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I still remember the first northern pike that I speared. I will forever, because it was catch and release and the fish had no damage at all. Think on that for a bit while I tell you a story. I started carving fish decoys and getting interested in darkhouse spearing around 2000. I used to get off work around three after starting at seven most days and I would have my portable shack ready to go with my spear, auger, chisel, decoys on my sled but something always held me back or captured my attention.
This particular day, after spearing other times on the weekends or my days off, I kept telling myself that I could beat the sunset, I could do everything that needed to be done. Well, it was cold, obviously, and there was plenty of ice and a lot to do, so I was working as fast as I possibly could.
I realized that best case scenario I’d only have a little over a half hour of light left to work with.
I finally got the hole cut and skimmed and the house set up and banked with snow to keep more light out and it was 3:45 p.m. or more like ten minutes to four. Sunset was gonna happen around 4:30 p.m. or perhaps only a few minutes later. I tried to settle myself on my boat pad that sat on top my five gallon bucket and I stared down at the bottom of the lake where there should be crayfish scurrying around. There were a few. It was quiet except for the booming and cracking of the lake as the temps began to drop. The light was still going through the ice and my eyes had finally adjusted.
I could see plenty, but there wasn’t a fish in sight and time was ticking away.
Sure, I’d seen fish before, but nothing to throw the spear at; a couple of suckers and a lone walleye. There’d been one huge pike that only swam through the “corner” of my hole while I was heating up some Zup’s polish sausages in a coffee can of boiling water with my camp stove.
Of course, it was an impossible angle to throw anyway.
Just a little after four my heart jumped, or it almost stopped, because a fish swam in, just above the bottom about eight feet down I guess. I did a double take and threw my spear which flew true and got him, pinning him to the bottom. As I began pulling him up I realized that my eyes had made that first fish bigger than I thought it was. He was long enough for a keeper, but he was skinny and when I got him out of the water, he was stuck not on the tines of the spear, but in between the tines. Also, stuck right onto the tips of the tines that were against his sides was a stick. Unreal. I pulled off the stick and the fish slid right from between my spear tines and back into the cold water unharmed. Catch and release while spearing. Who would’ve thought it was possible?
Of course this took time, but no sooner had I released him than another, larger fish swam in and I stuck that one for real just before sunset. The best 40 minutes or so of fishing while walking on water that I’ve ever had.
My first two fish speared and even though I only had one to show for it, I had something that was just my own.
My life, and I’ll just speak for myself here, is full of anticipation and anxiety, full of hurry up and wait. I guess that’s what learning patience and trust is all about. I don’t know about you, but God always seems to find plenty of opportunities for me to work on those two things and a few others that come along with them.
There have been many days since, when sunset arrived and I didn’t see a fish. I didn’t really go home empty handed though. There have been plenty of days since when my experiences, good or bad, caused me to stay home and therefore caused me to wonder what I missed out on out there on the ice. I’ll never know. I do know though, that while I can control what my decoy looks like and how it swims and how sharp my spear is, there’s not much else to control. There’s just the sitting in the dark and waiting.
Perhaps that’s what the whole thing is about anyway.
Some catch. Some release.
