Again, A Fish For All Seasons...

"For, before men can reason together, they must agree in first principles; and it is impossible to reason with a man who has no principles in common with you." 

Thomas Reid: in The Intellectual Powers of Man 

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link...

"In every chain of reasoning, the evidence of the last conclusion can be no greater than that of the weakest link of the chain, whatever may be the strength of the rest..."
Thomas Reid



This being said, a fishing line is only as strong as its weakest knot.


Yesterday was "Victoria Day," a day to celebrate the birth of the monarch that gave Canada her Independence. But many have lost sight of its original meaning. Just as Santa Clause, and the receiving of gifts, overshadows the birth of Christ, opening the cottage and gardening cast a dark veil over the long-standing monarch's date of birth. 
No longer is it May the twenty-fourth, but May 2-4; the amount of beer to be consumed. 
No longer is it a day to remember a great matriarch, it's a day to open the cottage for the summer that promises itself, and a day to till the garden and put the patio furniture in order. 

It's a day to set the dark on fire with great spectacles of sulfur and phosphorous. 

But my fireworks were to occur before the setting of the sun and after the gardening.

I spent my morning leisurely. I woke before I had anticipated. I made coffee, and on the patio, as the dogs tormented the squirrels and bunnies, I read my book. 

And when my thirst for mystery was sated I turned my mind to the afternoon's activities: fishing.


But for the ice fishing of the formidable winter we have oh so recently found ourselves struggling through, my open water tackle was in much need of attention. 

The Jeep, my tackle box on wheels, contained said equipment. So into her I delved and found the appropriate gear.

The fish sought after that late afternoon was the elusive rainbow trout, the steelhead, plying the rivers in search of a gravel stream bed to deposit her eggs, or him, to fertilize them. But these are strong fish, and the means to tackle them, with the appropriate tackle, takes an eye and a presentation that few are blessed with.


In these streams, streams of crystal clearness, streams of strength and furry, the trout, the large ones known as "steelhead," pursue their inner drive. They seek shelter, food, and the proliferation of their species. They know not why, they just do it!

They eat. They shelter and protect themselves for predators. And they're good at it. But they think not of their species, only of themselves.

So, to take one, to entice one, to lure one to one's eventual demise and capture, shelter and food are the keys!

So, for the predator, presentation is that key!

I'm the predator.

And presentation is the key.

Yet here is my weakest link...

The knot.

After closing the pages of my "mystery," after retrieving my tackle from "The Jeep," after consuming too much coffee, I set myself to tying three knots.
I tied a swivel to my line. I then tied a length of leader to the swivel, size 14. Then a hook, size 10 (a wet/nymph hook at that!) to the leader.

Three knots. 

It mattered not that my line was 15 pound braided, nor that my leader was ten pound mono. The abrasion resistant braid and the resilient, memorable mono were two things; yet the knots were three other!

I struggled with the knots! The light was bright, the air still. Yet those three knots consumed me! They consumed my thought, my diligence and my concentration! My eyes are not nearly as astute, my fingers not nearly as as adept to intricate feeling as they used to be!

Yet those three knots, their adhesion, their tensile strength, their holding power, proved that I can still tie a knot!

My last conclusion was a fish! My principal was putting a bait before my prey. My weakest link was the knot. 

But my knots proved sturdy, they were tied to the capacity of my adversary, and as my weakest links, they upheld the fortitude of that which they bound together and formed the structure of my ordeal.

Is it reasonable for a man to fish? To cast angle upon the waters? Were our minds not so introspect that seeking prey from the depths would be so elusive? Should we not feed ourselves? 

And should a knot, be so not important?

And a fish was caught.


   

   

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!