Boys on ice

Boys on ice

Grandsons Tucker and Perrin love time spent on the frozen Birch Lake and are learning to like ice fishing. This morning Tucker (10) remembered the tip-ups we used two years ago and was eager to try “those flag fishing rods.” I opted instead for jigging rod/reel combos – waxworms on jigs promised more bites than soaking minnows for walleyes. I drilled a hole for Tucker and lowered his jig and waxworm to near the bottom over a crib, a fish-attracting tangle of logs and brush. Before I could finish drilling another hole, Tucker had a fish on and was bringing it in, smiling broadly, the rod bending in a deep arc. He had the rod upside down, reel on top, and so was cranking backwards with his right hand, but he managed to pull out a nice bluegill. Meanwhile Perrin (9),  played in the slush that a warm spell had made from about four inches of snow.

While I set up a second rod, Tucker brought in another bluegill, this time following my advice and holding the rod correctly. Perrin for the time being wasn’t interested in fishing, so I worked the new hole alongside Tucker. For several minutes, nothing more bit. Tucker announced, “I’m done ice fishing,” and went to join Perrin in a slush ball fight. As they played, I drilled more holes, looking for a productive spot. Eventually I hooked a bluegill and called to Tucker, who dutifully reeled it in, then went back to the slushy duel. So it went; we ended up with six bluegills, which the boys’ father fileted to take home.

In the afternoon, the lake shrouded in fog so thick it obscured the far shore, I took each boy out separately for a half-hour of fishing. For a little boy, sitting on a cooler working a jig can’t compare with the joy of playing in slush and water. Tucker created what he imagined as a booby trap, filling a hole with slush until it blended in with the ice surface. He laughed at the thought of someone stepping on the trap and sinking knee-deep in ice water. Perrin, on his turn, found a stick and used it to plunge and stir the water in the holes. In each case I let the boy play and, when a fish bit, summoned him to reel it in. Each boy got a picture-worthy fish – a bluegill for Tucker and a crappie for Perrin. Those pictures now adorn the wall of the bedroom they share. I hope the boys can visit us again later in winter. Maybe Tucker will get to experience, once again, “those flag fishing rods.” (Photo of Tucker Kulow by the author)