Queasy Rider

It all started with a storm.

Last Friday night as I was cooking dinner for my family a big thunderstorm system moved through our area, wreaking havoc on small towns west of the metro. Fortunately for me our community was unscathed. A few hours later I was riding shotgun in my friend Al's car, leading a caravan of four cars across Wisconsin, with the lightning still receding off to the East.

We were sharing a charter on the "Angler Managment," a 32-foot Trojan, out of Kewaunee, Wisconsin. We arrived in Kewaunee right at 6AM, when our charter was to begin, but because of the recent high winds we decided to delay until 8 to let things die down and to get some breakfast. When a Great Lakes charterboat captain suggests that you wait it out a bit, you don't really argue.

I wish now that I had actually eaten some breakfast in town -- But as it were, I had some greasy sausage sticks and other assorted pogey bait that I had brought along. I munched hungrilly on those sausage sticks as we motored out of the protected harbor. Out on the lake it was better than I expected but still pretty rough seas. After about 15-20 minutes of wave crashing I began to feel very very hot and very very queasy. I looked over at Al and he was worse off than me

I have only been seasick one other time in my life, and it also involved a hastily-scarfed breakfast of dubious components. I had to hurl a couple of cookies over the side but by and large held together. Thankfully my friend Faron had some Dramamine with him.

The first four hours of our charter were fruitless. In all that time we had one bite, which my friend Jet lost. It wasn't for a lack of trying; the skipper threw everything he had in the water save for Al's puke bucket. It was getting to be so bad that I suggested that we anchor the boat and fish with bobbers. About then the next bite hit. I was up.

At first I thought I was into the fish of a lifetime. He certainly felt that way. But as it turned out there was a problem with the planer board on my line, and I was basically trying to reel in my fish with the planer board turned sideways in the water. Making it worse we were still maintining trolling speed; so once the skipper saw what was wrong he slowed up the boat a bit and that helped. I boated the first fish of the day, about a 7 or 8 pound king.

The action picked up after that, and Jay, Faron and Al each boated fish. It was starting to look like things were picking up, but when we got back to the top of the order, it was Jet's turn and we didn't get anymore bites. So in the end we returned to port and Jet was empty-handed. Poor guy.


Here is the full group of us. From Left to right: Jeremy, Siegfried, Faron, Yours Truly, Jay, Al and Jet.

Siegfried and Jeremy were on a second boat with Sieg's grandkids. They boated three, so they didn't do much better. We're a pretty diverse group: A South African, a German, three Americans and Two Filipinos.

Here's a photo of yours truly with the skipper and his mate. Ironically the guy dressed for fish cleaning is the skipper, and the more 'skipperly'-looking fellow on the right is the mate.





Here is a picture of Faron and his King.
Faron took a lot more pictures than I did (I wasn't really in the mood once I started puking) so maybe he will get some more photos for me to post at a later date.









Here's me with my king.
Easily the smallest fish, he was pretty easy to find at the bottom of the cooler.








Big or no,
he sure did make for a tasty dinner.









Charter fishing is not really fishing.
Oh, some fishing does go on, but it is the skipper and the mate who do all that. That's what you pay them for. All you do on a charter is reel fish in. If there aren't any fish to reel in, then all you are left with is pretty much an 85 dollar an hour boat ride. I booked this trip before I knew that I was getting my boat. I probably wouldn't have gone if I hadn't already committed a non-refundable deposit. I would have spent the money fishing around home.

I function better as my own skipper, and my rates are more reasonable.

The Broken Lands (Review)

I actually finished this book several months ago.
The Broken Lands is a fictionalized account of what may have happened to the members of the doomed Arctic Expedition of Sir John Franklin. All in all it was an interesting book, if you are the type of person who likes the History channel or PBS documentaries.

Some may find the book to move intolerably slow
(I myself utilized it as a bedtime read and as such it took several months to digest) however there can be little doubt that the author Robert Edric did his research when writing this book. He provides excellent descriptions of the two ships, the HMS Erebus and the HMS Terror, as well as detailed descriptions of daily life and duty of crewmen on board 19th century British naval vessels.

Told in story form, it was necessary to not only advance the storyline through speculation but ultimately it was also necessary to develop the characters in a similar fashion, attributing sometimes less than auspicious personality traits to the names of men who no doubt retain traceable and living descendants to this day. That is to say that in order for Edric to advance the story, he was forced to speculate on the consequences of decisions that (may or may not) were made by officers who experienced varying levels of breakdown as isolation, starvation and the elements took their toll upon both the leadership and the crew.

Personally I was able to suspend my disbelief and indulge in Edric's speculations. In spite of what I wrote above and given that I am not a descendant of any of these men with the honor of an ancestor to protect, the speculations presented in the book regarding the fate of the crew seemed entirely plausible.

In the end it is an attempt to tell the tale of dead men.
And as we know, dead men tell no tales.

Ice Fishing Glossary

This is a work in progress.

Please feel free to offer suggestions via the comments area at the bottom of this page.
(Updated 03/18/2008)

ABC•DEF•GHI•JKL•MNO•PQR•STU•VWX•YZ

4WH Report
Who, What Where, When and How. Who went fishing, what they caught, When the action took place, where they went and how they presented.
See Also: The Law of Diminishing Returns

A

As good as skunked
No fish worth keeping.(See Also: Keeper)

B

Bad Hand
Eveleth / Ely Lake colloquialism - in a fish house, a condition that occurs when a fisherman finishes his Hamms, puts down the can, and is left with an empty hand.

e.g., "Hey, I gotta bad hand over here!"

Bait Rape
When a fish takes your bait while avoiding the hook.

Bombing Run
Going in to town either for a drink or to purchase off sale liquor for later consumption.

Butt F'N Cold!
When it's so cold that a freshly cleared hole ices over in about 10 seconds - it can only be considered that cold when a person is angling without a shelter.

e.g., "It's not just cold, it's butt f'n cold!"

C

Crowd
Three people crammed into a two person house.

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D

Dead sea, The
Lake Mille Lacs in central Minnesota

E

"Eel Pout, Eel Pout, Eel Pout!"
A chant issued by a competitive ice fisherman with the intent of magically transforming the large fish on his partner's line into a lowly Burbot. It works (Much to the recipient's chagrin) - approximately 25 percent of the time.

Extreme Old School
No shelter, no electronics, Hand Auger

F

Free Range Maggot
A waxworm or eurolarvae that is dropped in favor of a bite on your second line. Said creature is then free to crawl away from wherever it landed.

Free Range Minnow
A minnow that becomes unhooked while landing a fish. Still alive, the crippled fish swims in confused circles in the hole until either it is retrieved, finds its way down the hole or succumbs to its injuries.

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G

George Jetson
Someone obsessed with the latest electronics and gizmos. The opposite of an old-schooler.

H

Hardcore
Old School Angling in subzero (Butt F'N Cold!)temperatures.

Harvey Wallbanger
Any loud drunk capable of shamelessly approaching a stranger's portable shelter and engaging in a semicoherant conversation with the startled occupants inside.

Hole Hypnosis
A trance-like condition induced by staring down a hole drilled into the ice, while ingesting moderate to severe amounts of carbon monoxide. Accute cases involve abrupt loss of depth perception, especially when uninterrupted attention is focused on a bobber or stike indicator in excess of 45 minutes.

I

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J

Jaques Cousteau
A person who owns an underwater camera.

K

Keeper
Any fish capable of providing fillets larger than a vandekamps fish stick.

L

Law of Diminishing Returns, The
Close friends or relatives have approximately a 50% chance of receiving an accurate 4WH Report. Strangers have virtually no chance.

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M

Making Ice
The popping and cracking of lake ice caused by expansion and contraction. Typically occurs at night or on extremely (Hardcore) cold days.
(i.e., "Boy, she's really makin' ice today!")

N

O

Old School
No Shelter, No Electronics
See Also: Extreme Old School

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P

Pogey Bait
Snack Food

Prairie Dogging
A condition associated with making it off the lake minutes or seconds prior to an imminent bowel movement.

Q

R

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S

Skunked
No Fish (See also: As good as skunked)

Spoon-on-a-Stick
Antique Swedish style cutting device (Not an auger proper) featuring an offset shaft tipped with a cup shaped bore.

Spud
Common name for a large heavy ice chisel used for starting or creating ice holes. Also used to describe the person operating said chisel when they a) start chiseling the ice with 20 or 30 feet of your shelter or b) operate it during the morning or evening bite or other prime fishing hours.

Steve McQueen
Any lake ice motorist who travels in excess of 30 MPH with little or no regard to the proximity of other anglers or property.

T

Territory Marker
Those patches of 'Yellow Snow' you see out on the lake.

U

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V

W

X

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Y

Z

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Old Friends

"The man with the boots does not
mind where he places his foot."

-Irish Proverb

"My optimism wears heavy boots
and is loud."

-Henry Rollins

I've had these bad boys for 25 years. My dad bought them for me in 1983 to replace a crappy pair of Moon Boots. To this day probably one of the nicest things he has ever done for me and that is saying a lot.

I have lost track of how many sets of laces and liners I have gone through.
If you click on the photo and look at the toes you can see that they're shot.

I'm not sure why it is that our footwear tends to personify us more than any other article of our apparel. When soldiers lose a comrade they will march past his empty boots and salute. Of all the outrageous excesses of the Marcos Regime it was Imelda's 1060 pairs of shoes that everyone (at least in the states) remembers.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
And without good footwear, you're going nowhere.

Good boots are like good friends. The better they are, the more you can count on them. They can be taken for granted without being insulted by it. But then again boots are inanimate objects and don't have feelings.

What the @#$!$% am I talking about anyway?

I've gotten a lot of traffic (Like double) lately from people looking for fish house designs but none of these freeloading sunkinthaditches comment on my posts. Is nobody commenting because the quality of my posts is crap, or is the quality of my posts crap because nobody comments? I guess either way if I had to ask it isn't a good thing. According to my stats my most loyal reader is the vi@gr@worm robot who hits my RSS feed like 6000 times a day when he's not busy lighting up my custom 404 page with obscene (and non-existent) URLs.

Sorry this post melted down. I really had high hopes for it, too.

But then again what do you care, whoever you are?
You weren't reading this anyway, were you?

The Deep Peace of the Wild

"As to when I shall visit civilization, it will not be soon I think. I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy its beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and the star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities."

- Everett Ruess

Hibernatin'

Tons going on in terms of my non-blog life. Overwhelmed by work, family health concerns, Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, so on and so forth. Patiently waiting to get the data cable for my phone so I can start pulling photos off of it. I got the thing over six months ago and promptly filled up the memory. Haven't taken a picture with it in months.

Going Ice fishing tomorrow. Don't expect to catch much but plan on having a blast in the warm 36-degree weather. Not taking the house, fishing old school in the open air.

Stopped by a local sporting good mart over my lunch hour and hit the clearance racks. I picked up a nice pair of convertible pants for $15 and an ice fishing rod & reel combo for $11. Score!

Smile, you son of a...

Roy Scheider played the reluctant, aquaphobic police chief-turned shark hunter who killed Jaws (No, not THAT Jaws). Scheider has died at age 75.

Scheider's character Brody mouthed one of the most memorable movie lines of all time ("You're gonna need a bigger boat") which according to IMDB was improvised and not in the script.

I don't know how much if ever I will blog about the movie Jaws again so I will also mention in passing that this movie contains one of the best monologues of all time (Though performed by co-star Robert Shaw, not by Scheider).

Scheider was an accomplished actor who appeared in a lot of other stuff too, but I note his passing due to the formative effect that the movie Jaws had on me. I very much identified with Brody's fish out of water (No pun intended) sense of insecurity and misplacement on Quint's boat. The conflict between Quint and Hooper reminded me a lot of the conflict in my family between my two brother in-laws. In fact it was the Quint-like one who took me to see Jaws while it was running in the theater. That would have made me maybe 7 years old at the time. That's a pretty heavy movie for a second grader to try and process.

Around that same time my family had just put a temporary end to our gypsy approach to camping & fishing and had settled into a cabin on Leech lake. The cabin was owned by my sister and the Quint-like brother in-law, so much like the movie, we had the similar experience of trying to coexist in Quint's domain. And all the while I was confronted with Leech lake - this big, wonderful yet mysterious body of water, dangerous as any ocean and scary as heck to a seven year old. Local resorts and bars contained photos and mounts of enormous Muskellunge, which saturated my subconscious with fears of swimming, fishing and even boating in that lake. A bigger boat sure sounded like a good idea to me. Yet like Brody, some conflicting sense of duty and curiosity called me out on to the water to confront these hobgoblins of my mind.

Predictably, around that time I went through a brief shark craze, a lot like the kids nowadays are into dinosaurs. All my reading and attention went into studying and understanding this phantom limb of my subconsciousness, voraciously eating up books as often as I could get to a library. Then snap, the informational feeding frenzy was over and I was on to something else. It's amazing how there is always something available to personify whatever fears we are dealing with. In the movie Brody went through a shark craze too, and came out the other end alive. Thanks Roy, for helping me get through mine.