End of Season Near...

Unfortunately, it's that time of the ice fishing season when I start thinking about stuff other than ice fishing.   Can't help it!  April promises to be a busy four weeks. I've got trout and steelhead camps planned.  As well, my turkey tag comes the third week of the month.  Of course, April is the month of monster walleyes on the Ol' Mississippi too!   Anyway, I digress.  A few friends and I wrapped up the pike season with a day in tip-up town.  Had a few takers on our last day out, but nothing worth braggin' Todd Hard At Workabout.  Still fun when the flags pop. My old fishing buddy Todd Binsfeld and I had a chance to get away  for a few hours, so we set up shop and chased panfish.  Fortuantely, the crappies obliged and we have a beautiful afternoon on the ice.  Todd and I don't get a chance to fish together as much as we used to, so our time together is pretty pure.  Seems everyone's in the same boat there. I bet you've got a fishing buddy that you don't see as often as you'd like.  Take the time to get a trip set up, even if it's only for a day.  You'll be glad you took the time.  Todd and I sure were!

What Are Friends For?

Well, I guess I know have my answer to that question.   Every heard of a guy by the name of Jason Durham?  No?  Well, why would you have, right?  Jason's the kind of guy who likes brightly-colored shirts.  Really brightly-colored. shirts. Jason and I met five or six years ago when I found out Jason, a quite accomplished Minnesota fisherman and guide, was also one of Minnesota's only male, kindergarten teachers.  I figured that might be worth a story for one of our shows, especially when he told me he also spends opening day of deer season in his own version of a tree stand, his Crestliner.  Jason is a bit of a bass junkie and turned out he loves to chase big bass on the deer opener.   That first  shoot turned into quite the story.  Anyway, since producing that meeting ,Jason and I have become pretty good buddies, shooting some pretty fun television pieces over the years,  including a bizarre story about  one of America's coldest lakes  (see us in the boat through the frozen North Dakota fog?).   Anyway, some time back, Jason and I decided to try and catch a bunch of Largemouth Bass through the ice.  When our trucks hit the ice on Wabedo Lake, not far from Nevis, Minnesota, the air temp read -22. Did I mention the wind was blowing.  Yea......  Jason and I froze our tails off trying to find even one flippin' bass that might grab one of our spoons.  Nada.  We found a few chunky bluegills, even a nice pike, but no bass.   Let's just say the fish were handing us our well, you know, basses.  About 2 p.m.,  I was kneeling over my frozen ice hole, the Vexilar grinding away in the cold,  half-frozen snot dripping from my nose, me praying for some sort of reprieve, when I heard Jason yell. I looked up to see his rod bent in half.  I hopped up and sprinted over to Jason's hole, where I dipped my freezing hands and readied to land this monster fish.  Jason blurts out, "This is the fish we've been waiting for all day!" All the sudden, I see the reflection of a face in the hole.  What the ?????  Oh, Aaron was standing over the two of us filming the entire catch.  Must be his reflection.  A few moments later, Jason's catch made its way out of the hole and I turned my head in absolute shock.  Jason couldn't keep his breath as he exploded. Half-frozen snot sprayed out of his nose as he laughed and I realized I had been duped.  Attached to Jason's Frostee jig, a mannequin head, just starin' blankely up at us.  I clenched her frozen hair and realized, she was kinda good looking, especially in our cold predicament.  I held up the darn thing and posed for a few pictures, realizing Jason had just pulled the ultimate ice fishing prank.  No matter, I've got a plan to get him back and, when he least expects it!   A few days back at the St. Paul Sports Show, I met the guys from Salmo and they all had a good laugh as they reaized I was the guy Jason pulled that stunt on.  Great...I have a reputation amidst the fishing crowd.  Now I guess I know what friends are for....

Brrrrrrr. Another Cold Front? Geez!

Well,  January certainly lived up to its old Minnesota reputation.  We haven't jumped above freezing (32 degrees) once this month.  We have, however, seen temps well below zero a good chunk of the month.  To blame?  Cold front after cold front.  That's made fishing a little tough, at least for me.  Not that we haven't caught fish, just that we haven't caught fish consistently.  Trip #1: Fishing buddy Jacob Gibb and I decided to chase panfish on a local lake.  The action wasn't lights out, but we found enough fish to keep us happy.  Among the best?  The sunnies.  Wow were they chunky!  We had a few that were darn near 10 inchers.  The crappies weren't as big.  Fat Boys and wax worms seemed to be the ticket.  Trip #2:  A few buddies and I zipped up to Sugar Lake, near Annandale, two weeks ago.  We fished 3-7 that evening, and just about got skunked.  We couldn't fine walleyes that would bite, only a six inch perch.  Ha!  After dark, we kept moving until we found fish.  Of course, we found the crappies, but they weren't too interested in our offerings.  Trip #2  A week ago, the big trip was up to Mille Lacs, smack dab in the midst of one of our deepest cold fronts.  Keep in mind, cold fronts aren't so much about temperature, as they are about pressure. You know how your ears pop when you're up in a plane?  A lot of fishermen think that's kind of what fish feel during severe cold fronts.  The pressure drops them off their game and the fish just tuck in and wait for fair weather.  That's what happened to us up on Mille Lacs.  Gerry and I did see a few fish on the electronics, but they simply refused to bite.  Rare that we can't get 'em to pop, but all the other folks fishing around us had the same problem.   Too bad, since Gerry makes his home in LA.   He'll be back for more fishing.  Trip #3  Buddy Brandon Murphy and I set up shop on Pelican Lake to chase pike on the tippies and hopefully jig a few panfish.  Strangely enough, we couldn't find a single pike in our regular spot, but the crappies were going full tilt.  The hot bait was Lindy's Rattlin' Flyer Spoon.  Color didn't seem to matter much.  We didn't find too many monsters, but the action was consistent, and the fish were pretty active.  Not the soft bite, but watchin' a fish zip up on the Vexliar and hammer the bait.  Minnow heads seemed to work quite a bit better than the waxies.   A few largemouth bass surprised us too. Brandon snapped off one that seemingly would have been big fish of the day.  Per the usual, the big one got away.....Doesn't that always seem to happen?  

Spread Your Wings Sportsmen and Women!

Okay,   so I just finished quite the visit with our new friends at Wings Aviation over in Eden Prairie, Minnesota.  They are promoting a Light Sport Aircraft called the Remos GX.  The aircraft has been around for more than a decade in Europe, but was introduced in the United States just a couple years ago.  The folks at Wings Aviation think this airplane could open huge doors in the sporting world.  Frankly, I agree.  I first ran into the Remos at the St. Paul Sports Show two weekends back.  Wings had a big booth with the plane (they sell helicopters too) set up right when you walked into the show. They're trying to sell this little aircraft to folks who like to hunt and fish. First off, you don't need a full pilots license to fly the thing.  If you have a drivers license, can pass a quick medical exam and you have a minimum of 20 hours of training, you can fly this plane.   It'll take 650 pounds of payload, which means a couple of guys at 200 lbs apiece still have weight left to pack a little fishing or hunting gear.  Jeff Dalton, Chief Pilot for Wings volunteered to take me up for a quick hop.  He allowed me to taxi and take off on Runway 28R.  I tried to be very, very gentle as we lifted off the runway.  Jeff told me to pull on the stick! We zipped off and the little plane popped skyward like a rocket, climbing at 700 feet-a-minute.  Cruise  speed was 130 + mph. Fast and really, really easy to fly.  After zipping over Lake Waconia to check out the ice fishing scene, we headed back to flying cloud and touched down on Runway 28L.  By the way, landing speed on this plane is right around 45-47 mph with full flaps.  Awsome.  What's cool about the plane is it's got all the gadgets much more expensive planes have.  GPS, a full radio stack, even auto-pilot if you need it.  The whole idea behind the Remos project is that regular folks can have the chance to fly aircraft.   Aviation doen't have to be expensive and tough to get into.  Imagine hopping in and flying off to your favorite fishing and hunting spots in just a fraction of the time it would take you to drive.  The Rotax engine uses very little gas compared to other planes too.  Now picture this little sporter on floats.  Imagine dropping into your favorite lake and pulling up to the dock or the  beach.  Stay tuned....

A Simply Amazing Last Hunt...

Really, It's hard to imagine until you see it. There I was, at the wheel, headed straight West on one of America's loneliest roads.  Photojournalist Joe Harewicz and I were headed to South Dakota's nowhere for an end of the season pheasant hunt and I can officially say, I ended the season with a serious blast...Seriously.  Fellow Pheasants Forever member Bruce Behm had invited us to experience his South Dakota ranch and chase a few late-season birds. Exactly my kind of hunt. So, early Friday morning, we pointed the truck West and drove seven, long hours until we hit Wessington Springs, SD. From there, we headed another 30 miles out of town, mainly on dirt roads, following the small map Bruce had whipped up, until we rolled up on an old and lonely lookin' ranch house; well-worn but a welcome sort of place. Now, Bald Eagle Lodge isn't a terribly fancy hunting retreat. This is the kind of place where serious hunters hang out. Old and cracked linoleum floors...a few bb holes in the tattered and rattling windows... faucets that whistled each time you twist them on. A perfect hunting getaway. The guys had just finished up the morning hunt. They stacked their birds out front and snuck inside for a quick lunch. While they ate, I geared up for the cold hunt. I went through my checklist. Extra pair of socks...Check. Long underwear...Check. Winter hat...Check.  Number six shot shells, Crap.  We circled out front of the house and figured out a game plan for the next field. Bruce assigned guys to cover all corners of the bit of habitat we would hunt.  He predicted we'd see a few birds. The hundred or so acres of habitat consisted of a bunch of prairie grass, sorghum and corn. Soon as we got close, we could see dozens and dozens of birds moving around. They acted like late season birds. You know, nervous and jittery, seemingly one step ahead of our game. The guys with the dogs started on the west end of the field. I walked alongside Bruce's father; 78-year-old Don Behm. Don and I had a good laugh as we watched, at best guess, a thousand hens and roosters shoot skyward. Some shot straight up and quickly out of range. Others popped up just over the tops of the sorghum and darted away, too low to take aim at. Still others, allowed us a few quick shots. We watched as the dogs retrieved the downed birds. Like that, we had our limit for the day. Back in camp, Bruce, who is the self-appointed chef, teased us about the fat ribeyes we'd all be shortly digging into.  A few seconds later he pulled out a giant chunk of meat.  Ha! The side of beef had taken just a bit too much cold in the fridge and had frozen. So, Bruce rigged an appropriate defrosting station. Great work Bruce! Soon enough, we found ourselves consuming copious amounts of ribeye and potatos.  Funny, but the bowl of green peas sat widely ignored most of the mea.  After a few post dinner fish and rooster tales,  I ducked out of the party and retired to my basement mattress.  Joe had snuck away earlier and all I could see were his size 14 feet sticking off the end of the bed in his room.  As I clicked out the light and wrapped up in my sleeping bag. a most peculiar sound cut through the sweet silence of night.  A golden retriever, kenneled right next to me, had started to howl (technically, it's called a whine). The pathetic sounds echoed in the concrete basement. I jumped up from my mattress, grabbed my ear plugs (which were supposed to be a backup should one of Bruce's visitors be a snorer) and dropped back in bed, nearly too excited to drift off to sleep. That's what happens before a big hunt. We all dream of the perfect day in the field....Lots of roosters, slow flushes, clean shots.......

Next thing I knew, my eyes were open and I could smell fresh coffee. 7:15 a.m. Night had become day. We would walk our first field at 10. I quickly showered, jumped into my hunting togs and headed upstairs. As I rolled into the kitched and reached for a mug of Bruce's camp coffee,I took a quick peek out the front window. Bruce was already laughing. We knew we had a chance for snow later in the day, but it had clearly come early. A thick layer of snow had already plastered the trucks out front. The wind shook the shutters. Bruce had the weather report on in the living room as people slowly rolled out of bed. Radar showed a major winter storm rolling right over us. We all sat down to breakfast and figured out how we'd chase birds in that darn storm as we washed down french toast and pheasant sausage links with mugs of warm coffee.

As I stepped out into the weather, the bitterly-cold wind instantly snipped at my face. Bruce assigned a few of us to stand guard on the end of the field. I set up shop with the snow and wind coming from my left. Joe hid somewhere under repeated layers of winter gear. A giant plastic bag around his camera snapped in the wind. Never had I attempted to hunt in such drastic conditions.  Upwind, well out of sight in the heavy snow,we could hear the shotgun pops of the guys on the other end of the field. We waited impatiently. The wind whistled through the line of trees blocking the northern edge of the field. Suddenly, two hens emerged from the snowy fog and quicklyzipped past. Don and I stood our ground, waiting for the pushers to near. Suddenly, bird after bird after bird appeared in front of us. I picked out a rooster and took aim. Bang! A miss. Rooster#2. Bang! Bang! Another miss. I quickly fumbled in my vest and grabbed three more shells. Bang! Bang! Bang!Yet another bird missed. These weren't easy shots. Roosters way up in a cloud of snow, riding the cold blasts of wind. Bang! A bird dropped right next to me. Don had his first rooster. In all, we would walk three fields in that knarly weather. Walking Bruce's acres of habitat kept our bodies warm, although the wind and snow continued to cut at our faces. A week later, I'm still picking the dead skin off my cold and mildly frost-bitten ears. Just that fast, my 2008 hunting season wrapped up.  Joe and I needed to try and get back to Minnesota that afternoon.  We packed up the truck and shook hands as Bruce and the guys headed back out into the weather for yet an afternoon hunt. As they disappeared into the snow, Joe and I picked our way to the East, wrestling some of the worst driving conditions I can remember. By five that afternoon, the white-out conditions forced us to seek shelter in Mitchell.The two of us grabbed a hotel room and called it a day. Aswe clicked out the lights, I almost instantly started to dream of that crazy day of hunting. Suddenly, a peculiar noise cut through the darkness. I chuckled and reached formy ear plugs...