Grouse Hollow Journal for February 26, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for February 26, 2015 by Greg Koelker
Last week one day I was walking out of the bait shop with a new insulated bait pail. A guy in the parking lot asked me how the fishing was. I said it was cold around here so I was going where it was supposed to be hotter – up north. On Thursday my nephew Jason Junk and I loaded up the Ranger with ice fishing gear, supplies, sleeping bags, and extra warm clothes. We pointed the truck north to River Falls and a smoked bar-b-que rib dinner at our guide's house; my nephew Cory Hauk was the ramrod of this expedition. He had made ribs for dinner, and after how do's and handshakes, and some swapping of knock knock jokes with his budding stand up comic, Ellory, we dived into a plate of his spicy ribs. I do not usually drink beer (I am not making this up), but one can of Miller Light was the perfect complement to Cory's feisty seasoning. We were able to catch up a bit with Cory's dad Brian and wife Juliet and our nieces Chelsey and Kacey too. Later, the rest of the party: brother-in-law Bill Hauk, Jason's brother Jared, cousin Todd Reynolds, and old friend Jeff Jensen pulled in.

I stayed over at Brian's, and the next morning at early-thirty I was roused by the rumbling of a passing snow plow on the street. Brian had coffee on, and soon-to-be nephew Max Bjerstedt showed up with sustenance. After a slice of Max's breakfast egg bake, we scraped the light snow off of our trucks and rolled north on dry highways with a bit of blowing snow here and there.

The names of the lakes we fished at must remain secret because Cory and Brian and Max all cursed the names of some of the television fishermen who have fished on these lakes and made them look like the fish were jumping out of ice holes begging to be fried, allegedly luring ice fishermen from all over to tap these waters. (They are also not named because I didn't write the names down, but I remember one was named after a reptile, another after a tree, and one had an Indian name – I think.) Our platoon was divided with Cory leading one squad and Brian the other to different lakes to cover more water. On our first lake, we plowed through snow drifts here and there (you wouldn't want to try this without four-wheel drive) and stopped near a group of permanent ice shacks. These guys know to place their permanent shacks near fish cribs. (Fish cribs are man made piles of debris, timber, wired up and sunken shipping crates, logs, etc. placed for the purpose of providing a safe area for panfish.) Brian started drilling holes with a power auger while the rest of us geared up. The sky was gray and spitting snowflakes and the temperature was in the single digits with a bit of a breeze, refreshing our faith in the Minneapolis weather man who kept decrying the state of the frozen world on the radio on the trip up. (Come on, dude, this would have been crummy weather for Phoenix but not northern Wisconsin.) I stuck a couple of spikes (polite for maggots) on the barbed hook of a tiny, shiny gold tungsten jig that Vince had given me a few weeks ago. My Vexillar flasher read nearly 20 feet of water. I jigged a while seeing a few fish show up on the screen and reject my offering.
Eventually, we moved on to another lake where the rest of the gang was mostly not catching fish. They were ready to move on too. Jared had the hot hole when we got there with three bluegills on the ice by it. When he left to go with a group moving to another lake, I confiscated his spot. I had switched jigs to an orange Little Cecil and started a little pile of my own, pulling up some okay bluegills (I kept seven) before we decided to move on as no one else was doing much good. At the next stop, I shared Jason's tent with him and we marked fish and caught some, including some perch and crappies that were mostly tossed back down the hole, with only a few going in the bag. I lost my Little Cecil to a strike and switched to an orange and yellow jig that worked as well as anything I guess. Still, the tent and the Little Buddy heater made life on the ice much more comfortable.

The day was not without excitement. Did I say they have a lot more snow up there than we do? One time while driving from one lake to another, one of the guys hit a turn on a snow packed back road and managed to slide through a small snow bank into foot deep snow in the ditch. After locking in the four-wheel drive, I managed, uh, I mean he managed to drive right out. Jason's only comment was, “I thought we were coming into that corner a little hot.” Okay, it was me. Later, we had to use my tow strap to get another vehicle out of a ditch when a u-turn proved to be more of a circle turn causing the tires on the outside to slide down the bank into deep snow. Still no harm done to the trucks and no one was hurt, so we campaigned on.

That night we parked on the ice on the lake by Cory's in-laws cabin (uh, well really, a very nice lake home with floor heat, high ceilings, modern everything and such.) A card game got going and there were three kettles of hot soup with aromas that masked the odor of men, tobacco, beer, and wet clothes. After a couple bowls of hot soup, and more than a couple vodkas, I hit the rack about 11p.m. My bunk was my blow up full size air mattress with my own pillow and sleeping bag on the carpet in a room with a couch and a baby bed. The mattress held up and I slept well, only waking up when I snored so loud I startled myself I think. Anyway, some of the boys stayed at it until after 4 in the morning. At least a couple had planned on just staying up all night, but that didn't happen. I woke up around 6:15 when I heard someone rummaging around in the kitchen. It turned out to be Jeff Jensen, who had coffee on and was starting to clean up the mess from the night before. We spent some time catching up a bit and sipping coffee. The boys started slowly rolling out, most groggy and some regretting the night's carousing I think.

After some more of Max's breakfast bake, for some anyway, and a bit of debriefing of the previous day, we loaded up and headed to another nameless body of water to hunt fish. The lake was small – maybe 25 acres, with only one huge lake house - mansion actually - on it - this would be the kind of lake house I'd like. We did catch some fish. Two trumpeter swans flew over, no doubt wishing they were some where down south. I saw clouds of panfish stack up on my flasher sometimes but I only caught three, tossing one back, but still it was too slow for the group, so we moved on.
Jason and I decided to head south just after the Badgers and Minnesota started playing in Madison. We listened to the game and then stopped in Nelson for some J & J Bar-b-que ribs to take home. Jason has been raving about these ribs for some time and for some reason, it seems like every time I went by, it was closed. The place was busy, but the smoky aroma has to be what bar-b-que heaven is like. Jason's tip was a good one. El fixed some mashed potatoes and we had that rack of ribs for supper; they were amazing. Scout is enjoying the bones too.

Until next time, get out – we didn't catch as many fish as we thought we might, but we saw some new country, fished some new water, ate wonderful soups and great ribs - twice, had some adventures and picked up a couple new knock knock jokes – great trip. Thanks Cory and Bri for hosting and guiding us. As for the fish, well, I cleaned 19 bluegills, crappies, and perch Saturday night and I am frying fish for Sunday supper. It just don't get no better. Enjoy.