Ice Fishing Memories
As the seasons change from cool fall days to the bitter chill of winter, lakes freeze over and hardcore anglers trade their boats for sleds and ice huts. For as long as I can remember I have been hitting the hard-water.
Some of my earliest fishing memories were enjoyed outside in the frigid Kawartha winters, ice fishing with my grandfather Wellington Williams. He taught me everything I know about ice fishing and so much more.
I remember racing from the school bus to grab a quick bite to eat before getting my snow suit on and heading out for an evening fish on Buckhorn Lake. We would set out on his Yamaha Enticer snowmobile; I would hold on to him tight as that familiar sound of that 340cc engine whined and screamed as he accelerated and guided us over dangerous channel crossings and pressure cracks to get us to our fishing grounds. The smell of two stroke exhaust filled the air when we arrived as we took off our helmets to reveal our frosted-up balaclavas. I was always amazed by the way he would triangulate the area by lining up landmarks he used the year before, and if there was an oak leaf near by on the ice, he believed it was left there to guide us by those who came before us. When he was satisfied, we were in the right area, he would unstrap his chisel and begin pounding us holes.
Through the thick ice he worked that chisel chopping out a perfect circular hole, his rugged hard-working hands looked unfazed while cleaning the ice chips from icy water. Then he proceeded to pull his minnow jar out of his snowsuit pocket (a recycled plastic kraft peanut butter jar) and would grab a fresh minnow and bait up my hook.
Our rigs were simple, a cedar branch cleaned up for a rod, some heavy black chord braided line, a lead sinker, snap swivel and a hook. Before starting his hole, he would make sure I was as comfortable as I could be, moving his snowmobile so I could fish from the seat with the chilly wind at my back. We would fish for a couple of hours jigging that minnow up and down waiting for that familiar tug of a pickerel. Sometimes I wondered how long we would have to wait to get a bite; as my toes would start to freeze, my mind would start to wander and wonder how his feet were not frozen wearing only a pair of Wellington rubber boots and thick wool socks.
Just then wham!! A bite!! I would set the hook and pull the line hand over hand to get the fish head out of the hole and pull it
through safely on the ice. We would laugh, celebrating the catch and almost instantly the excitement of the moment made me forget I was even cold.
During the times between bites, he would tell me stories of the fishing adventures he and his friends used to have. Sometimes they would join us, or be fishing close to us where they could talk, I loved hearing them speak to each other in Ojibwe. As the sun would set and the sky would turn dark, we would gather up our nights catch in a burlap sack, fire up the sled and head for home. As we drove, I remember all I could think about was feeling the warmth of his wood stove, warming up my toes, and how I couldn’t wait till tomorrow to do it all over again.
I can still remember the time we last enjoyed this together a few years before he passed away, we were able to go out and enjoy an evening fish on a hole near where we used to fish. This time I led the way out across the dangerous channels, helped him get his hole ready and put a minnow on for him. We talked about the days events, I told him some stories of fishing with my friends and how we were making out that year, and just enjoyed fishing and each others company.
I didn’t know that might be the last time I would ever get to fish with him, but I know I cherished the time, listened and learned from him as I always did. My Grandfather is a huge part of who I am today, and why I became a Fishing Guide. I think about him a lot, and feel him closest when I am out there ice fishing on those cold days. If I see an Oak leaf you can bet he’s there with me, still guiding me.
I am so thankful for his teachings, those memories we created, because I know I will have them forever. I miss him and I love him, and I can’t wait for the time when we can do it all again together.
Cherish the memories
Mike Williams, Pro Angler & Owner of Williams Outfitters in Curve Lake First Nation
Mike Williams is a professional angler with over 20 years of guiding and tournament experience, he offers professional guiding services and will help you land ‘The Big One’.
