NORTH.
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Still scribbling away… and still running.

As chance would have it, work travel in the new year would find me at the very top of Hudson Bay in a little Nunavut town called Coral Harbour on Southampton Island. Ottawa to Winnipeg first, followed by further flights north through Churchill Manitoba and Rankin Inlet Nunavut, after a day and half of jet-setting it was good to finally touch down.

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Marty picked me up at the Coral Harbour airport eleven miles from town. Within the long twilight hours, driving across the flat tundra I could peer at times south over the vast Hudson Bay. On route to town Marty mentions that he forgot to turn the generator on to the house I’d be staying in. “House? Thought nurses stayed in the Health Center,” I questioned? “It’s not far from the hospital. Three minute walk,” he replied. Short while later he slowed down on the road. “Ahhhh, they didn’t plow the driveway.” I say nothing. “See over there? That’s your house.” About a quarter mile in the distance along the ocean shoreline is a lone cabin with two sheds, about triple the distance beyond that is a single light seen peeking over a ridge. “That’s not my place to stay,” I say. “Where’s the hospital?” “It’s over the hill at that light,” Marty answers. “Well dood that’s no fawking three minute walk,” I tell him. Marty starts to laugh then begins to drive away. Seconds later we come around a slight bend and the town reveals itself in the distance. Marty still smiling says, “I had ya good.”

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Sat sipping a Sunday morning coffee while watching my new favorite “up north show,” M.A.S.H. A nearly straight through 35 hour shift highlighted by our tiny team of three Nurses safely delivering a 31 week old newborn into the world, the end of the first seven finished busy. Energy restored after sleeping 12 hours I needed to get out for some fresh air. Coup’d up inside all week working, the town had several days of super cold and a violent midweek arctic blizzard blow through. There is nothing quite like the storms in places so flat and barren. Out on the ocean ice and tundra the snow was packed solid as concrete, the high winds and nearly -60C wind chills hammered it all down hard. A warmer, sunny afternoon with little chance of freezing to death, it was great to kick up a couple sweaty outdoor miles under the old Sorels

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During the quick four week contract the hours spent in clinic were busy but manageable. 220 worked and another 320 of on-call, to put away 540 hours in such a short span is just how I prefer to do things. Meeting many people in clinic, their healthcare is always topic number one yet, whenever getting the chance I do like to talk about fishing, hunting and the outdoors with any interested in the same.

One older gentleman spoke at length of the increasingly shorter arctic winter years, the ocean ice forming about two weeks later and receding two weeks earlier than how he remembered it in his youth. He talked of the extinction of the island’s caribou in the 50’s by Canadian and American soldiers once based in the area post World War 2 and, how re-introduction and a managed population has helped restore herds for today.

With others I learned of the local arctic char fishing, walrus and polar bear viewing and also seal hunting. Understood that angling for char on work contracts during any summer would be nearly impossible without extra time, a vehicle and a gun for safety. Polar bears frequent and migrate through the area with the seasons and sometimes arrive in town. The opportunity to escape them on foot over flat, featureless tundra doesn’t exist. They hunt you down, you’re gonna be food. Some feel their population is on the rise.

The people in Coral are the nicest you could meet anywhere, and the local art is incredible. Some very talented carvers, I even picked up a cool looking soapstone grizzly bear for Brenda.

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Winter nights are long and bitter cold, and the blizzards can be apocalyptic some days. Taking chances to be here is rewarding. Having the chance to work here is a real perk, and seeking out chances while here is truly living it. With little sunlight, I always find chasing a sunset for some exercise and a great photo opp is time well spent.

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A super nice old dood I had looked after a couple times was there at the airport the day of my departure. Unable to rely on my Inuk, through his broken English we carried a conversation for awhile. Staring out the window, on the runway was a lone raven, and he told me how smart he believed they are. Said that, when going fishing ravens will follow and watch. When more than one hole is drilled and there are many baited hooks down, some ravens will bite or grab on a line and jig. Ravens watching you learn what to do and then catch their own fish. If they get one on the hook they will try to fly way with the fishing line and pull the fish from the hole and onto the ice. Sometimes, other ravens help each other to do this.

It was a cool story for what it was about, and even more so for how he enjoyed telling it. Have a feeling I’ll enjoy sharing it and even more stories about Coral Harbour in the future.

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EAST.
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Shortly after returning home to the Ottawa Valley, Brenda and I had our annual extended weekend of ice fishing with the gang up at Bogie. This is never one to miss, and it has become very much a part of Brenda’s winter planning like it has been my own for years.

A great group of anglers and friends, 2017 marked the 10th Anniversary of the Bogie gatherings. Some faces have changed over time but a real core has always remained, this would be my 8th year in attendance. Brian and Rob have provided the group a great venue to see one another, fish, play cards and catch up. The poker table is busy at nights, some of the fellas jam on guitars while others relax and visit, the food is always great, the booze flows and the days are spent in the outdoors. Four days of bliss!

Each Bogie a derby is held for biggest trout. In the earlier years, our groups of 20-30 anglers would catch quite a few smaller lakers in the 14-18 inch mark, and some years catch few fish at all. Winning trout would often be 22, 23 and sometimes 24+ inches and weighing in the 4 to 5 1/2 pound range. Through time though, it did seem that each trip the winning fish was a little larger than the previous. Pretty sure it was our buddy Shayne that held the biggest fish on record, a lake trout nearing six pounds. This year some guys wanted to add walleye to the derby and so for the first time it was biggest trout or walleye wins the cash and bragging rights. Little did the group know how this would come into play for 2017.

Brenda and I arrived earlier than most and settled into our room. With some guys returning from the lake and all forming a welcoming committee at the cabin, asking Bren what she wanted to do her answer was go fishing. That’s my girl!

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A short afternoon tour and the lake to ourselves, I’d been fishing about an hour when a bar showed up on the graph. The fish moved quick and sudden towards the lure and when nearing five feet away I began reeling in fast. No hesitation the laker smacked it! After a spirited battle I caught one of the most perfect and pretty back lake orange-fins I have ever seen. Seeing this fish put me over the moon.

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Back at the cabin a couple hours later, the laker weighed in at five pounds and fifteen ounces. Surely a six soaking wet and with history as any indicator, a great possibility for the derby winner. It was a fantastic start and that red flesh made for a tasty meal. Luck followed at the poker table too.

But next day as fate would have it, my buddy Hoss hooked, landed, weighed and released a six pound walleye. Six pounds even to nudge me out by an ounce. It is extremely rare this group catches walleye on the lake as I think there had only been one caught about nine or even ten years earlier, and none since. Basically they’re like unicorns in there. Well, the big bugger Hoss really threw a monkey-wrench into my game plan with his walleye, and I surely took a good ribbin’ in cabin B from the man.

Then the third day things all changed again. On the lake Billy was off in a corner with Lori and Shayne when he hooked into something he fought at great length before it broke off his line. In another spot with Brenda, jigging the light stick I hooked into something that was going to spool me until I began to put the brakes on it and the fish came unpegged. A little while later Bren stung a fish of her own.

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Heading over for lunch, in the crowd Keith hooks a big fish that turns out to be a 6 1/2 pound walleye. Keith takes top spot. Un-frickin-believable!!! In ten years of Bogie’s we’d never seen anything like this fishing weekend.

So finally when returning to our holes after an on-ice meal, within ten minutes of resetting on the jig I hooked another heavy fish yet again. Christine came over to join Brenda and I, and after a good, long, careful and anxious fight up the hole it came. A TEN POUNDER!!! A ten pound laker on Bogie’s tenth year! My favorite lake trout of 2017 and of many other ice fishing days combined. From those waters it’s quite a lunker. The fish was released after weighing and some cash later deposited into the pocket.

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Half the gang was sticking around to the Monday and half took off the Sunday morning. You only need to blink when you first arrive to see how fast this good time flies by. With the group it has always been friends first, and this year was another fine and fun example of what great times can come about with the right people being together. Happy to attend Bogie every winter season and will always try to make it. Big thanks to Brian and Rob!

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SOUTH.
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Girls wanted some sun, seafood and as much Harry Potter as possible so we took a week away in Orlando to visit both Universal Studio theme parks, Seaworld, and spend much family time eating way too much food. Will admit, the two Harry Potter kingdoms and rides are absolutely amazing for kids young and old. A few pictures oughtta sum this up quick… Have a real thing going on for the dragon!

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WEST.
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A Thorough Beating.

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After a pleasing ride out onto the lake I stepped off the Bravo onto some wet, glare ice and was flat on the back in a flash. Somehow twisting an ankle, banging an elbow and knee and, smacking my head, the bell rung good my helmet had nearly come off in the wipe out too. For a second I mighta had the whirlies. What a start to the week

With newbies somewhere out here as well, the last thing I wanted to do was drill holes where leaving off the previous season. Productive big fish water ain’t easy to find, and Lord knows in the previous years I’d punched enough thick ice and jigged for hours to locate some spots on some spots. This is like muskie hunting, you’re fishing for the shot at maybe one or two fish a day. Some days you fish for nothing.

But this first crack at it all was a nasty one. Not only a slip to nearly break me, when turning on the sonar I found it was busted too. With limited tools it took nearly an hour fixing that problem, before then dealing with a bit of a temperamental Jiffy. By the time I was ready to fish the sun had disappeared behind a grey wall, the wind was picking up and before too long I was retreating for land with a snow-storm hot on the heels.

The outing was only a few hours. The snow did really fly and all turned white. With poor visibility in the blow, to be efficient I took a little time to pre-drill holes on some waypoints for the following day, marking the better depths with some stones which had been gathered earlier from shore. Couple big pressure cracks on route back took me off course a ways. Safe travel meant going around one of them more or less, for the straight line would have been the deadliest. The Bravo isn’t too quick a sled but it’ll skim some open water, pulling two sleighs behind it though, that’s some dangerous drag. GPS made returning safely off the lake easy enough, and the cracks to cross had been marked with some spruce boughs. Always better safe than sorry.

Arriving back I found Lenny and Rob in the shop installing some scratchers to Len’s Renegade. The lake was a skating rink just like it had been the previous year, and the modification was expected to help prevent some engine over-heating issues. A wee bit of a headache at this point, Rob offered up some Tylenol and I retreated mildly medicated with that and a big gin and 7. After an early dinner by 8:30pm I settled into a deep coma.
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Whiteout To Grey Trout.

Slept eleven hours and once up and at ’em was quick to eat, make lunches and hit the ice. Don’t think Lenny was even out of bed before I was gone.

A big blizzard snow-load overnight and the sun temporarily shining bright, the river into the lake was a sweet morning sled. Blazed all new tracks the whole way.

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Once reaching the lake it all changed in a hurry though. Visibility fell next to nothing, the wind was whipping up the snow and it was a completely different hour. Finding those rocks was a chore but when I did, the holes being well insulated with snow overnight were quickly opened. Fishing came quick but the catching not so much.

The snow let up and shortly after the noon hour Lenny arrived and drilled nearby. The whiteys were starting to come around but there was so far no sign of any lakers. Restless, around 2:00pm I relocated to another area and within minutes marked, hooked, but lost a fish. Thinking it hadn’t been overly stung, a rod ready I dropped down a different lure. About five to ten minutes later either that same fish or another returned. Nothing huge but not too bad, it was a start.

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More than two hours later while beginning to nod off in the hut, another grey came around and I caught the second fish of the day. Definitely a little bigger and better and a good fight, this one just pushed into the double digits.

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Two for three on a blustery one, and Len picked up a white or two back at the other spot. This was the better day to actually count as the first. Felt good again setting hooks into some rippers.
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Up Town Funk You Up.

Another sunny and calm beginning on land, as soon as reaching the lake it was gnarly windy.

Forgetting an extra propane, with half a bottle on the Buddy and the draft into the hut the way it was, I was a little cautious to not over use the heat. While thawing myself and the gear, an older Mitchell that got iced up broke apart at the onset of fishing. It owed me nothing, they are not overly expensive and this thing has rocked enough solid fish it was OK to trash it. With three set-ups down to two, it meant that the lighter outfit would come into play.

Munching on a big assorted meat wrap and some Balderson smoked cheddar, it was noon when a laker pulled in real hungry to go. Ordering up the spoon it was fast at the drive-thru and once grabbing the meal from the window it tore outta the lot at highspeed. Neglecting to pay and that making me reel peeling pissed off, I put the hammer down after it.

Taking side streets, ducking down alleyways and running red fins the laker pulled every stunt to try and shake me. Bugger twice used the ice to try and grease slick stick the hook out of it’s face and lose the tail. A real gangster with some tricks and plenty firepower too, it was a chase that went on for miles. Thankfully for me, I’d fueled up with that hunk of smokey cheese and meat before badass Laker McLakerston even showed up. So unlucky for him he gassed out first. Lenny arrived on scene just in time for the arrest. Big Boss Hawg was taken into custody, charged and later released on bail… See ya in court ya greasy bastard.

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Got that fish on the lighter gear! Woohoo!!!

Very little bait was around, only the odd whitey. Lenny and I yammered a little back-and-forth on walkie-talkies and he thankfully had some extra propane to ignite my heater. In the hut, heat at the lower back, vents open up top, sometimes the tunes going while doing the jiggy-jiggy Lowrance dance, it’s a rather peaceful and relaxing time.

Lenny having arrived later, as he usually does he takes on a little more of the evening shift. Because of being out earlier in the morning I tend to pack it in sooner, unless the bite is hot. (which it rarely is) A leisurely late afternoon visit with Rob, maybe a drink with Wilf, puttering with the gear to prep for the next day or just getting started on dinner, the cabin is always so warm and inviting to return to after a full day of ground and pound. On this day I did something that is really rare too, and that was pour a beer. While changing out the lighter line to beef up for the next day, while splicing a uni-to-uni for main to leader, the line snapped and I knocked over the bubbly hops into my tacklebox. Ya know…? I just really don’t like beer anymore, guess that’s why it’s rare to pour one. Replaced it with a little maple moonshine on the rocks and that got the job done right.
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Burnt Out.

Left fish to find fish. Cardinal mistake..? Don’t think so because the spot we were heading was known to cough ’em up but, it can be stingy too. No tracks out all looked good but I knew the area had been worked pretty hard over the previous weeks. Arriving there, even with the fresh snow on the field I could tell the circus had come through town.

Moving to a favorite GPS waypoint, after punching a couple side-by-side ten inchers, once I started to shovel the landing strip for the hut I found an old hole less than three feet from mine. On a huge lake and even big spot like this, those are pretty slim odds. A new group of six who had all curiously paid me a visit last year and watched on while I hooked fish, well I figured they made some waypoints too. Looking around the area more closely it was obvious the spot had been Swiss-cheesed not all that long ago and even awhile back as well. I thought twice about staying actually, but decided to keep the holes there and work another good area close-by.

The sun came out strong through the afternoon. Was able to sit out burning the nose, fish gloves off and move around easy trying different holes. Lenny arrived a little later and got to work on some whiteys, as they were about the only thing biting for either of us. Not a laker marked all day, and after that solid effort I retired on a broken Bravo back to the cabin. Plenty misfires and questions left under the hood.
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Cold Blow.

Another overnight blizzard the temps dropped from +4C to -26C and all was covered in a thick blanket of drifted snow.

Surfing out on fresh pow the dust was kicking up behind and it got into everything. Inside the Clam was full of fluff, the blue bins too. The heater was plugged solid. The snow was into the rod bag. The covered auger head may as well have been out in the open on the ride. The fun began.

To drill two holes in a new and experimental spot then drive a half klick over to a good spot to drill there, it all took an hour. The auger wouldn’t warm up and kept stalling out. The heater wouldn’t start. The reels were frozen seized and needed thawing. On spot two after drilling I took a sheet of ply that I keep on the floor of the sleigh and some rocks, to cover the holes for later because after getting that auger going I didn’t want to bother with it again. When Lenny arrived, for possibly for the first time ever I wasn’t already fishing.

Put me in a mood it did… and my piece of shit Clam did too. If you want to hear some real stories about my own and Len’s problems with the Kenai and X2, I’d certainly rant on. The actual flip-up canvas aside, which is OK I guess, it is the sleds that are possibly the worst, problematic, cheap, garbage sleds we have both ever seen. Not up to any standard really for hauling with a load or empty, I have four times in four years had to reinforce and repair my own just to keep it usable and, Len has busted his Kenai and X2 and Kenai again in the same number of years. A decent enough product if you are a tailgate or walkout fisherman but, not at all up to the task of being pulled behind the slowest skidoo on the market, my Bravo.

The experiment didn’t work and I pulled up shop to move. Riding over to where I had pre-drilled earlier, Len had parked right on those holes. Kept me in a mood that did.

So, after thirty minutes of relocation, assembly, warm-up, drill, disassembly, shovel, scoop and reheat during the prime time, I no sooner plunged a lure down the hole and dropped a heavy hitting to bottom runner because of a poopy hookset made while my eyes were turned. In a real mood now, yes!

That was the only shot for the day. Missed that fish and took the skunk. Packed up early and buggered right off for the cabin. Would have made it back right quick too but the spark plug cap had pretty well rattled and stripped itself thin on the plug and just wouldn’t stay on. Popping and misfiring! Had to keep the bucking Bravo powers to about half Red Bull just to gently persuade the beast back to the stall. We got it home on the range.

After kicking off the boots and pouring a whiskey I went snooping for Rob. Hard at it in the garage he was just beginning the frame on a big, double axle trailer he wanted to build. Impressive stuff, Rob’s got mad skillz with pretty well everything he does. His carpentry, small engines, landscaping, welding and machine work, you name it he can do it. Off the grid, left to his own devices he never takes a day off. Knows that keeping busy keeps him going. Can never say enough good about my buddy as he always impresses the ever-loving shit out of me. Check out the hydraulic press he had just finished building too!

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“Hey Rob dood! Can I borrow some duct tape?”

The Bravo getting up there in miles it needed some work as well. And I sure showed Rob how I can get stuff done. Spark plug crisis resolved! Worked up a real appetite and got to fixin’ some other things around the cabin too.

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The wraps were actually for the following day.
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Jelly Belly & Ding-A-Ling Love.

Having kept the auger inside by the stove overnight it was raring to go and fired up easy. Being that I was out even earlier than usual, the plan was to waste extra time drilling two spots on both sides of a contour line I had been following and mapping out.

First area had promise, as after a half dozen holes I had found a fifty foot hump surrounded by deeper water and near to a big drop into the blue zone. Fishing it awhile it had whiteys but no lakers showed up before the noon hour. Although, a surprise guest did give me a good thunkin’ from the bottom before coming up the hole like a wet sock. Every time I catch a ding-a-ling I think of an alien abduction. Like a person frozen and beaming up into some Mothership. They lack almost all motivation to escape, and even this ten pounder only peeled about two inches of drag trying to flee. But hey, what they ain’t got in power they sure got in pretty, cause the big ole eel pouts are quite neat to look over and this one surely put a big smile on the face.

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Got this here video of it too…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvn7mEBJI_o
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Moving on I stopped at familiar grounds and on a favorite waypoint popped a wonderfully big fish within fifteen minutes of jigging. A real tester this one was and it played me nearly twenty minutes and right through a pocketful of Jelly Belly beans. Mmmmm! Sweet, sweet greasy laker love! Can’t taste ‘em enough.

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Through the course of the week I’d been trying to shoot video of these fish but after the first few days the GoPro just wasn’t working right. Kept reading SD card error except that, there was no error. Turned out in the cabin it would work fine so I thought it was the cold… but it wasn’t that either. What was actually going on…? Well, I was trying to film vertically and for some odd reason the camera did not want to be left-side up, only the right! Unfortunately, I lost some chances to capture really good fish fights throughout the week but, there were some that made it to HD memory. When able to figure out the new video software some of that footage may come.

With a couple hours to go I continued on exploring and fishing the contour line. At days end, another great underwater point was mapped and I intended to fish it more thoroughly the next morning.

Returning back to the cabin Lenny was still asleep. Jeebus Crispies! A whole day went by!!! In all fairness though he was tweaked out with a crotchety back and get this, ANOTHER broken Clam sleigh. Yeah, the new Kenai sled he bought to replace his broken Kenai sled, had cracked to bits. Lenny had even fastened this new Clam to an amazing, expensive, ultimate skidoo sleigh that he and the Agent Stevie Z use (which can itself haul a skidoo on top of it) and his Clam still fractured like an eggshell. I wouldn’t have believed it if not already knowing how easy mine came apart on three other occasions.

Poured a tall, cold Snoop Dog and visited with Rob for awhile. When Lenny woke up he popped in the oven some leftover Sheppies Pie, threw together some greens and we all shared a nice meal. Good and achy from a day of run-and-gunning and drilling a couple dozen holes over a couple miles, the bed was just too much to resist.
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Sunny Rich Golden Grease.

Last chance for romance. Cold but impressive day to come. The sun was shining, little bit breezy but otherwise a beauty to enjoy. Four for six on the week with a luscious ling to make it a thing. Simply fishing for a fish a day really, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Once you get a taste for five pounders you want ten. Get that ten you want a twenty. After four years I had tasted those plenty and even a twenty-five and, am pretty sure had one if not two thirties on the line. For me that is what this particular ice fishing game is about. An ongoing hunt for big and bigger lakers.

The Bravo wanted to act up some. The tape job was still OK but the pressure on the cap pushing upward had stretched it a little. One last day, just one last day, it’ll be fine. Lenny will be out with his shattered Clam and crooked spine later and if I’m on the side of the road thumbing it, and he’ll pick my arse up and get me home.

Started off on the new waypoint alongside a bald eagle and some ravens keeping an eye out for any freebies that might get thrown their way. Knowing you’re on the final countdown always sucks, the week always flies by so fast. This quiet trip with my buddies and another big group trip earlier in the season, I look forward to them both very much each winter. But this one marks the end of the ice fishing.

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An always hard and aggressive jig to call ’em in, after seven days of thumping and bumping, ripping and running it was surely a surprise to feel the weight of this fish on a dead jig. Was just resting a minute and fiddling with the camera and when I looked at the sonar for a micro-second, a red bar appeared before it just annihilated the lure. Such a sick run it sounded in an instant and the war was on. Barely had time to prepare.

Waited and waited for it to quit but it wouldn’t. Sometimes it held, then I held, and then when either put the pressure on it was merely a short lived battle that didn’t seem to gain any ground. In ice fishing you just can’t get this kinda tough grit and stubborn determination out of any other fish. Lakers are the cold water royalty!

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That’s fishing for one fish a day. And if you put your heart into it, your time and you’re lucky, that is the fish. The eagle and ravens will have to look harder to find their own.

Thanks for reading.
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Bunk.
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