Sneaking out for a solitary fish 

When faced with having to spend time with the in-laws or shovelling snow, sometimes the best solution is just to go fishing 

There was a time, long, long ago, when I probably liked snow. I can remember as a child, the long days of sledding, skiing and romping through the huge drifts that Toronto used to receive on quite a usual basis, only to come home to our freshly shovelled drive and into the warm living room. It was there that my mother would serve me hot chocolate as I played quietly, so not to disturb my father who for some reason unknown to me was napping again. Now, many years later, I realize why dear old dad was usually lying down — too much snow.

So, one day during the holidays, after rising from my own post-shovelling nap, I managed to avoid detection from my in-laws and ever-watchful wife and finally hit the road for some early season ice fishing. My plan had gone perfectly — hide the auger behind the snowblower as I removed it from the shop until reaching the truck, which just so happens to be safely out of window-peeking distance. The rods and tackle then were easily tucked away into my oversize snow pants and winter jacket. I cackled quite menacingly as I pulled into the bait store and grabbed a couple of dozen shiners in a plastic bag; only a fool would have attempted to smuggle out a bait bucket. After a quick stop for coffee, it was down to the lake.

With the large volume of snow, I knew most of my regular spots would most likely not be safe enough to venture on, so instead, I drove just out of town to an area popular with fishermen and snowmobilers alike. As I scanned the lake, several ice huts had already been towed out and another was arriving via pickup truck as I got dressed. The walk was short, only a couple of hundred yards, easily done by following the existing trails to the small cluster of shacks.

After picking a suitable area, not too close or too far away from the others, I began to drill and was pleasantly surprised to find over seven inches of good ice beneath my feet. After cutting the two holes, it was time to scoop out the slush and begin my season for the year. Gingerly I reached into the cold water of my bait bag and removed a fat shiner about three and a half inches in length and threaded it onto the hook. The water depth was in the 15- to 20-foot range with a weedy, muddy bottom, so I allowed the bait to hang a couple of feet up so as not to get fouled in anything. As I was lowering my second line, a shout emerged from a nearby hut and a medium-sized pike was tossed out onto the snow. This was a good sign: at least there was something around.

It was warm enough that my two holes weren’t slushing over too quickly but they still needed scooping every 10 minutes or so. It was at one of these times that it happened — a strike. I dropped the scoop and picked up the short rod, solidly setting the hook at the same time. The small pike didn’t put up much of a fight and soon, the head of the four-pounder was sticking through the hole. With a quick twist of my pliers the hooks came free and the pike was released to grow up and be caught another time.

Alas, I should have savoured that fight for a while longer as it was the only fish of the afternoon. Once the light had faded and most of the other fishermen were long gone, I packed my things into the truck and headed back toward Huntsville. A couple of miles from town I reached down to pick up my cellphone.

“Hello,” my wife answered. “If you are near a store, bring home some milk. By the way, did you get anything? My mother spied a package of hooks sticking out from your pocket.”

As I lay the phone back down, I noticed the snow was once again starting to fall. All of a sudden, I relished the thought of having to plow the driveway — the peace and solitude. Next to fishing, it has to be the best-known cure for the in-law flu.

Till next time, good luck and good fishing.

Ed Haney is an avid fisherman who lives near Huntsville.