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01-30-2004, 04:55 PM
Ice fishing no longer hit-and-miss
01/30/04
D'Arcy Egan
Plain Dealer Outdoors Writer
Nova, Ohio- It was hard to figure which was more enjoyable, the steaming platter of biscuits and sausage gravy at the Reed House on a blustery winter morning or Jim McConville trying to explain he wasn't really cheating on the ice.
We had agreed to gather at the Reed House at the crack of dawn, a little family restaurant on U.S. 224 in northern Ashland County. We all delivered in the snow, sleet and rain that closed schools before the light of day. Nothing deters ice fishermen.
Dave McCowan of Sheffield Lake had a friend who owns a farm pond. The patch of pocket water was nestled in the woods, just big enough to boast bluegills of substantial proportion. These could hide McConville's big mitt as they wriggled out of an 8-inch hole in the ice.
A former Ohio State football player, McConville is the regional sales representative for Lowrance Electronics of Tulsa, Okla. The North Ridgeville sportsman loves his waterfowling, walleye fishing and turkey hunting and will set the alarm way too early if bluegills are biting under the ice.
"You can see the bluegills on the sonar screen," said McConville, his eyes lighting up. "And you can watch your little ice jig as you lower it in the water."
It was a connect-the-dots technique. When the bluegills arrived under the sonar's transducer, all an ice angler had to do was raise or lower an ice jig tipped with a maggot or wax worm to tempt the hungry panfish.
"Sometimes, if the fish won't bite, you lift up the jig and watch the fish follow it," said McConville. "It's too tempting for the fish and they'll bite rather than let a snack get away."
Sounded like cheating to me.
Ice fishing was supposed to be hit-and-miss, a study in frigid frustration trying to figure if the panfish were on the bottom or suspended. Or in the neighborhood at all.
Plowing a pristine country lane with four-wheel drive trucks, our caravan parked on the dam of the lake. McCowan and Kevin Kearny of Peninsula unloaded a collapsible shanty as Bud Schue of Elyria helped McConville drag another shanty across the snow-covered ice.
Drilling a few holes with a gas-powered auger, McConville declared the ice just perfect. Despite the insulating snow cover, we had 7 to 8 inches of ice to support a pack of fishermen and gear.
Schue, whose taxidermy work has drawn rave reviews, was the elder statesman and the angler most likely to be dragged from the ice if the bluegills were still biting. I intently watched the jiggle and wiggle of his short ice-fishing rod as he was glued to the sonar screen.
McConville was eager to use Lowrance's new X67C Ice Machine, a sonar unit developed for ice fishing. The self-contained rig in a zippered canvas bag fit in a five-gallon bucket, the standard for ice anglers. It has a swing-out transducer arm, a 3.5-inch color screen and 12-volt battery.
Not Schue. A custom frame next to his ice-fishing hole held a huge Lowrance LCX104C, a sophisticated unit more likely to be found on a Lake Erie fishing boat. With a gaudy 10.4-inch screen, it also contained mapping software and a GPS receiver. "Here comes a fish," said Schue, his jiggle and wiggle picking up. "He's at 15 feet. Watch what happens when I lower my bait to him."
We watched the jagged line of Schue's bait move on the screen until the fish - its red color on the screen confirming it really was a fish - and the lure were at the same location. Schue set the hook and hauled a wriggling fish from his hole in the ice, a chunky 9-inch bluegill.
The bluegill was barely in Schue's bucket when he had another wax worm threaded on his hook. "There's one at 19 feet and another on the bottom," said Schue. "Let's go get 'em."
We could hear McConville and Kearney in the next shanty about 50 feet way. They were whooping it up as they hooked one bluegill after another.
Kearney was the hero of the day and not because of his bluegill touch.
Trudging back to the trucks, he returned with a propane-powered pot and grill. In a matter of minutes, savory scents drifted over to our shanty. As McCowan filled a coffee cup with steaming brew, Kearney tended hunks of marinated venison tenderloin wrapped in bacon and stirred the bubbling pot of chili.
Swooping in like vultures, Kearney was our new best friend. Except for Schue, that is.
"I guess we'll have to take him a bowl of chili," said Kearney. "When they're biting, Bud won't take a break."
To reach this Plain Dealer reporter:
degan@plaind.com, 216-999-4378
© 2004 The Plain Dealer. Used with permission. » Send This Page | » Print This Page
http://www.cleveland.com/outdoors/plaindealer/index.ssf?/base/sports/107545861877931.xml
01/30/04
D'Arcy Egan
Plain Dealer Outdoors Writer
Nova, Ohio- It was hard to figure which was more enjoyable, the steaming platter of biscuits and sausage gravy at the Reed House on a blustery winter morning or Jim McConville trying to explain he wasn't really cheating on the ice.
We had agreed to gather at the Reed House at the crack of dawn, a little family restaurant on U.S. 224 in northern Ashland County. We all delivered in the snow, sleet and rain that closed schools before the light of day. Nothing deters ice fishermen.
Dave McCowan of Sheffield Lake had a friend who owns a farm pond. The patch of pocket water was nestled in the woods, just big enough to boast bluegills of substantial proportion. These could hide McConville's big mitt as they wriggled out of an 8-inch hole in the ice.
A former Ohio State football player, McConville is the regional sales representative for Lowrance Electronics of Tulsa, Okla. The North Ridgeville sportsman loves his waterfowling, walleye fishing and turkey hunting and will set the alarm way too early if bluegills are biting under the ice.
"You can see the bluegills on the sonar screen," said McConville, his eyes lighting up. "And you can watch your little ice jig as you lower it in the water."
It was a connect-the-dots technique. When the bluegills arrived under the sonar's transducer, all an ice angler had to do was raise or lower an ice jig tipped with a maggot or wax worm to tempt the hungry panfish.
"Sometimes, if the fish won't bite, you lift up the jig and watch the fish follow it," said McConville. "It's too tempting for the fish and they'll bite rather than let a snack get away."
Sounded like cheating to me.
Ice fishing was supposed to be hit-and-miss, a study in frigid frustration trying to figure if the panfish were on the bottom or suspended. Or in the neighborhood at all.
Plowing a pristine country lane with four-wheel drive trucks, our caravan parked on the dam of the lake. McCowan and Kevin Kearny of Peninsula unloaded a collapsible shanty as Bud Schue of Elyria helped McConville drag another shanty across the snow-covered ice.
Drilling a few holes with a gas-powered auger, McConville declared the ice just perfect. Despite the insulating snow cover, we had 7 to 8 inches of ice to support a pack of fishermen and gear.
Schue, whose taxidermy work has drawn rave reviews, was the elder statesman and the angler most likely to be dragged from the ice if the bluegills were still biting. I intently watched the jiggle and wiggle of his short ice-fishing rod as he was glued to the sonar screen.
McConville was eager to use Lowrance's new X67C Ice Machine, a sonar unit developed for ice fishing. The self-contained rig in a zippered canvas bag fit in a five-gallon bucket, the standard for ice anglers. It has a swing-out transducer arm, a 3.5-inch color screen and 12-volt battery.
Not Schue. A custom frame next to his ice-fishing hole held a huge Lowrance LCX104C, a sophisticated unit more likely to be found on a Lake Erie fishing boat. With a gaudy 10.4-inch screen, it also contained mapping software and a GPS receiver. "Here comes a fish," said Schue, his jiggle and wiggle picking up. "He's at 15 feet. Watch what happens when I lower my bait to him."
We watched the jagged line of Schue's bait move on the screen until the fish - its red color on the screen confirming it really was a fish - and the lure were at the same location. Schue set the hook and hauled a wriggling fish from his hole in the ice, a chunky 9-inch bluegill.
The bluegill was barely in Schue's bucket when he had another wax worm threaded on his hook. "There's one at 19 feet and another on the bottom," said Schue. "Let's go get 'em."
We could hear McConville and Kearney in the next shanty about 50 feet way. They were whooping it up as they hooked one bluegill after another.
Kearney was the hero of the day and not because of his bluegill touch.
Trudging back to the trucks, he returned with a propane-powered pot and grill. In a matter of minutes, savory scents drifted over to our shanty. As McCowan filled a coffee cup with steaming brew, Kearney tended hunks of marinated venison tenderloin wrapped in bacon and stirred the bubbling pot of chili.
Swooping in like vultures, Kearney was our new best friend. Except for Schue, that is.
"I guess we'll have to take him a bowl of chili," said Kearney. "When they're biting, Bud won't take a break."
To reach this Plain Dealer reporter:
degan@plaind.com, 216-999-4378
© 2004 The Plain Dealer. Used with permission. » Send This Page | » Print This Page
http://www.cleveland.com/outdoors/plaindealer/index.ssf?/base/sports/107545861877931.xml