This story, “Ice Cold Trout,” appeared in the December 1962 issue of Outdoor Life.
Fred Peterson raced for the tip-up. Half sliding, half falling, he tossed his gloves to the ice and crouched over the small circle of water under the waving red flag.
By the time Andy Hendrickson and I arrived, Fred was already reaching for the stick.
“Give him more time,” I coached, “he’s not going anywhere.”
“The reel was buzzing when I got here,” muttered Fred, “but it’s stopped now.”
Peeping at the underwater reel, I could see the handle moving slowly. The fish was still there. “Better get ready to sock him,” Andy said.
The reel began turning faster, then it whipped into a blur of action. Fred jerked it from the hole, grabbed the monofilament, and socked the hook home.
“Feels pretty good,” he yelled, starting a tug of war with the unseen lake trout. Small coils of line spread around the hole. There was still plenty to go, however, since the fish was hooked 200 feet below the ice. “Keep steady pressure on him,” I said as I reached for the gaff. The fish was almost to the hole.
A flash of grayish silver shot across the hole, and I was too late with the gaff. “I’ll get him next time,” I said, crouching with gaff poised for the strike.
The trout’s nose hit sunlight and I struck. A quick flip and he lay thrashing on the snow. Moments later, he quieted as the numbing cold got to him.
“About four pounds,” I heard Fred guess as he wiped his brow. As he lit a cigarette, Andy rebaited and sent a new shiner down into the clear, cold, blue depths of Crystal Lake. Crystal Lake was a beehive of activity. Lone fishermen were hunched over holes, groups stood around shanties, and many more were walking the ice. A bright January sun glared off a new layer of snow, and sunglasses flashed as trout fishermen glanced around looking for flags signifying a strike. Now and then one would sprint for a flag while others walked leisurely back to the warmth of their windbreaks and stoves.
Crystal is one of the top lake-trout waters in Michigan. Its location, about three quarters of the way up the lower peninsula, makes it accessible to thousands of fishermen. Having depths ranging to 400 feet, it provides winter enjoyment for many anglers seeking excitement during the drag days of winter. Beneath its surface roam lake trout, rainbows, and whitefish, but the biggest attraction is smelt. These silvery torpedoes draw many night fishermen who fill washtubs with them. Lake trout, however, provide the bulk of the daytime thrills. Lakers up to 20 pounds have been taken in the past, but fishing has tapered off in recent years. Now, a five or six-pound fish is considered a hefty prize.
We had taken a Wednesday off to travel from our homes in Ludington to Beulah, Michigan. The trip is almost a clear shot north on U.S. 31 for 60 miles to Crystal. Fred Peterson and Andy Hendrickson are barbers in Ludington. Andy, a newcomer to the group, owns the barber shop where Fred works. It was natural that some of our enthusiasm rubbed off on him. The fourth member of the party was Rudy Stiphany, a dyed-in-the-wool trout fan and a postman in Ludington.
As outdoor editor of the local newspaper, I was one of the first to get word that the ice on the lake was finally thick enough for walking. In minutes, I was in the barber shop arranging a trip. Andy and Fred were raring to go.
Six o’clock on a winter morning isn’t exactly the nicest part of the day. The thermometer showed 10° when the boys drove up, and the overhead street lamp in front of the house swayed drunkenly in the wind as I piled my gear into Andy’s car.
“Nothing like it,” I said. “We get a day off and get up three hours earlier than usual. We’re nuts.”
“Oh, come on,” snapped Fred as I slammed the door. An hour and 15 minutes later, we were at the bait shop fn Beulah, just a snowball’s throw from Crystal Lake.
“Haven’t got any smelt,” said the sleepy-eyed bait dealer. “We got some bluebacks though.” Bluebacks is a local name for big lake shiners. They’re a good substitute, especially when we didn’t have much choice.
“How they hitting?” asked Rudy.
“Been doing good. Brought in a five pounder yesterday,” he replied. Loading two dozen shiners in the pail, we took off for the north shore of the lake. About 20 minutes later, we found ourselves bucking knee-deep snowdrifts and a stiff wind with a sled full of equipment on our way out on the ice. Andy and Fred were pulling the sled while Rudy and I brought up the rear with the miscellaneous items needed for a day on the ice.
Andy’s sled is a homemade rig that carries most of the equipment. The basic frame is a regular sled equipped with skis instead of metal runners to keep the rig from sinking into deep snow. The bed is a one-piece platform with hinged side boards that can be pinned up to form four-inch high sides. The entire platform is removable and can be used as a floor inside the tent.
The handiest item of all is the charcoal stove. It doubles as a heater and a stove for heating cold food. It’s made from sheet metal and has an adjustable vent on bottom and a short stack on top.
About 200 yards out on the lake, Andy and Fred stopped and surveyed landmarks on shore. “This is the spot,” Andy said.
Fred grabbed one spud and Rudy took the other. They cut holes while Andy and I set up his canvas tent, a handy gadget for almost any winter fishing.
Folding into one neat bundle, it opened up into a funnel-shaped tent held apart by metal crossbraces. Long spikes, driven into the ice and snow, held it firmly against the wind. I lit the charcoal stove, arranged the sled and two crates for seats, and we were ready.
In Michigan, you’re allowed two tip-ups apiece. By the time things were in shape, Fred and Rudy were lowering the first shiners. I tried to find some of yesterday’s holes, but gave up, resigning myself to the task of spudding through six inches of rock-hard ice. By the time the water gurgled into the second hole, I was warm. My jacket was unzipped and the sweat was running freely. I unwound my two flags, pinched on three No. 7 split shot, and lowered it to test for depth.
“Do you always do it that way?” asked Rudy.
“Is there another way that’s easier?” I asked hopefully. Putting down 200 feet or more of 15-pound-test monofilament, marking the line, then bringing it up again to be baited and lowered again takes a bit of time — especially in 10° weather.
“Here, let me show you a trick,” Rudy said, digging in his pocket. He took out a spark plug, a paper clip, and a pair of pliers. “Now,” he said, “watch closely.” I watched.
The paper clip was straightened out and fastened on the top of the plug. Pliers twisted it until it was tight around the metal post. Next, he bent the wire into a slight arc, placed it on the hook protruding from the shiner, and told me to lower away.
“When it gets to the bottom,” Rudy explained, “the plug will tip downward, releasing it from the hook. You save two trips that way. Just make sure you keep it going down smoothly so the plug won’t jiggle off. You can also use a plug to get your bait down quickly when the trout are biting fast and furious.”
I did as instructed until I felt the plug drop off. Then I wound up two turns, marked the line with a rubber band, and placed the tip-up in the hole.
“Flag up,” yelled Andy, tearing out of the tent for one of his sets. Sure enough, Andy had a flag waving in the breeze. When I arrived at the flag, Andy was watching the reel spin off line. After a good run, he set the hook.
“It’s one of those little stinkers,” he growled. He brought the laker up and flipped him on the ice. “I’ll bet he was planted last fall,” he said, unhooking a nine-inch trout. By the time we got back in the canvas the wind was blowing full tilt. Even the seagulls were grounded. One sat huddled in the snow 20 yards from the tent. He looked very cold.
Two cups of red-hot bullion from my vacuum bottle plus some heat from the charcoal stove made things look brighter. I even managed to smile without cracking my face.
“I keep telling you guys, dead shiners work best,” Fred insisted.
Fred usually sets one tip-up with a live shiner and the other with a dead one that lays on the bottom. The live shiner is hooked under the dorsal fin, allowing it to swim freely. The dead shiner is hooked under the dorsal fin, then the hook is pulled through and hooked lightly under the skin on top of the shiner’s head. Lake trout, like most fish, swallow their food head first. With the hook on top of the shiner’s head, it gets down deep on the first gulp.
Fred swears he gets more hits on the dead shiner than the live one, but then everyone has his pet rig for lake trout. Some even believe that female smelt catch more lakers than males. If you think you can’t tell the difference between male and female smelt, you’re wrong. An old-time bait dealer in Beulah showed me how to tell them apart. Females have very rough scales on the top of their heads. If you want to get in good with a bait dealer, just tell him you want a dozen female smelt. They just love to sort them out at 6 a.m.
The same holds true for tip-ups. Every trout man has his own pet. Most agree that large plastic reels are superior to metal or wood. Some like handles on their reels, and others claim they just get in the way. You’ll find all shapes and sizes out on the ice. You just have to try them all — then pick your poison.
My preference for tip-ups runs to the plastic reel with no handles. These oversize reels have pins about halfway up from the reel center and allow you to wind 300 yards of line on them and still have room to spare. One of the advantages of this type of reel is being able to wind up line in a hurry because of the large diameter of the spool. It helps on below-zero days.
As the wind picked up, the fishing slacked off. After the first 12 races to sprung tip-ups, we began to take it easy. Constant cleaning out of the holes became necessary. Rudy went to check his set and came back with another nine-incher.
“He must have been on there all morning,” Rudy complained. “He didn’t even trip the flag. It was frozen solid.”
By 2 p.m. we had three fish and action was mighty slow. Fred and Andy had gone through a package of nine hot dogs and all vacuum bottles were dry. We agreed to wait until 3 p.m. before calling it quits.
Even with the glowing stove, my feet were getting that tingling sensation. You have to dress for this type of fishing. I had on two layers of insulated underwear, a heavy wool shirt, and a light parka. My feet were encased in two pairs of sweat socks, felt packs, and four-buckle arctics. Everything was loose with plenty of room for circulation, but it still couldn’t keep out the cutting wind.
We broke camp at 3 p.m. and headed for shore. Piling the gear aboard, Andy turned the car south for Ludington. As the warmth from the car heater began to seep through my clothing, my eyelids drooped and conversation lagged. By the time we made the first 10 miles, I was sawing them off. Fred poked me in the ribs as we came into Ludington.
“We’re almost home,” he said.
Read Next: How to Crush Slab White Perch Through the Ice This Winter
Pulling up in front of the house, I could almost feel the warmth from that hot tub seeping into my chilled bones. Grabbing my equipment, I thought this would be my trip for lake trout this winter. I’d had it. But, deep down I knew that when next Wednesday rolled around, I’d be raring to go. Especially if someone came in the barber shop with a tale about some five-pounders.
Read the full article here
