I went to war last weekend. I prepared
all last week by researching the enemy, the terrain, and by arming
myself with what I thought would help me be victorious in battle. I
was able to borrow some necessary technology from one of the guys in
my carpool, and got what I hoped was the right ammunition and
armaments at Farm and Fleet and Gander Mountain and ACE Sportsland.
By Thursday evening, I was loaded and ready to drive the Ranger to
Eastern Wisconsin and do battle, that is the Battle On Bago fishing
tournament! I again attended this growing Wisconsin fisheree with my
nephews Jason and Jared Junk and Ned Schauf and this year, Matt, a
hard fishing contractor friend of Jared's who reminded me a great
deal of the actor – and I mean this as a compliment - Philip
Seymour Hoffman.
Anyway, after a fairly late Friday
night at my nephew Jared Junk's home in rural Richfield, the Saturday
morning started at zero-dark-30. We had a cup of coffee, pulled on
boots, loaded heavy coats and coveralls, buckets, and other gear, and
headed out into the cold, windy eastern Wisconsin flatland weather.
We managed to squeeze five grown men in Jared's SUV. (Jason took
pity on me with the age before beauty rule and I got to ride
shotgun.)
About 20 minutes into our trip north to
Lake Winnebago, Jared had an Aha Moment, or maybe it was an Uh Oh
moment. He suddenly remembered he forgot our fisheree tickets. He
made an under the four-lane and up around the on-ramp U-turn and back
we went to his house. He ran in and returned with our $35 entry
tickets and we were again on our way. We stopped for a breakfast
sandwich and fuel. (Jared's wife had the makings of breakfast
sandwiches for us at the house but we were in too much of a hurry.)
We made another “necessary” stop at a store in what I think was a
town called Van Dane, across the street from Wendt's On The Lake
Restaurant, Landing, and Snowmobile repair. At this stop, Jared saw
a fishing guide acquaintance of his who said he was heading out to
meet someone, so we should follow him. He pointed out a couple spots
for panfish and perch. Anyway, we thanked him and decided to try out
on the big lake for walleye or white bass, something that would be
big enough to place in the 4,000 person plus tournament.
The ice was close to 2 feet thick, but
it was heaved up all along the shore a few hundred yards out and out
in the middle – those heaves are dangerously unsafe. We slipped
off our seat belts as we drove onto the ice. I also kept my fingers
on the window switch – just in case. We drove to a “bridge”
(basically two-lane steel ramps placed over the ice heave) put out by
a local fishing club and took our turn in a row of vehicles slipping
out to the deep water. Jared drove to a spot marked on his GPS. We
piled out and Jared and Jason went all Swiss Cheese on us, starting
up their power augers and drilling a couple dozen holes in the ice
around us. We all used electronic flashers to look for fish. We
marked fish too. They show up as yellow lines that turn green and
ultimately turn red on the flasher screen as the fish comes closer.
You can see your bait on the flasher too. When a red mark and your
bait come together on the screen, get ready. It didn't happen much.
A raw wind blew steadily and it snowed.
I caught one 11-inch crappie. The other guys got a few small perch.
We moved from hole to hole our backs to the wind. I was really
thankful for my Iceman boots, Air Force issue fur hat, and heavy
coat. We fished with minnow tipped Swedish Pimples, jigging
Rapalas, ice jigs with wax worms and spikes, and I even tried some
Gulp artificial minnows. Nuttin' honey.
At one point we had another Eureka
moment when we realized we forgot the food we had for the day back at
Jared's. The tickets Jared forgot back at the house were actually
under one of the bags of cookies Ellen sent along. Jared's wife
Sonia texted him mid-morning, “Do you dopes know you forgot your
food?” I wanted him to text her back to see if she would drive up
with the food, but he decided on the better part of valor.
Fortunately, Matt had a huge bag of peanuts and another of jerky. We
had water and beer, so we survived.
We could have eaten our fish in an
emergency, but I would have starved. The sun came out and we finally
drove along a marked ice road to Pipe and made the long trek south
around Lake Winnebago back to Wendt's and the first of the two
panfish spots we had got the tip on earlier – after a stop for more
food. You tell we were in premium Packer country. There was green
and gold everything in almost every direction. At the counter, a
very harried-looking high school girl checked me out after finishing
an argument with an angry gent who only wanted a few wax worms and
not dozens of them in a cottage cheese container-sized pack, which
was all she had left. She looked after him like she could have
cried, but it could have been the long line of fishermen behind me,
waiting to tear into their candy bars, chips, and whatever too.
Lake Winnebago is decorated with lots
of large permanent ice fishing shacks. Many were for the sturgeon
spearing season that was still going on. As we passed Wendt's bar,
we saw two maybe 40-inch sturgeon hanging from a meat pole outside.
At dusk when we left there was a huge sturgeon hanging from the pole.
That must have been something trying to get that critter up out of
the ice.
Anyway, we caught a nice mess of
panfish at the “hot tip” spot. Okay, we didn't include me. I
lost some bait to something, but never hooked anything.
Back at Jared and Sonia's we ordered
triple decker cheeseburgers and fries from a nearby bar. The boys
cleaned fish while I watched a special on John Lennon. I had no
problem falling off to dreamland this night.
Late on Sunday morning, I played
“bumble bee” and “tickle monster” with little Carter and
chatted with Ned while Sonia and Jared made a huge breakfast of
French toast casserole and quiche – made from some of the left
behind supplies from the day before.
I got under way to the west, about
mid-morning. I filled up near Richfield and was surprised to see
that I got 19.9 mpg with the Ranger. When I told Ellen about the
truck's mileage, she speculated that it must be because of the extra
we are paying for a gallon of fuel right now that makes it better and
provide more energy – or my math skills could have interferred.
Hmmm . . .
On Friday afternoon, I left De Soto and
took Highway 14 to Arena where I turned on County 19 to get around
Madison. Bad choice. Later I was talking to Ellen on the phone when
the GPS said to take I-94 south, as I came to it. I had planned to
go under the I and keep on 19 for a long ways yet, but I forgot I
guess. Anyway, I ended up 18 miles outside of Milwaukee and had to
drive over an half-an-hour north to Richfield. On Sunday morning, I
took Highway 60 back to Lodi and I-94 West to La Crosse. When I
drove into Hustiford, there were two blaze orange clad fishermen on
the edge of the river ice reaching poles into the open channel. You
have to wonder if they were wearing the orange so searchers could
find their bodies later. Anyway, I cooked Sunday supper – Rocky
Rococo Pizza and started this.
Until next time, get out – don't
forget to mark you calendar to remember to get your fishing license
renewed by the end of this month. Enjoy.
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