The Setting is the Opportunity

 Mike Maxwell's first time ice fishing.

"I should have brought my skates."

Maybe not with the marginal safety. Ice five and five-and-a-half inches thick in close and outward about 50 yards from where we entered the lake, I found the ice about four inches thick beyond. Further out, I never bothered to test the thickness. The Morristown Daily Record reported some open water at the lake Friday, three-and-a-half-inch thickness where four anglers fished, so as usual, the wind is playing its game. Small ponds usually freeze evenly; lakes can issue shocking surprises. Just a few years ago or so, two teenagers fell through and died, unspeakably tragic.

I used the splitting bar in the photograph above to judge safety as we progressed outward, but once we got our belongings in place, fired up the power auger to cut, after I had whacked out three holes with the bar. Even ice this thin put some pain in my old man's right shoulder. Mike stayed safe; only I ventured beyond what we first established as quite safe at better than five inches, and then as we gathered the tip-ups deep into dusk, he accompanied me a little further out where the ice is four inches thick. The two of us stood apart from each other. That's safe ice, but no neophyte gets any recommendation from experienced ice fishermen with conscience to venture on ice any thinner. During my younger years, the rule was three inches. But at three inches, the ice had better be hard and clear through and through, and the weight of anyone walking on it not excessive. Two people standing side by side on three inches is risky. Some of the ice we walked on has gone through wind breakage and all of it slight refreezing. Snow fell over the weekend, totally gone and melted into the ice surface moist on top with afternoon temperatures above freezing--slippery, we wore boot spikes. We never encountered any thinner than four inches. Where I found it that thin by placing my hand in holes I cut and grasping the thickness--first cutting with my splitting bar and accurately estimating thickness--the ice was quite hard and clear, having frozen a little later than in closer to shore where wind had broken some portions of an initial freeze, now frozen thick and secure.

Since I've done this strange ritual of contemplation--ice fishing--since I was 15, I'm not much afraid of falling through, or I guess this has to do with other things, such as my spending years treading clams in wetsuits for a living in freezing bays. I know what it feels like, since my wetsuits once ripped open to brine that freezes at 29 degrees. Twenty-two degree, 45 mph wind--I don't even know what the wind chill--the shallow bay's temperature was pretty cold. I felt relieved that whatever cut the neoprene, didn't cut my leg open.

Besides, it was always such a pleasure to leap off the boat's gunnel and feel that freezing brine race up my spine before the wetsuits warmed the brine by insulation.

We began by riding to Stanhope for live shiners. Once again, Bait & Boat was closed and as our Delaware River trip required, we rode on to Andover. We lost at least 45 minutes, so our time fishing got shortened, for a short stint to begin with. I usually walk out on the ice at least a hundred yards from shore before I start cutting, and then spread tip-ups each about a hundred feet from another. The lake is shallow throughout--six feet--except for a hole of 12 feet. Northern pike, largemouth bass, and a relative few pickerel and smallmouth bass spread out. Ice fishing is typically slow.

Today, though, I kept the tip-ups pretty close to where we sat on fold-out chairs, spaced apart by about half the typical distance. Most of the holes allowed the sinker to fall about six feet, though, so it's not as if no possibility awaited us. Typical ice fishing here results in no tip-up flags anyway, unless you were to stay out all day, perhaps. I've seen pike caught as large as 39 inches, have heard of larger, and it interests me to encounter such an animal. The teeth of a smaller pike I once caught sliced my thumb open. I took my knife out of its sheath and cut the cuff of one of my white socks I had put on under wool socks. That served as bandage as I continued tending tip-ups. I'm fascinated with the teeth of northern pike, rows of hundreds of them in each maw. The poignant beauty of such ferocious power implied.

I've ice fished alone more than I have with others, and yet the best of ice fishing is the conversation, or when it does ignite, as it did between Mike and me. I have no desire to reproduce what we said, but I think of Marshall McLuhan's phrase, "The medium is the message." I also think the setting is the opportunity. Since most of us spend most of our time in routine settings, there's not much hope of conversation that gets very interesting, at least not when we're doing-as-we-do. But get outside where expanse can't help but subtly suggest possibility and refreshing thoughts expressed in words will likely occur between you and whoever's along.

On the Way

I've mellowed with age. And with persuading at least four inches of clear hard ice to ice fishing neophytes who I urge to team up with people in the know for the first adventures. I went on NJ Fishing.com this evening to learn guys were even out on the ice in yesterday's warmth. Or at least in the morning. I don't know. It's all too easy to imagine more softening of the ice than actually was the case, judging by this evidence. Saturday reports claim ice was as thick as four-and-a-half inches.

And I'll tell you the truth. With all I have to get done, I was half-hoping we couldn't go this coming Wednesday. By all indications, we can. Or at least I can. So I will. Whether or not my friend who will ice fish his first time is coming, don't know yet. 

They Were Out

I heard people got out on the ice as early as last Thursday, and on Budd Lake with three-and-a-half inches of ice on Friday morning. My bet is they'll get back out with this next cold snap, but I'm on the fence about Wednesday, since the warmth softened that base layer, and clear hard ice is the rule for safety when it's not so thick. I doubt we're going, but I haven't time to further look into the situation right now this morning.

Article by Jim Stabile (He told me he didn't write the headline.):

Be sure the ice is safe before fishing

is published in the Morristown Daily Record http://www.dailyrecord.com/story/sports/columnists/jim-stabile/2016/12/18/sure-ice-safe-before-fishing/95572660/ Jim mentions that four ice anglers were out on Budd Lake Friday.

Forget Black Ice

So much for black ice, with this morning's snow. An inch or two in Bedminster, N.J. Forecast high of 55 tomorrow with rain. That will ruin the ice, but temperatures dropping to 18 by Monday morning will harden it. Tuesday morning--15. I can't judge what ice conditions will be by Wednesday, not with snow on it now and then rain water tomorrow.

Feels like Safe Ice

Black Ice

Just a quick note to regular readers. As I write at 3:19 a.m., temperatures fall towards the single digits after recent cold nights, which means New Jersey ponds from Mercer County northward will probably be safe to ice fish today. Small ponds not subject to open water due to wind.

I'll try to go on NJ Fishing.com tomorrow night and see what's up.

An early start to the season for whoever goes, but Mike and I reviewed a weather report earlier tonight. Unfortunately, a milder trend may come within a few days.

If enough cold remains, we're going ice fishing on Wednesday.

What's Happened to Us? Still Here

This month of December in New Jersey feels lonesome when you get away from the holiday hoopla. Otherwise, it's as if--at least for regions with chilly weather--Western Civilization long ago conspired to counteract natural recess due to forbidding elements by bringing emotional and spiritual warmth into the lives of people brought close together by the holidays, just as winter's brutal turn comes. People try to escape reality in so many countless ways, whole encyclopedias could be devoted to this behavior.

Nevertheless, true to our odd practices, which could be taken either way, depending on who you are and what you think the real world is--as an escape or of facing reality--my son, Matt, and I came to stand beside Round Valley Reservoir this afternoon, amble about taking in the scenes and the gravel and the sand and the mud at our feet, and the rocks, just waiting on five lines baited with live shiners we put out for trout. We caught nothing, but as dusk fell, Matt did reel in one empty hook, so who knows. One thing is without doubt. If reality exists, we made contact with it. I sort of feel like Rene Descartes at present, beginning with thought as certain, but that's because I'm behind a computer screen. The self-evident is that. To deny it is to doubt yourself in turn.

Early on, a boat came in. I had driven our Honda down to water's edge at the end of gravel laid for boat launching.

"Catch anything?" I asked.

"We did OK," one of the men said. Terse tone of voice, his eyes refused to meet mine, and I felt put off.

Nice boat.

An all-too-typical image script came to mind immediately. There my son and I, two guys who can't afford a boat to fish in style. Here the elect who wouldn't even answer my question with any definite response. The masters. And we the slaves. But had I accepted this as the situation, it would have served as my own choice. I knew that, and sort of kicked the proverbial stone about, thinking.

During the 1970's, I asked that same question habitually, and responses more often than not offered meaningful information. Cheerful and respectful, regardless of obvious social status. A short chat would ensue. Now I was thinking of T-Rex and Jurassic Park as analogous to T-Rump and America.

What has happened to this nation in which we all felt included? I guess that's an ironic consideration, given Trump's election purportedly due to the voters...who felt left out.

The men hiked to the lot to fetch their vehicle. In the meantime, I politely moved our Honda further back from water's edge, anticipating that they would need space. Some minutes before I made this maneuver, I checked two rods I thought might have suffered the boat's landing; line could have got caught by the outboard prop.

Minutes later, I sullenly watched one of the men load the boat. The second had stayed behind. The same man who barely uttered any words looked our way once, harshly.

And then some time later, Matt noticed a rod move. I went for it, walking behind the boat just a few feet from me, seeing that it pointed towards the vehicle, not the water...aha. The man stood in the boat, arranging things, and now I saw he fiddled with my expensive Power Pro braid line, wrapped around his body. I felt not the slightest anxiety. I knew this was at least our opportunity.

"Your line's caught on me," he said matter-of-fact.

I had some of that line in my right hand aside of his port gunnel.

"Here." I got it free from behind the trailer as he unraveled himself, and then I lifted the end leading to him. He had backed the trailer into the reservoir and apparently just barely caught the line on the left side, facing the water.

"Mind if I cut it?" He said.

"No."

I freed the line, got the rod, reeled in what was left, and had a look at my spool, judging that I need to add a little to maximize casting.

"You caught lakers?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Regular four-pounders?"

"Yeah. They're either about that, or 20 pounds."

Here is where the chatting began. We probably spoke no more than two minutes. Just like the 1970's again. Two Januarys ago, he caught a 23-pounder. He's caught four in total over 20 pounds. We said some more, and then, "Take it easy."

Imagine, had things been different. Had my line not saved us from isolation in a world insistent on oil from the age of dinosaurs, instead of the minds of people like ourselves, figuring out an appropriate future on the basis of reason and respect. Many of us feel the 1970's were a crazy time, but I insist, that decade was much more rational than "crazy" and "mad" repeated ad infinitum on TV and radio and just about any media you can pick up. And by the mouths of people you might meet every day. They might tell you everything is crazy. We always said in the 70's, "If you think the world is crazy, it's you who is crazy." I never say the world is crazy. I'm just reporting on what I hear from others. After the 70's, we somehow ended up in this current social morasse, and not because of that decade.

As we packed our gear, a little sedan came racing down and stopped almost directly across from our Honda, yards away. Two attractive girls in their 20's leapt out. Naturally, since I'm just this naïve, natural sort, I said hi, quite audibly, but they didn't seem to hear. Nor did either girl so much as acknowledge us in any way whatsoever.

I considered. Well, here my son and I stand, this area to ourselves. These two people just barge into our space. I mean, any form of decent respect would sense this as the case. They behave--completely--as if we don't even exist.

Both of them giggling over mobile devices, of course photography went into action. Pictures of themselves, a half dozen or more in less than a minute. At that rate, they'd have taken more than I shot in an hour-and-a-half, within the next two minutes. Now one of them pulled a fake ukalale from a hatchback or whatever. She perched on the back of the car, fake strumming. The big photo op.

I got in the driver's seat of my car, Matt beside me, window coming down as I started the engine they didn't yet seem to hear. I budged the car. Then just as I had anticipated heads to turn, I said, "I'll wait for you to get your shot."

"Oh, no. That's OK!"

"I'm just going to pull ahead and turn around."

Suddenly, the girls were all smiles and recognition. I smiled back, drove my son and I forward, and turned around ahead of their vehicle.

Total narcissistic self-absorption. I had skillfully broken that spell to reveal the truth. It sure can seem as if people have utterly forgotten humanity, but we're just lost for the time being.

At full pool, the reservoir easily gives you the impression of having a rocky, gravely, and sandy bottom down deep beneath its heavy water, since the shoreline edge at that level is chiefly so composed. The thick mud revealed in this photo is about 26 feet under water at full pool. You can smell sulfates. I'm no expert on chemistry, but wouldn't be surprised if sulfate is part of the composition or formation of oil.

 Round Valley Pond shot from atop the dike.

I stood nearly 20 feet under water when I shot this sunset, given full pool.

Ice Fishing Largemouth Bass: The Best Time of the Ice Season to Go

Black Ice for the Best Winter Bass Bite

          Many years ago, an older friend and I ice fished two consecutive days on the newly formed “black” ice of a six-acre private pond in Mercer County we had permission to fish. Bright, sunny skies prevailed, the ice clear as a pane of glass, water underneath pure as if from a well. Tip-up flags sprang constantly both days. Oddly, half the largemouths took the shiner, ran four or five yards and dropped the bait.

          The third day, we arrived upon a transformed environment. Snow fell overnight, four inches covering the ice. Clouds remained overhead. Since we could not find previously cut holes, each of us whacked new openings for tip-ups with our splitting bars, and then we waited and waited. We fished for hours, enjoying no more action than three flags.

          This got us thinking and theorizing. Correct or not, we concluded that bass in clear water, under clear ice with lots of sun penetrating through, strike in reaction just as they do during warmer months of open water. If you’ve ever noticed a silver shiner’s scales catching sunlight, you may have felt astonished at the pulse of reflected light. We believe such pulses provoke bass to hit. And some bass may drop shiners they initially strike, not interested in eating.

          It’s a story that makes sense, whether or not it’s true. Ice fishermen everywhere tend to agree that first ice is best ice, so some reason or other must exist. As the ice fishing season deepens, ice develops milky-colored surface layers of melted and re-frozen snow. Towards the end in February or March, ice can feature water flowing between a thinly frozen surface and the body of thick ice beneath, or present a mess while melting under slushy snow or half a foot of water. First ice—that “black” ice illusion you see from a distance—is remarkably clean and simple by comparison. It invites an ice fisherman out for a pure experience of the frigid new season and the bass may respond with frisky bites.

          If you are new to ice fishing, I recommend finding someone introducing you. If you know of no one who ice fishes, you can find at least one guide service in New Jersey for ice fishing. Otherwise, the local activities of a lake community, such as encountered on Lake Hopatcong, will give you clear indication of whether or not the ice is safe. I was taught that three inches of hard clear ice is safe, although I would never recommend this measure to anyone venturing out on his own for the first time.

          There are reasons. Large lakes and reservoirs freeze unevenly. Round Valley Reservoir, for example, froze 18 inches thick by March, 2014, and yet about 25% of the water in the reservoir remained open all winter. Other lakes never freeze evenly—coves freeze first, main lake points last as a general rule. Ponds of few acres do freeze evenly, unless a little cove or two is protected from prevailing wind and freezes first. An entire book on ice conditions could be written by whoever goes to the trouble of cataloguing dozens of variations found on lakes, reservoirs, ponds and rivers, but for our discussion: clear, hard, safe ice is the concern.

           Fish clear water underneath, choose a sunny afternoon if you can, and stay out until dusk. The magic hour near sunset until a half hour or so thereafter always has the potential of lunker bass feeding. Nevertheless, in my experience, the most direct sun rays possible make for the fastest first-ice fishing, the most flags tripped.

          Shallow lakes and ponds may prove best. A deep lake offers bass the opportunity to escape brilliant light by settling deeper. If you set a shiner 25 feet deep, it will not reflect light sharply as it will in 10 feet of water or even shallower. If you fish Lake Hopatcong, for example, notorious for its main lake points dropping off into 40 feet of water or more, try River Styx shallows or the State Park flats instead.

          The best kept secret for first-ice fishing is ponds, by virtue of the fact that many ice fishermen don’t care to hear about the success, habituated instead to lakes and reservoirs with the fanfare they draw. Shallow ponds freeze to safe thickness before protected coves freeze safely on lakes and reservoirs. Snow may fall before ice is safe on any lake or reservoir, yet a day or two exists with a relative few ice anglers catching bass in shallow, clear ponds before black ice opportunity is ruined.

          Whether lake, pond or reservoir, know the water before it freezes to reduce the random element when setting tip-ups. Bass frequent many of the same sorts of habitat during winter as during the warmer months, although in ponds, for example, you will catch plenty in the deepest water of perhaps 10 feet, if most get caught hugging shorelines in the summer and fall. Any cover in the water—whether of lake, pond or reservoir—should have tip-ups set close as possible to it without the shiner getting entangled. Often cover is situated in relatively shallow water. Set a tip-up in the deepest water possible that remains in close relation to the shallower cover, whether submerged brush, boulders, a sunken dock or anything else that may draw forage and bass to it.

           Residual weeds remain remarkably thick during winter in some waters and bass inhabit them. Not every weedy situation involves an outside edge adjacent to deeper water, where bass frequent in search of forage. Flats comprise many acres of reduced weed mass with enough tendrils and leafy greens remaining to hold lots of fish. Tip-ups can be spread over a flat, set by best guesses, and tended. Check on every tip-up to make sure the shiner doesn’t entangle in weeds. Occasionally lifting a tip-up to check on it also helps ensure that a shiner remains active on the hook.

          A light wire, plain shank size 6 hook is all you need for each tip-up. The light weight isn’t a burden for lively bait to carry. Crimp a medium split-shot about 15 inches ahead of the hook to a three-foot fluorocarbon leader—15-pound test if pickerel are present—and lower the rig to bottom until the dacron main line goes limp. Turn dacron back onto the tip-up spool as you lower the spool to the water surface, until the line comes taut with the split-shot directly on bottom and your index finger and thumb holding the line at the surface. Now turn seven loops of dacron onto the spool and set the tip-up in the hole. The shiner will swim slightly suspended above bottom.

          And to have a tip-up set to wait is a satisfying feeling. A flag sprung is pure joy. 


http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2012/05/lake-hopatcongs-enhanced-fishery-is.html