport that still stays true to its humble beginnings thousands of years ago. Casting a hook to catch fish is even recorded in Biblical writings:

Isaiah 19:8, “The fishers also shall mourn, and all they that cast angle into the brooks...”

As with all sports, angling finds its origins in a serious activity with roots to survival. But unlike most modern sport, angling, like hunting, rewards us with more than just bragging rights, pennants or cups. It fulfills a basic need. It gives us the chance to put food on the table.  

So what we catch and keep, we eat! And quite often, those meals are the most rewarding and most delicious!  

 Good eats, indeed!

Lake Scugog, Late January

So here we are, one month of the year gone. The weather is unpredictable, temperature fluctuations ridiculous, unrest throughout the world and continuous turmoil in Toronto City council! But there’s always an assured constant. We can go fishing!  

We managed to get another day out on the ice before the month ended; and before the water on the ice was deeper than the ice was thick! With temps predicted to be five or six degrees above freezing and a few inches of rain forecast for the day, the ice-hut operator called me the day before to see if we were still on. There could be water flowing off the ice, under the huts and down our fishing holes. There might be no snow on the ice to block the wind around the huts. That’s what I was told. 

What I was interested in though, was whether they were catching fish, and if the ice was safe. In my experience and in my humble opinion, ice-hut operators lie about the former but speak truthfully of the latter. There’s ten inches of ice and of course they’re catching fish!

We were still on. A little water might dampen the day but not the spirit. The guys wore waterproof hiking boots, Aimee her “Wellies” and I donned my camouflaged, neoprene chest waders. I was dressed for a late-season duck hunt. I was staying warm and dry no matter what!

We were out on the ice by noon. The weather cooperated. It rained ever so sporadically,  allowing us to fish the holes we had outside the hut through most of the afternoon. To the West, the shore was half a click, Scugog Island sat about three quarters of a kilometer to the East. As the afternoon progressed the fog set in and the shorelines vanished from sight. And as the fog settled on us, it seemed to freeze, crystalizing as it swirled around us, mingling with our breath.  

Scugog is a productive fishery. It produces ample perch, not vast quantities of “jumbos,” but many small to medium size fish. The variety of species is also diverse. There’s something for everyone! During the summer when all species are in season Scugog hosts a renowned bass derby, rental and private boats dot the lake and the shoreline in places is crammed with families hoping to catch dinner. But, more importantly, Scugog has a healthy and accessible musky population. It produces trophy fish, even when targeting the less aggressive species in the lake. This past week only emphasizes this.

During one of last year’s outings, a friend of ours, new to fishing, new to the country, caught a musky for his first fish! This year didn’t disappoint either! Within half an hour of our lines being down the holes Nima had a musky! Unfortunately the fight went to the lake. We saw the fish, its tale was visible in one hole, its head through the next one! But the fish out did us; it swam off to fight another day!

Now here’s where I must tell you a little about my good friend Nima. Nima fishes, he fishes seriously. Nima loves fishing more than anything; other than his beautiful wife and precious little daughter. He’s only been fishing for about seven years. Before that his main concern was escaping the tyrannical regime of Islamic Iran. Now, he fishes weekly. 

Nima has embraced Canadian culture. His favorite thing about Canadiana is our connection to the lakes and rivers that hold monster fish. Canada gives him the freedom to earn an honest living, worship without persecution and FISH!   

This year Nima’s goal is to land a trophy musky. We weren’t targeting musky as the season is closed throughout the winter; walleye, perch and crappie were in our sights. But musky, not unlike their smaller cousin the norther pike, are ferocious, indiscriminate creatures of opportunity, and even our tiny, two-inch minnows were fair game and an easy meal for a lurking musky. Another musky was hooked within the hour! 

Nima’s goal is yet to be realized, but we’re only a month into the year. It would also seem more fitting to land that musky during the open season anyway! Not that he’d keep one, a few photos are all that’s needed; and a memory! 

We didn’t catch great quantities. Nima didn’t land his musky. But we caught multiple species; perch, crappy, walleye, bluegills, musky... And the year’s first largemouth bass! Again, another out-of-season fish. But further proof that Lake Scugog is a fantastic fishery! 

Although we didn’t fill any limits, in fact I only took three fish home, our trip though was successful. We stayed dry and warm, we had great company and had fun. We caught fish, multiple species of fish. We fish seriously, we’re not out there to drink beer and barbeque. It’s not a tailgate party, it’s fishing.

Now it’s February, and yesterday Wiarton Willie predicted only two more weeks of winter. I somehow don’t believe him. But I’m not troubled by that, it only means more hard-water fishing!

Let’s see how many more times we can get out on the ice!