Three Strikes and I’m Out

I must admit that I take a perverse pleasure and maybe even a bit of pride in doing things that other people think are crazy. I relish any person’s reaction as I relate my experience at the Jacksonport Polar Bear Plunge, describing myself wading through the ice strewn water and diving headlong into a frigid Lake Michigan. “You did what? That’s nuts!” I don’t consider it nuts, nor did the hundreds of other people taking part in the New Year’s Day ritual.  It isn’t even particularly dangerous if done properly. However, I enjoy that non-participants think it foolhardy.  I’m not at all sure what that says about me. I don’t think of myself as a risk-taker or reckless. Sure, I did once sit in the Devil’s Pool with my legs dangling near the 350-foot chasm of Zambia’s Victoria Falls. Seemed like a good idea at the time.  As did traveling to central Siberia to swim in the chilly waters of Lake Baikal. I did not feel at all threatened as I sat several feet away from a massive silver-backed mountain gorilla in western Rwanda. Traveling the breadth of China to reach a Mount Everest basecamp did not seem much of a risk for the opportunity to gaze at the North Face (the mountain, not the sportswear). When I was teaching, many of my colleagues took educational sabbaticals to the western US, even Europe. I took mine to Antarctica. Is that so crazy? I did not think so, but I also didn’t mind if others did. Just a personality flaw, I guess. 

Non-anglers might view the various machinations I go through in pursuit of fish as unwise. Sure, stepping out on three inches of early season ice may seem so, but physics tells us that the structural strength of this layer of crystalline water is sufficient to support the weight of even the heftiest angler. I trust physics. I have been out on Lake Michigan when the waves would cause many to turn pale and head to safe harbor. I respect the lake, but the decision to keep fishing depends on several factors, not the least being the size of the boat and how the fish are biting. Probably the one fishing experience that stretched even my notion of sanity occurred on the Victoria Nile in northern Uganda. I was fishing with a young Ugandan guide in a 14-foot open fishing boat. We were in pursuit of Nile Perch in the turbulent waters below Murchison Falls. If you have ever seen the classic film “The African Queen” you may recall the scene when Charley and Rosey rode the Queen through a wild section of the river. That scene was filmed in the same stretch of river we were fishing. As if the fast-moving water wasn’t hazard enough, my guide “Itchy” kept positioning the seemingly tiny boat closer and closer to a bloat of partially submerged hippopotami. It was Itchy’s theory that the hippos stirred up the river, indeed they did, and this action stimulated fish to feed. Now I have watched enough nature documentaries to know what a hippo can do to a small boat. As we moved within meters of the swirling hippos, thought, “This is crazy!” Itchy seemed unfazed. I respected that. 

Hippos below Murchison Falls

With that as background, it should come as no surprise to any reader that when ending the open-water fishing season, I push the limits beyond what the “normal” recreational angler might. Well after the launch ramps become iced up and the loading docks have been removed, I am still looking for opportunities to float my boat. My goal is to extend the “soft-water” season as long as possible and make the transition to the “hard-water” fishing as short as possible. This year, I have made it last well into December. Sort of.

After the Thanksgiving holiday, I was looking for a window of opportunity. The Maggie Leigh was ready and waiting in the garage. My first chance came on the Fox River at DePere. Reports of some huge muskies being caught had whetted my appetite to again target the elusive Esox masquinongy. I had boated a smallish muskie just a week earlier while fishing with Terry near DePere. I was hoping for something a lot bigger this trip.  I convinced my fishing addiction enabler, Paul, to join me on the quest.  We hooked up the Maggie Leigh and headed south. Upon arriving at the Fox Point boat launchwe found the docks gone, the ramp ice covered and the river strewn with floating patches of early season ice. Launching would be problematical. In addition, to get to where we wanted to fish would require some serious ice breaking. Less determined (aka sane) anglers would have retired to the nearest coffee shop for breakfast before heading home. Not us. We decided to try our luck at the Metro launch located under the sprawling Leo Frigo Bridge at the mouth of the Fox River.  Conditions there were marginally better, and muskie hunters had cleared a path through the shore ice into the river. We launched. After three and a half hours dodging ice and other anglers, we returned to the launch having failed to contact any muskies. We loaded up the boat and headed home, satisfied with the effort. Strike one. 

Just two days later the weather cooperated, more or less, providing an opportunity to fish on the lakeside. Paul and I had been having good success for northern pike and some last season bass and we wanted another shot. Again, we found the landing a little slick with no loading docks, but at least there were no large icebergs. We gingerly launched the Maggie Leigh on the icy ramp. The sight of two septuagenarian anglers, encumbered with heavy winter clothing and boots, clambering over the bow only to tumble unceremoniously into the boat would have been hilarious to any onlooker. Mercifully, there were no witnesses. Three hours of watching our planer boards bob in the clear, chilly waters produced bupkis. Not a thing. Strike two. 

However, the outing did produce the desired results. As I drove through town boat in tow, I saw several locals stare with mouths agape. Some waved as if to say, “Oh, that’s just Bruce, he’s nuts.” My reputation had preceded me.  One of my neighbors asked, “I saw a boat out on the lake today, was that you?”. “Yep”, I proudly replied. He just smiled and turned away. This just encouraged me to get out there again. 

My chance came two days later. South winds, along with bringing milder temperatures, allowed us to return to the bayside and target browns and smallies. I headed to Gills Rock in anticipation of Paul joining me as soon as he could. The launch on Hedgehog Harbor is located next to the Weborg commercial fishing operation. It is a spartan launch, intended for use by the commercial boats, but it has a permanent cement pier allowing one to launch even in the iciest of conditions. I backed the trailer into the narrow gap between the piers, unhooked the boat and watched as it slid into the water. Parking the trailer, I returned to the ramp, stepped off the pier and immediately fell head long into the bottom of the boat. The lower water levels had made it quite a drop from the pier to the boat. Checking for any broken bones or blood (there was a little), I started the motor and headed out onto Green Bay. I barely had time to set my lines when I got a text from Paul; “I’m here.” I returned to the pier, collected Paul, and commenced fishing.  Hopes were high because Paul and I had boated three huge pre-spawn brown trout just two weeks before along with some nice smallmouth. (See my previous post for details.) Those hopes were dashed after three hours on the water. All we got out of the trip, besides some very cold fingers, was an image of us on a Gills Rock webcam trolling hopelessly on Hedgehog Harbor. Strike three. 

The weather has turned colder recently. Shell ice is forming along the shore. The inland lakes are ice covered. I would like to think the mild El Nino conditions may allow for yet another outing on open water this year. Then again, maybe I should take the hint and after three empty trips call it a season. After all, I’m not crazy. 

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, Bruce

Questions or comments to bsmith733@gmail.com