Food for Thought #9: Young Angler— A Personal Account
It’s a bit late for new years wishes but I hope everyone’s taking the ox by the horns! I return with a less traditional food story… This winter, I’ve felt more engaged with food than ever before despite the lack of dining experiences due to Covid restrictions and having cooked professionally in the past. For that, I’m grateful to my community of family and friends who’ve made this possible by mentoring me and taking me along for the ride into Ontario’s cottage and backcountry. Just when I thought I had my relationship with food figured out, it evolved and invigorated me with new inspiration… I hope this new chapter of F4T also inspires you to experience and enjoy food and life in new ways! ❤
By the time we tetrised our equipment into the toboggan, strung together our best-bet of improvised lines and hooks, preheated the thermos and prepped a tupperware of Eastern-European man-snacks we were left with 3 hours of shuteye. When the alarm sounded at 2:30 a.m, I lay in bed contemplating flaking on the expedition, begrudgingly listening to the wind whistling in the uninspiring darkness outside. Having a long track-record of sleeping through dawn fishing in the summer when the weather’s pleasant and the attire’s light, I never imagined I’d overcome the wakeup-call-struggle on a winter night, but there I was rolling out of bed somehow.
Carpooling with a group of veterans meant I had to take precautions to keep warm for a reasonable portion of the day not to cut the trip short for everyone. I brewed a litre of hot coffee, stuffed a couple more hot paws in my pockets and pulled on a warm and breathable wool sweater, tossing the rest of my outerwear into the backseat of the car so not to overheat. The night drive was quick to the meeting spot; a hole-in-the-wall bait store among bubble tea shops and nail salons at one of the few strip malls along Rutherford Road. The lot hummed with car engines left running. Men congregated in a loose line awaiting minnows and mingling. This spot used to be open by 4 a.m for the early birds heading further north, providing time for the drive up and the walk out onto the ice before sunrise, but now it’s 7.
By 5:30 a.m our fleet was parked off of highway 69 at the edge of a forest. It was still pitch black as everyone piled out of the vehicles. Exhaust fumes billowed in the dim red glow of the rear fog lights that silhouetted the men shuffling by the trunks; unloading and securing gear with straps, and suiting up in flotation onesies. They joked and chirped each other non-stop; clearly in good spirits to be out despite the nipping cold or the unGodly hour. Dad instructed I keep ice picks on me at all times. As other anglers pulled up next to us, their pickups loaded with snowmobiles, our crew set out on foot, single file, along no particular path into the woods.
One guy with a headlamp led the way while I covered the tail end, keeping lookout for equipment that may fall out as the men trekked the toboggans over 3 kilometres of icy, sloping trail. “No rush boys! Don’t wanna break a sweat,” my dad hollered. Everyone shuffled to a stop; some took a swig from their flask, some unzipped his suits and jackets, and others like myself, through white clouds of breath, admired the tapestry of glimmering stars above the evergreens. By the time we emerged from the woods, it was daybreak out on the open lake; the bright blue sky glowed and invigorated our step. In the distance, tents of overnight enthusiasts already dotted the solid ice.
Picking an isolated spot off the shore, our guys wasted no time drilling holes, checking ice thickness with kitchen skimmers (to my amusement) and water depth via fish finders. The depth was right for perch and walleye (25 feet), the ice was safe (8 inches thick) but no fish activity on the monitor... The snow blanketing the ice lay untouched… It can feel reassuring to see frozen-over holes of past activity in the area; you think ‘someone thought this was a good spot too,’ but throughout the season there’s less fish left in lakes so untouched spots can have their appeal.
The seven of us spread out over some 60 meters to try find the ‘sweet spot’ — a place where the fish would bite consistently — divvying up the live bait among each post. I was surprised to observe the guys didn’t all use the same line setup going after the same fish. Knowledgeably rummaging through their tackle boxes, each strung up different coloured, sized and types of lures. My dad and I had three different set-ups spread out over some 20 paces: one was a rod with a little fish-shaped lure and a silver minnow hooked on by its lip (lip so it stays alive and thrashing) with a sinker weight pinched a meter up the line to help it fall to the bottom. The second was a similar but bigger and heavier shiny lure with another lively minnow hooked on and a fly hook tied a meter up the line — a diversified attempt at attracting trout. The third was an idle tip up; no rod, just a line with a shiny lure and minnow that needed to be lowered and raised manually, hand-over-hand, with a neon flag that would pop up to indicate a bite.
“Scoop the ice off the top of the hole… Now drop your line in and let it run out till it’s loose, means your bait hit the bottom… Now reel it in a bit ‘till line’s tight so you’ll see it tugged when there’s a bite and jig, play with it… not too much! Stop to give the fish time to come in for the bite, they swim slower in the winter. ” Leaving me focused and trying at my hole, dad finally melted into his own chair facing the sun, rod in hand, sighing with satisfaction before falling silent for the next while, taking in the perfect weather, the phenomenal nature and the moment of it all.
Your fingers — grabbing minnows and catches out of icy water, and adjusting the line, switching lures and tying knots out in the cold— are likely to freeze first (that or your toes) if you’re not sheltered from the winds and temperatures in a tent or cabin. Half the fun of fishing is tinkering with different lures and leaders to see what brings in the bites but winter is a harder time to learn and execute proper ties when going between different setups. I popped some hot paws in my mitts and boots. “Leave the rod. Go have some coffee and take a walk,” dad instructed. “Where can I… pee?” I asked, looking around stupidly. “In the bushes on shore or just far out enough on the ice where the guys can’t make anything out,” he laughed, pointing at the open lake.
Just when dad stepped away to ‘warm up’ — taking the tupperware of garlic, chilis, salo, kielbasa, and bread to his buddies who were waiting with flasks at the ready — the tip of his propped up rod began to jerk… or was it quivering in the wind? After a long day of staring at rod tips, anticipating action, you start to see things… I ran over and jerked hard up over my shoulder. Reeling in the line steadily, I felt a catch was hooked but it wasn’t coming in as easily as the previous walleyes! I stopped reeling in and quickly adjusted the drag so the fish could pull my thin line out with effort yet not tear it in its attempt to get away. This was my first time playing the nuanced game of tiring out a catch and it was absolutely enthralling; I didn’t notice the guys rush over and cheer me on. By their accounts, it took me twenty minutes of wrestling to get the catch up by the hole. Catching a glimpse of its size as it swam by a section of transparent black ice was the most exciting moment of this season for me. My dad rolled up his sleeve and reached elbow-deep into the freezing water to pull the beast out by the gills, me being too apprehensive as a new angler.
New or old, it’s important to be able to identify your catch and learn the rules on what you can actually keep based on zoning, season, species and size. Luckily, this time I was with folks who could help identify my 35 inch lake trout!!!
We were all catching plenty of walleyes throughout the morning, releasing most as the limit was two per person. Still, that was ample for a fresh fish stew lunch. The fish were frozen solid by the cold in a matter of hours so a few of us easily pulled off the skins, gutted and roughly filleted them on the ice. Scooping a pot of clear lake water, we threw it on a little portable propane burner to simmer. Using a spare old paring knife, we split the tasks of peeling and roughly chopping the onions, carrots and potatoes with stiff, shaking red hands, taking it slow and hovering them over the steaming pot to thaw from time to time. The veg simmered with the fish (fish eggs, heads with the eyes removed…), bay leaves, allspice, salt and garlic cloves. Skimming scum off the top, the soup became clear and glistening with nutritious oils. Smaller fresh fish don’t take long to cook. A generous touch of fresh-chopped parsley and dill, and everyone could smell that lunch was ready. Out in the open air, we slurped wordlessly, faces flushed with utter enjoyment and pride in our ability to score the key, transformative ingredient.
Post-meal I felt comfortably toasty, accomplished and tired, having caught a good haul by my standards. Snuggling myself into our toboggan, I let the beaming sunshine and circling raven overhead lull me to sleep while the rest of the crew lazily jigged on.
It was a sweet but fleeting nap and there was more fishing after it, though nowhere near as successful. As the sun set, came the packing up and the trek back. None took any fish home to their families (besides me and my trout, which I cured!) yet none minded. The next weekend we went it was the same: we came out, caught for a fish stew lunch out on the ice, basked in nature and weathered the unique conditions that day had to offer, returning home empty-handed and blissfully exhausted.
Chef Charles Michel stated in his TEDX talk, Delicious Evolution — Food and Human Civilization, “The meaning of food [and] the meaning of life are intimately linked. Life is really all about energy and nutrients…” for single and multi-celled organisms alike. “Evolution has been powered by deliciousness; by pleasure. So if we want to evolve from now we have to use that pleasure as a tool for change.” Ice fishing redefined what pleasurable food means to me and how it extends far beyond the sense of taste.
Note: Some of this story’s accounts have been time-lapsed but NOT embellished!
