By NANCY JANE KERN
I HAVE SEEN A FEW PEOPLE out on thinning lake ice in our warmer weather this winter and I think they are crazy to take such risks, especially when they have children with them. Our family ate a significant number of local fish year-round, and ice fishing (on thick ice) was a fun winter entertainment as well as a source of food. Harold Wambach and his father Frank Wambach (my “Gramp”) often went ice fishing at Queechy Lake near Canaan, Beaver Dam east of Spencertown, and our farm ponds. Their equipment consisted of some tip-ups, a big spoon-like strainer with holes to skim out ice from the fishing holes, a bait bucket for the bait fish, extra hooks and line, a good sharp jackknife, a pail or two, an ice bar which Uncle Harold made to chop the holes in the ice, and some food.
There never was the luxury of a shanty against the cold or storm. We kids fished in our ponds with Gramp so if we got wet or a fishhook in a finger, we were close to home. There was a bench, a pile of brush, and some firewood along the shore of our biggest pond. We often made a fire which was fun and helped us stay warm. Most of the time I was the one who got to go and enjoyed having Gramp all to myself. Gramp was a good teacher and as I grew older, I got to chop the ice holes. Making those holes was a lot of work. The reward was that all the physical activity kept you warm.
It was difficult setting up the sensitive tip-ups, especially wearing mittens, so Gramp did this part and we took turns baiting the hooks. For those of you who don’t fish, the tip-up is a device used instead of a fishing pole for holding the reel and line over the hole in the ice. The two crossed sticks were set on the ice over the hole, and the vertical stick held the reel. On top of it was a springy metal rod with a piece of red cloth for the flag. (I always wondered, but was afraid to ask, if my Grandmother’s old corset stays might work for this). The rod was bent down and hooked to the vertical stick. When a fish tugged on the line the flag-tipped rod was released and popped up as a sign that with luck, a fish was hooked.
It was mysterious and exciting to see what would emerge as you reeled it in. The holes in the ice would freeze over surprisingly fast so the ice had to be frequently skimmed out. We caught mostly pickerel, which are greenish, slim, and long, and have a pretty pattern on their sides. They taste good but have many wiry little forked bones to remove. Queechy Lake always produced many yellow perch which were one of our favorites to eat. They are not so big, but you could catch a lot of them. When we cleaned them, we skinned the perch and always took a good look at the meat for grubs, a fish parasite. Supposedly you can cook them, and it doesn’t hurt you, but they did not appeal to us. These fish were discarded. The barn cats got all the leftovers and did not seem to be hurt by them. There was always a circle of cats waiting for whatever was tossed their way. Gram took our smelly, fish-slimmed mittens and clothes for the wash. She had done this for so many years it was her contribution to the process. She also cooked the fish. She rolled them in cornmeal and fried them in butter and what a treat it was. We did quite nicely without gas-powered ice augers, fish finders, the Internet, or snowmobiles with sleds. We wrapped up in lots of wool, hunkered down against the wind, and had some fine times, cats included.
