Ask anyone who as ever fished a day in their life, and they will surely tell you, there is always at least one story about the one that got away. On open water in the spring, summer and fall, most of the time those stories will revolve around pure speculation as to what kind of fish it was and how big it truly was... But when you find yourself sitting in a dark ice house, watching the fish swimming five feet below you, you get a chance to see some truly spectacular things. You get a front row seat to watch finicky crappies, spittin' out minnows a thousand times and not get hooked, or watch as they fly out of the weeds looking for an quick snack, and you get to witness the monster northern and muskies, come lumbering through, if only to check out your minnow, and watch helplessly as they disappear, just as quickly as they appeared in the first place. You get to see just how big and powerful they are, and you know, as soon as they vanish, that they are still there, hanging around, just out of sight, waiting for that perfect moment to come back and eat...
That feeling alone is enough to make your heart race, to keep you out on the ice another two hours. Sometimes, it is almost better than actually catching the fish. That excitement of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. But that excitement has two very definite, very different faces. It can also be terribly bittersweet, as we all know all too well.
We have all been there at one time or another, and this season for me is no different. The very first time we set foot on the ice this season, we had line stripped from a reel at a blistering rate, only to be snapped on the jagged ice on the bottom of the hole. We have watched as tip ups zipped around and around, and fought bravely, if only for a split second, and wind up empty handed in the end. We have seen the mouths of monsters fill up the holes in the ice, but could only helplessly watch on as our hooks were seemingly spit out of those great jaws.
Having seen just how big those fish really are, watching them from above, and seeing that they are really there, makes it that much more painful, that much more personal. If you have ever read Moby Dick, you must recognize that this is the exact kind of motivation that fueled Ahab, that motivation that drove him to incessantly pursue that white whale, and that motivation that ultimately drove him over the edge.
That feeling alone is enough to make your heart race, to keep you out on the ice another two hours. Sometimes, it is almost better than actually catching the fish. That excitement of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. But that excitement has two very definite, very different faces. It can also be terribly bittersweet, as we all know all too well.
We have all been there at one time or another, and this season for me is no different. The very first time we set foot on the ice this season, we had line stripped from a reel at a blistering rate, only to be snapped on the jagged ice on the bottom of the hole. We have watched as tip ups zipped around and around, and fought bravely, if only for a split second, and wind up empty handed in the end. We have seen the mouths of monsters fill up the holes in the ice, but could only helplessly watch on as our hooks were seemingly spit out of those great jaws.
Having seen just how big those fish really are, watching them from above, and seeing that they are really there, makes it that much more painful, that much more personal. If you have ever read Moby Dick, you must recognize that this is the exact kind of motivation that fueled Ahab, that motivation that drove him to incessantly pursue that white whale, and that motivation that ultimately drove him over the edge.
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