Assignment: NEW HAMPSHIRE

Winter - 2003

Story #11

R. Linda:

Yesterday I was called into me editor's office and was told that I was to go to New Hampshire, up to the lakes region, and spend the day with a few locals ice fishing. It would be a filler for the Sunday paper. Fillers are stories we have on seasonal recreational activities, that when we have leftover space we stick one of them in. What this meant to me, was that I would go write up a story on the subject and hand it in with the knowledge it may never see the light of day.

Add to this, I woke up with a bad head cold. Just what I wanted to do, spend the day on ice, in the cold, fishing (which isn't me thing to begin with), with strangers, nursing a cold.

Off I went, moose jerky in hand, tissues on the front seat. After leaving the congestion of the city I found meself enjoying the journey. Open roads, and big snow-covered mountains, that seemed to get bigger as I drove farther into New Hampshire. I arrived at Lake Winnipesaukee, a very large body of water frozen over with snow and ice.

I met the people who were "pros" at the shoreline and noticed wood huts that looked like outhouses dotting the surface. I later found out they are Bobhouses where you can sit inside and fish to stay out of the biting wind. If only.

The BOB HOUSE

After general greetings and being sized up as the green one in the lot, I was handed a gas-powered auger and told to set it down and start drilling. I had never used an auger in me life, so this was new and exciting. To show I was a sport and could get into this, I set auger to ice.

I had to make test holes at intervals from the shoreline out, to make sure the ice was solid and we all didn't fall through. I wondered why it was me they sent out first. They told me as a rule of thumb, new, clear ice should be a minimum of 4 to 6 inches of ice to support a few, well-dispersed people; I looked around and realised I was the only fit person there, the rest of the "well-dispersed people" had beer guts the size of the mountains underneath flannel shirts that stretched at the button holes.

I knew I would fall in, the ice was going to crack because of the heavyweights around me and I'd drown in the cold, icy waters of Lake Winniwhateversie, never to be heard from again.

I got to 6 or 7 inches and was told that was good for small, on-foot, group activities; they said drill for at least 8 to 10 inches for snowmobile activities. I was looking for the snowmobiles but didn't see any. They said there is no speed limit on lakes for such, haha. Then they said it was a joke. That would be great, get run over by the snow cowboys that set no limits to speed on an icy lake.

Finally, one burly man said to me quite seriously, "If ice at the shoreline begins to crack or get squishy, run." I looked back at the shoreline, we weren't far from it, maybe 12 feet. I asked how deep the water was where we were standing, and he said to me, "About 1600 feet." None of them were laughing. I stated that was a joke, ok so how deep was it really? Then they all started laughing and said, it was no more than 30 feet, for real. That didn't make me feel any better.

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, I took auger to ice, drilled the six inches to clear ice and then they took something called a spud and scooped out the floating bits. They handed me a gig line or gigging line which is a spin reel rod cut in half. They told me to put me hands in the cold bucket of water at our feet, pull out a wiggling fish called a shiner, impale the live fish to me hook, and stick it in the hole. I could sit on a wooden box and gig me line around to attract a rainbow lake trout or, we could rig up the flag pole.

I thought the flag pole was another joke, so I got a wooden box and sat down gigging me line. You don't know the thrill. After twenty minutes of gigging, I got a bite. I pulled out a chain pickerel that was no bigger than the shiner on me hook. Seeing I wasn't going to sit there for another icy cold twenty minutes, they said they'd rig up the flag poles. All I had to do was drill more holes, they'd scoop and set up the rigs. They weren't kidding.

Once the holes were drilled and cleared of ice debris, they brought wooden 2 x 4s and with drills and screws made these contraptions over the holes. Each one was a long wooden brace (about 8' tall), with a red flag that was loaded on a spring action wire attached to the fishing line, that when a fish bites the flag springs up, and you have to run over and haul in the fish.

I drilled eight holes, me nose running like a stream, me head throbbing with headache, me joints aching wondering how much longer we were going to be at this. If I drilled any more holes the ice WOULD crack. I helped set the flag poles up, and once finished we cast our lines and I was told to wait for the fun to start. The fun started when the flags sprang up almost in unison and we ran from one ice hole to the next reeling in mostly undersized yellow perch.

After a while, I wanted to sit down after all the work thinking I'd be sitting there long enough to become a human ice cube, only that didn't happen. With me frozen blocks called feet, I had to run to a hole, pull out small fish, yank out the half-eaten live and wiggling shiners and then throw the undersized fish back into the hole, rebate the hook, and line it back down the hole, reset the flag mechanism and run off to another sprung flag launch which they were doing one right after the other!

After two hours of this, I was done. We cooked the fish that were legal on a makeshift cooker ON THE ICE (I knew for sure the ice would crack and I'd be gone). However, the fish were tasty especially when complimented with hot chocolate -- you haven't lived.

I be back; sneezing and coughing now. I still have chills from the day in the cold and don't ever want to see fish and hot chocolate as long as I live. I also don't want to hear the words Lake Winnie, I never want to see that place again.

To top me day off, I decided to make a hot and easy meal for meself for dinner. I made spaghetti, the only thing was the sauce I heated up was a homemade barbecue that a friend had put in a spaghetti sauce jar and given to me as an office Christmas present. Because of me stuffy nose, I couldn't smell the sauce cooking, so I didn't know until I got a jolt of shock at the first bite.

I be off to warm up with a stiff drink.

Gabe

Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved