There’s a narrow outlet called Drunken Creek by Silver Harbor on the southwest side of Lake Winnipeg.  Oh, the new home owners in the area would probably want the creeks’ name changed to something nicer but the families who settled the place scoff at the idea.

Well, that’s where I wound up early last week and saw a chap tailgate fishing off the bank with two boys. I pulled into the grass beside them and asked how the fishing was. The father, Ravi Gupta, a quick witted fellow, shook his head saying they were still fishless after a day’s angling. “But tell him about last summer here when we caught all those perch dad,” Ravis’ eldest son Jayden, a likable, excited string bean of a kid put in.  “Yes,” Ravi took up the story, “A school of perch swam into our fishing area and as fast as I could bait the boys pickerel rigs and get them back in the water, two more would strike!” “We caught and released a whole bunch but kept some for lunch,” Little Lennox, Ravis’ thin brown haired youngest added.  As I left them Ravi pulled up a catfish.  I laughed as he spread his arms to the sky with mocked displeasure on his face.

A few days later I was in Selkirk and met David Gilbart. Now here is a guy who has been a committed angler all his life.  We happen to be looking out over the banks of the Red River as we spoke and I could see the fondness in his eyes for the river.  “When we were kids, my friends and I spent every moment we could around those banks, fishing if we felt like it or just horsing around.  More than once we came home wet having fallen into the water but we always seemed to explain our way out of it to our parents.”  His love for fishing in different places has expanded now.  Not long ago he was fishing with his father Wes on the Winnipeg River.  It was hot with the blinding sun reflecting off the water.   Around noon the men began to think the fish had gone to the colder, bottom waters when David felt his line was snagged.  He tightened his drag and hauled in some line.  It wasn’t snagged.  Father and son looked at each other questioningly as David continued hauling and reeling in.  Then it broke surface, a long, gigantic walleye!  It came close to the boat rolling lazily on its’ side, then erupted, thrashing, sending sprays of water into the air.  Tail high it dove for the deep, David’s line screaming off the reel. He loosened his drag a bit, letting the fish run.  With not much line left on the reel, thankfully the fish stopped.  Experienced angler that David was, he started again slowly purposely hauling and reeling in. This time when the fish rose by the boat they could tell it was tired.  Dad netted the pickerel into the boat for a picture then released it, making sure it could swim.

A week or two ago I drove east of Seven Sisters Falls on the 307 until I reached a favorite little spot of mine by Caribou Creek.  There’s a small dock and parking lot there and when I pulled in I saw a guy with his family fishing off the dock.  I got out of my car and asked this fellow who looked like no stranger to the outdoors with his graying handlebar mustache, rugged features and powerful stance if he had a fishing story for us.  It turned out, he, Arnie Brown, was from Rankin Inlet and remembered a close call when he and a friend had been out fly fishing.  With bare rock bottoms, the waterways in Rankin Inlet are very clear.  They were bringing the float plane into dock after fishing and Arnie standing on the planes’ float, rope in hand, jumped for the dock missing it by “that much!”  In seconds, he found himself up to his neck in ice cold water.  Right beside his head was the dock and on the other side, the planes’ float was coming to meet his face.  Instinctively he dove under the freezing water and looking up he could see the underbelly of the plane.  He swam under it to the dock, crawled up and shivering, tied the plane off.  The things that happen to people when they’re just trying to have a little fun fishing!    We’ll see you by the water –till next week-stay cool.

Welcome folks.

The clear, sun filled sky seemed in tune with the great feeling I had last Wednesday as I walked onto the bridge over the Brokenhead River to once again meet with my Ojibway friends for their summer fishing derby.  I noticed long time councilor Winston Desjarlais was working his rod and as I approached him he shook my hand saying,” Hi Arnie, how’s it going.”  We hadn’t seen each other for a while but after catching up, Winston gave us a humorous if not biting story from his youth.  Years ago when he was about 8, his favorite uncle took him to get some crayfish at the Red Lodge rapids and when uncle poured the “little lobsters” as Winston used to call them into a pail, one fell inside ”Wins’” rubber boot.  Well, it reacted predictably and began biting which caused him to hop around wildly.  Uncle took charge of the situation and grabbed Winston, held him down and pulled his boot off.  Free of the terrifying crayfish Win settled down as his uncle gave him a comforting smile, ruffling his hair, saying, “Boy, you’ll be ok.”

Before I left that afternoon, Meech Hocaluk with his secret bag of fishing tricks got 1^st prize for the biggest walleye.  The next day I went visiting our angling friends on the Selkirk pier and met Doug Smart, a Winnipegger, who originated from Scotland.  He was a thin fellow with grey hair, fine facial features and a ready open smile.  His story takes us to that wonderful Scottish highland town, Tomnavoulin at a time just after the war.  His family was having relatives come for a visit from Aberdeen and mother was in a “tizzy” because at that time getting any kind of meat for meals was impossible.  Doug’s Grandfather Sandy Irvine heard of the crisis and showed up bidding Doug come with him.  There were many spring fed creeks in the area filled with trout but they were all on crown land and taking them was poaching.  Intrepid Scotsman Sandy, vowed there would be fish before their company on the suppe r table so he, with little Doug, shuffled along back roads to a fine crystal clear cold creek full of trout. There, big Sandy, barefoot with pants rolled up, waded into the icy water and spreading his legs wide said to the boy on the bank, “When a fish comes, you jump on it!”  Then with lightening speed Sandy scooped and threw fish to Doug.  When they had enough they strung them on a willow branch and tripped through lanes and fields home under the cover of night.  When the relatives arrived the whole family had their fill of a fine meal.

Toward the weekend I was at a party for Robert Kristjanson at the commercial fishers’ landing at the Gimli Marina Complex.  Rob was a leader in the development of how commercial fishing works in the country and still fishes in his eighties. I sat listening to Rob reminding us how the huge marina came from nothing to a place for all kinds of fishing and boating.  Sitting beside me was a young guy talking about lifting nets.  It turned out he was a rooky commercial fisher who without family connections or experience decided this is what he wanted to do.  Justin Cerbeandt, a huge unassuming lad with short sun-bleached hair, laughed as he recalled going out on his first open water net setting trip.  The waves were 8’ high slamming the skiff about wildly.  He told his partner Mike Lenton, “I don’t care if I’m going to be called a sissy, but we’re going back to harbor!”  When they got there all the other fishers had stayed in and one old-timer looking at them shook his head saying, “You don’t go out in this!” I sat there listening to Rob talking about his half century of fishing and to Justin who was just starting and I was filled with pride knowing our fishing culture and industry is alive and well in these men.

I’ve wanted to show you the picture of Jason Zhang with his catch at Hecla for some time. He struck me as such an interesting chap because he will only fish Hecla and he’s one of those guys who when nobody’s catching anything; he will.

See you next week, happy fishing!

Welcome my friends.

The heat of late summers’ unrelenting sun and dry wind lately has driven the fish to deeper, colder waters which meant our anglers, regardless of the fishing spot, generally have been going home empty handed.  That was unacceptable to Art Reimer of Winnipeg who I met fishing with his friend “Mike” off the Hnausa pier a couple of weeks ago.  (Arts’ friends didn’t want their names used so let’s call them Mike and Peter.)  Art was a stocky, muscular guy with thick straight graying hair, a quiet mischievous air about him while Mike loved to talk.  Apparently Art lived to play practical jokes on anyone he could so, there he was sitting at the piers’ edge endlessly casting and reeling in when he saw a commercial fisher coming off the lake into the harbor with boxes full of pickerel.

That did it; he reeled in, got up striding over to the fisher and bought some pickerel.  Dropping back into his fishing chair, an opportunity for a practical joke came to him.  He called his buddy, “Peter”, in Winnipeg and told him to get out to the pier right away because the pickerel were really biting.  An hour and a half later Peter was sitting beside Art eagerly waiting for his first bite while he admired Arts’ “catch”.  Art played along as the day wore to an end casually talking fishing as his pal began wondering why Art was the only one on the pier with fish!  As he packed up his gear for the ride home Peter asked Art, “How about giving me a fish so I won’t look so bad in front of my wife.” “Sure, that’ll be seven bucks,” Art came back.  “You would charge me for a fish,” his buddy asked?  “Well, that’s what that commercial guy over there charged me,” Art explained in mock innocence.  Peter stood shocked looking at Art realizing he had been had.  “Oh Art,” his pal exclaimed, “You either help me here or I’ll never believe you again!”  Art, laughing, totally pleased with himself made good saying, “Take all the fish home and tell your wife it was the best day of fishing you ever had!”

Downstream of Selkirk on the Red I met some folks fishing last week.  Again, no one was catching any fish except Andrea Pshyk and her friend Phil.  I tried to see what they were doing differently and all I could see was they had found a curved spot in the riverbank where the water was slightly “whirl pooling” about twenty feet out and that’s where they were dropping their lines.  Not far from Andrea and Phil I stopped to visit with Jaden a young, thin teen that had an unusual experience when he was fishing with a buddy on Tulabi Lake in Nopiming Park. He was cautiously stepping out on some slimy shore rocks to cast when his feet took for the sky and his back became acquainted with the slippery rocks in a very painful fashion.  At that same instant Jaden’s baited hook falling into the water, got a strike.  Flat on his back getting covered in brown smelly “goo”, he reeled his line as best he could.  At water level it looked like he had a big green-brown small mouth bass.  Soon that wiggling object was only a few feet away as he struggled to stand up.  It was only then he realized he had a bass covered in a trail of weeds.  When he cleared the weeds away he became the proud owner of a nice little six inch bass!

Close by Jaden was Bob Robichaud, a big guy with a shaven head and great sense of humor with a story that can only be described as “wow”.  Apparently he was fishing with friends some years ago a proper distance from the old fish ladder by the Lockport locks and along came a guy who started trying to pail fish from the ladder.  Onlookers’ couldn’t believe their eyes!  Then seemingly from nowhere an RCMP officer came casually walking up to the “pailer” and asked, “can I give you a hand?” “Mr. Pailer” turned and realizing who was before him dropped his pail and jaw at the same time as Bob and the other anglers tried to stifle fits of laughter.  It went without saying; the remainder of the “pailers” day was not the best of his life!

See you around the water.

Hi guys and gals.

There was no reason to think our camper-angler friends at Norris Lake wouldn’t give us an entertaining fishing story when I was there last weekend until I got side tracked by a lovable loon. I idled slowly through the dusty gravel lanes stopping occasionally to talk fishing with folks and almost missed something special. At the end of the pier I noticed two young guys fishing with a pal who happened to be a loon squatting between them. This goose necked, rapier beaked, swept back winged creature in a dark brown, black coat of feathers was acting almost human! It quickly became evident that “Herbert”, we’ll call him, liked people. Herbert clearly seemed to have no patience for Alex and Tyler Robinsons’ ability to catch fish. I watched as he looked up sideways at Alex then Tyler then seemingly in exasperation jumped off the pier and disappeared under the water coming up with a small fish. He wiggled his head squawking as if to say, “see, this is how you do it!” It soon became apparent he considered campers his buddies and the Norris campground his summer home. Campers told me he would waddle or fly from one camp lot to the other picking up morsels of food, checking out the campers and sometimes just sitting beside them for company. At night he would honor some boat owner by perching on his boat for the night. Persnickety, smart Herbert, the Norris Lake mascot, if you come to camp here he’ll probably come say hi!

I mentioned last week anglers who fish in still waters seem to be luckier than others lately. Fish hiding in still waters happened again last Thursday with folks on the Winnipeg River by the Powerview Dam. On the south side there is a large fairly flat rock outcrop harboring a little bay. There I met Bernard Mendoza from Steinbach who was catching one fish after another while everyone else along the bank weren’t getting a bite. Not long ago I met a very interesting chap by the name of Shayn Peitash of Beausejour with a fishing story of theft-as far as he’s concerned! Shayn was a tall well built guy with short brown hair, a strong jaw and tight lips set as he cleared his throat before each sentence. He was riverbank fishing with dad on the Red years ago when nature called. He asked pop to watch his line while he had a quick talk with a willow bush. Coming back, he saw dad reeling in his line with a master pickerel on the hook. Shayn felt it should be his fish but dad insisted he would keep it to have it mounted. Shayn didn’t want to cause trouble so the fish wound up on “dads’” wall. Days later Shayn went to Sunday school and when the teacher asked if anyone had a summer story, Shayn jumped up and told how dad stole his giant fish. The teacher was convinced Shayn was lying about the size of the fish and that father had taken it but Shayn stood his ground and kept on insisting his story was true. Finally the teacher got mad and threw Shayn out of Sunday school. Father and son still argue over who owns that fish!

A few days ago I met a very unusual character. He was tall, portly and one of the nicest guys I have ever come across. He put you in mind of a very cool Santa Clause with his snow white beard and hair, spectacles half off his nose and a talent for telling one story after another in a hearty bellowing voice. He’s Larry Gillings from Monominto (I bet you can’t find where that is) and he told of a time fishing on the Red upstream of Selkirk when he saw a bunch of small frogs by the waters’ edge. He caught a couple and set them on his double hook pickerel rig, cast out and immediately got a strike of two jackfish. Larry sat in his chair astonished at the frenzy before him. The jacks mindlessly attacked the frogs pushing each other away by reflex. The water became frothing foam. Larry being a joker by his own admission yelled at the jacks, “To heck with you guys, you figure it out!” Well, they did, they took the frogs, slipped the hooks and left!

See you next week.

Hi fishers, our friends have given us some really great angling stories this past week, enjoy!

The sand on Gimli’s Willow Island beach was cool on Sandy’s bare feet in the still early evening. A slight lady, her short brown hair fell on either side of her delicate face. Her gaze cast east across the glass-like water that reflected the weakening sun at her back.  Beside her, her son, David Sykes, a thin yet soon to be a full grown man whipped a fishing line out in hopes of catching tomorrows’ lunch.  He sat back in his folding chair beside his mother taking in the sight of pelicans splashing into the water not far out.  Lazy tiny lapping waves fell on the shore. Seagulls called to each other as they flew overhead. David touched his line, “feeling” for a fish nibbling just as his grandfather, David in Lac du Bonnet, had taught him.  He tensed as he felt a tugging tremble then a tearing away of his line. He tightened his reel tension to match whatever had taken his baited hook.  Without a word Sandy rose making space for David to play his fish.  All the hints and tips his grandfather had given him over the years came racing forward in his mind.  When the fish was still he slowly walked backward away from shore drawing the fish closer to the beach.  When it fought he would walk forward reeling in.  So it went time after time until a nice sized jackfish broke water right up at shoreline.  He waded into the water claiming his prize then mother and son collected their belongings and walked up to their house in the cooling evening air.  Thanks for the story Sandy and David.

The Lockport pier happened to be open last Wednesday which is where I had the good fortune to meet Lori Gesell and Kyle Plyschke of Winnipeg.  Lori was one of those exceptional gals who when you’re with her the world gets just a little bit brighter and happier.  Her tied back blond hair complemented her appealing face.  She was in constant motion.  Bursting with enthusiasm Lori gave one of her favorite stories about her son, Jessie, fishing when he was eight years old.  The family had a boat house on the shore of Lee River east of Lac du Bonnet which also served as a cottage.  Once, on a sunny Thanksgiving afternoon, willowy, blond Jessie got the bright idea of going fishing and since he had been enjoying pieces of turkey all day he didn’t see any reason why a fish wouldn’t like it too.  He hated to part with some of his meat but the need to try to catch a fish was greater so he baited his hook with some and down to their small wood pier he went tossing his line in.  Lori was busy in the house doing dishes when suddenly she heard angry shouts from Jessie crying, “give it up, give it up, you give it up!” She rushed out onto the dock to see her son kneeling, straddled over a sixteen inch pickerel grasping it by the head and with gritted teeth was yelling at it.  Perplexed, Lori ran forward lifting her son off the fish telling him one should not abuse fish.  Jessie still upset excitedly complained, “I want my turkey meat mom and he won’t give it back!”  Lori sat down on the little pier cross-legged gathering her son to her and began laughing so hard she was shaking!

There was a stiff north wind coming off the lake at the south beach of Grand Marais last weekend.  I was sitting in my car looking at the three foot high waves pounding the shore when I saw a truck pulling up behind me.  I got out and introduced myself to a very muscular looking fellow, Jeff Armitt, who began taking fishing gear out of the box of his truck.  He talked to me as he worked recalling catching a huge jackfish off the pier at Kenora.  The humorous part was no sooner had he released the one shown here, he caught an even bigger jack.  It was so big a fishing shop owner he knew had to come down to the pier and help him land it.  He took pictures then released the big guy but was surprised to see another angler had taken his “magic” spot when his back was turned!

See you next week, so long for now.

Hi, thanks for dropping by.

With the coming of summer, the urge to travel far and wide in search of new fishing waters captures our imagination. It was no surprise that when I visited with folks around Lake Winnipeg’s south basin last week their unusual stories took us to unfamiliar places.

On a perfect sunny Tuesday morning on the Selkirk pier I met Dan Carlson from Winnipeg. He seemed a man totally comfortable with his time and place in life.  Relaxing in his fishing chair, cap over graying hair, a short mustache and goatee, his soft featured face showed enjoyment as he told a heartwarming story of his brother-in-law, John, who caught just one fish, a master, in his whole life.  It happened that Dan and John were boat fishing on Granite Lake, Ontario and John who had never fished before was having no luck.  When it was time to go back to camp Dan told him to leave his line in the water to troll and maybe he’d get a bite.  Minutes later Johns’ rod bent over hard.  Dan stopped the boat watching Johns’ rod snapping, quivering and darting from side to side.  The line “twanged” in strained tension as a monster jackfish ripped from the water sending a spray high in the air.  John being a man of average size and not familiar with this kind of furious action asked Dan to take over “Come on Johnnie, you can do it, hang in there,” his brother-in law urged.

Determined, Johns’ hands clamped on his rod, his shoulders stiffened, he braced his feet against the side of the boat hauling and reeling in.  The jack set a pattern, being still then tearing away.  Water skiers and boaters stopped to witness the hour long battle.  In time though, the man conquered the fish and John brought the four foot long beast to the boat.  The fight, however, had ended the pike.  Later that night when they were in camp, Dan couldn’t help having a little fun at Johns’ expense.  John had left the jackfish outside on the deck planning to get it stuffed and mounted.  Dan and the men in camp kidded him saying the bears would get it so he dragged it in and placed his treasure in the freezer.  John never fished again, but for years every once in a while he could be seen sitting in his living room, a satisfied smile on his face, raising his coffee cup to his fish on the wall.

Not long ago I met dad, John Trueman and son James of Winnipeg.  Both were slim, grey haired men with matter-of-fact natures who liked to observe people and things around them.  They also liked to fish in Wallace Lake east of Bissett which is known for its gigantic jackfish and from time to time would witness a spectacle that they had seen there before.  They would watch as a mother duck would swim across the lake followed by its’ ducklings.  All of a sudden the huge teeth ladened jaw of a jack would appear under the duck then both would disappear in a split second.  Not long after smaller jack fish would emerge and the ducklings would disappear.  Such is the harsh reality of life in the wilds.

I was on my way over to Gimli last weekend and decided to make a quick stop at the Winnipeg Beach Marina Complex.  On the north beach I met Nelson Ferreira from Sandy Hook.  He had caught a pickerel shore fishing there which was kind of unusual because that beach is known mostly for bass fishing.  Later in Gimli I met local, Randy Dann, a tall, well built chap with short light hair who spoke with warm intelligence as he gave us a story.  He had spent a fair amount of time working and angling in northern Manitoba and as we know you get “spoiled” with the unbelievable fishing up there.  It seems he was working with a pilot and chopper years ago and they set down on a flat rock face with foot deep spring water trickling over it by Island Lake near Waasagomach.  Countless pickerel, he said, were swimming between their legs so instead of catching their  “supper fish” with rod and reel, they literally slapped their legs together stunning them then tossed a few onto the floor of the chopper!

Till next week, so-long my friends.

Hi guys and gals.

I wanted to find us some different fishing stories somewhere along the Winnipeg River last Thursday and thought the pier in Lac du Bonnet might be a pretty good bet.  The warm, sunny fresh morning was beginning to bring the sun bathers out to the sandy beach that lay before the long dock.  I strolled to its’ end where two old-timers, their fishing rods stuck in the handlebars of their scooters, swapped stories. Beside them a tall grey haired chap who would only give his name as “Bob” had the stance and presence of a vital energetic man.  Soon we fell to talking of local fishing when Bob mentioned that in addition to the unique “tiger trout” in The Ponds  north of town, they had just seeded two hundred fingerling “albino trout” (which are actually gold to white colored rainbow trout).

I wanted to visit with anglers at McArthur Falls that morning as well, so I shook hands with the guys and not much later was scaling a huge rock outcropping beside the Winnipeg River near the hydro dam.  Presently, I saw a lone angler clad only in shorts sitting on a flat rock shelf basking in the sun.  As I came up to him I inquired “Did you catch anything yet?”  His solitary peace broken, a thin vigorous fellow sprang up with a large smile, “only a small one; I threw it back,” he responded. He said his name was Lynn Reykdal as we shook hands.  We chatted about the fish, water and weather until a funny little story popped into his mind.

Not long ago, he related, he was fishing with his four year old grandson, Scott, on the Red riverbank.  With their lines in the water, Lynn was looking around enjoying his surroundings when he was snapped back to reality as he saw their dead bait minnows floating past him.  Shocked, he looked down at Scott to see the little tyke tossing them into the drink saying, “We let them go papa?”  Lynn didn’t know quite what to say!

There’s another great fishing story involving a little guy that came our way a few weeks ago. Interlakers’ Beckie Breidinger and her hubby took their son Lukas to fish at Chalet Beach.  He’s a two and a half year old with a full, strong body, happy eyes, a perpetual wide smile and short brown hair. On the beach our junior angler became fidgety because he wasn’t getting any action on his Spiderman rod.

Suddenly the rod tore from his hand.  A giant carp surfaced, with Lukas’s baited hook in its mouth.  Mom reacted immediately wading into the water grabbing the rod.  She trudged back to shore and offered Lukas his rod so he might bring the giant in but he just shook his arms in rejection and scampered for higher ground.  Mom and Dad landed it and as they measured, took pictures and released it, they couldn’t help smiling as Lukas knelt in the sand by the fish patting it saying, “Bye-bye, you go in the water.”

I was driving over the blue Selkirk Bridge last Wednesday when I saw two gals riverbank fishing upstream.  Turning onto the wooded area between the road and the river I wobbled and bounced my way over the ruts to see if they had caught anything.  I had no sooner met sisters Corrine and Jennifer Lamarre from Winnipeg than Corrine’s’ rod bend hard over as a master sized carp (yep, another carp) appeared on the water rolling, showing its belly.  I stood back as they worked together, one reeling in, and the other with a huge net.  They knew what they were doing and with deft precision landed, measured and released the beast.

After things settled down Corrine recalled yesterday when they were fishing off the Selkirk pier some guy came along and without being asked grabbed Jennifer’s’ rod saying, “Here I’ll show you how to cast!”  He swung the rod out with great force but lost his grip and stood there embarrassed as it flew out of his hand shooting like a rocket out into the water. Corrine pushed him aside and cast out with stunning accuracy snagging Jennifer’s rig!  The pushy guy turned head down and left.

See you next week.

Photo: Local commercial fishermen Reney Thomes and Carmen of Belair lift their nets while dealing with a developing crack in the ice of Lake Winnipeg.

Welcome friends.

I’m always impressed with folks when faced with challenges, stay calm taking things as they come and end up in pretty good shape. Such a man is Bill Dakota of Petersfield.

I met him some time ago in his ice shack off White Tail Trail when I was visiting anglers there. He was playing cards with a buddy on a small homemade wooden table in one end of his shack. A pleasant aroma and warmth came from a small wood stove on the other side. Music from a radio filled the air and the walls were covered with years of accumulated fishing novelties and pictures.

Bill’s optimistic ready smile complemented his tousled snow white hair and round goatee as he laid down his cards to talk to me. Sturdy glasses covered his kind eyes. Then in an upbeat manner he shared a fishing experience beginning with, “I once caught a nice fish but had to go to the store twice to land it.”

He explained he was fishing off a friend’s houseboat on Asessippi Lake south of Duck Mountain and caught a pickerel. As he tried to bring it over the guardrail it slipped the hook. He realized that if he caught another one he would need a net to get it over the rail so he dropped his rod on the deck not realizing the lure had fallen into the water and went for a walk to a nearby store to get one. Returning to the boat, he was astonished to see his rod gone.

Bill, without getting upset, simply turned around and retraced his steps to the store for a new rod. Later, back on the boat, on the first cast with his new rod, he snagged his original gear and on the hook this time was another pickerel. Using his new net, this time, he got it over the rail and finally settled back for some fishing.

Unflappable persistence will make you a winner every time.

The spring cracks and ice piles on our lakes are starting to show up just off the shorelines. This was very evident to commercial fishers Reney Thomes and Carmen Clatt from Belair. I met them lifting their nets as they straddled a crack a few days ago. When I asked them if they had an unusual story for us (as if working across a crack wasn’t enough) they started laughing.

Carmen said, “Yea, when we fish by Hillside in late May we have a hard time handling the big carp that get in the nets. They’re as big as babies and just as tiring,” she joked.

Last week on the Red downstream of Selkirk I ran into David Prasol of Winnipeg nursing an ice hole and he had a fishing story about he and his wife Lorna coincidentally also out of Duck Mountain on Two Mile Lake.

They were angling off a pier some summers ago and Dave caught a rainbow trout. Only then did he realize they had forgotten a stringer so he took one of his shoelaces and tied the fish to the pier.

With lines back in the water time wore on until they decided to call it a day. Dave knelt down to retrieve his only catch and saw that the shoelace had come loose and the fish was just laying below the waters’ surface seemingly in no particular hurry to go anywhere. Slowly he lay down on his belly and extending his arm as best he could, gingerly grabbing the fish. The slippery fellow just squirted forward out of his hand and stopped, just laying there. Dave not about to give up his quest edged himself further out from the dock. His back began to feel the strain of his extended body but yet again he closed his hand over the fish. Squirt. The slimy little guy slipped forward.

One more time, Dave thought. He wiggled outward just a bit more and with labored breath grasped the fish as the cool waters of beautiful Two Mile Lake welcomed him in for an unwanted bath. Surfacing, Dave slowly turned and hoisted himself onto the dock. He looked up at Lorna who with an exasperated expression uttered, “How is it that you always seem to wind up in these predicaments.”

Well, the spring fishing closure of April and part of May is looming ahead so get out there and get your fill of angling!

Bye for now.

Photo: Jakob Kuzniak of Selkirk with his catch from the Red River.

Hi fellow fishers.

In a haze of floating snow urged about by a cool breeze last Saturday I rolled over the flat ice pack on Lake Winnipeg’s south basin. Houses and trees on the Matlock shore shrank to dark lines in my rear view mirror. It felt good out there as I passed through village after village of ice shacks.

In tme, two large white trucks beside some portable shacks caught my attention. Pulling up to them and leaving my truck I heard good-humoured shouting between the tents. The zipper door of the closest one opened and the face of a young, lean, brown haired chap became visible saying, “Hi, I’m Doug Frost.”

Doug was direct and easy to talk to. He told me the “Frosts” of Ontario and of Manitoba were having a weekend get together enjoying ice fishing. As we got to know each other a fishing experience that happened years ago on Crystal Lake popped into his mind.

It seems he was boat fishing and during a lull in action he decided to dress one of the fish he had caught. With the fish on a board on his lap and his knife poised, the fish jackknifed into the air in an arc that was going to put him back in the water. By accident the fish’s tail struck knife blade clipping off apiece as it disappeared overboard into the drink. Three days later in the same place at almost the same time, Doug enjoying another day of fishing, caught that same fish. This time it didn’t get away.

A while back I met Jakob Kuzniak and his wife Lindsay from Selkirk coming off the Red River. While they didn’t have a story for us, he was nice enough to show his catch. Thanks guys.

In the middle of last week not far from where I met Jakob and Lindsay, I ran into a couple of real characters Brian Pederson and Jeff Skelton. Between fits of laughter they told of their friend, Al who was a slim, quiet, careful, dark haired guy with a kind face who wasn’t too sure about fishing but wanted to try. The boys used to like summer fishing in a small pothole lake south of Thompson and decided to take him along.

It was a hot sunny day and after walking through the bush pestered by black flies they got onto the water in an aluminum boat they had left there. I don’t have to tell you the fishing is good up north so you won’t be surprised when no sooner had Brian and Jeff threw out their lines while asking Al to toss out the 20 pound anchor, they both caught jack fish. Al heaved the anchor overboard on the same side as the guys were reeling in their catch and everything went nuts. Lines were crossed and Al not realizing the anchor rope was wrapped around his ankle followed it over the gun whale. Up to his waist in water with angry jack fish wrapped around him, he looked up pleading at Brian and Jeff for help.

It took a while and they did haul Al back into the boat but only because they could see their jack fish would follow since the lines they were hooked onto were wrapped around his legs.

The next winter the boys were going ice fishing not far from Thompson and they let Al come along. It wasn’t until they were pounding over scrubland, swamp and pockets of flat ice pack in their 4×4 that Al said he was afraid to go on the ice. The boys smirking, kept looking straight ahead trying not to laugh saying, “Al, we’ve been on one lake ice pack after another for an hour.”

It wasn’t until Al caught his first fish that afternoon that he quit shaking.

When visiting anglers on the south east side of Lake Winnipeg I cannot get past the South Beach Casino. The food is so great and invariably I meet folks with wonderful fishing stories. One such couple last Friday was Tim and Angeline McIntyre of Lac du Bonnet. Both had the look of weathered outdoor strength about them so I asked if they had a story for us. Angeline was quick to tell when they were fishing at Point du Bois a few years ago in a calm late fall afternoon she caught a giant jack. She got so excited she started screaming and cursing. Neighboring boats with friends and family became so embarrassed they left.  Well, you have a fun week fishing, bye now.

Photo: A large group of family and friends from Stonewall with some of their catch on Shoal Lake. From left to right, back  row, Matt Chamaillard, Shaunne Precourt, Paul Breland, Marc Chamaillard, Phil Soroka and Joe St. Laurent;  front row, Nickolas Soroka, Jocelyn Chamaillard, Emily Chamaillard and Amanda Chamaillard.

To everyone who loves fishing stories as I do, welcome.

I’ve mentioned lately the ice on Lake Winnipeg’s south basin has become completely dotted with ice fishing shacks of all descriptions. Somewhere in that maze last Wednesday between Beaconia and Balsam Bay about a mile off shore I saw a large blue portable shack with a chap stepping out to toss what looked like a jackfish onto the snow.

My truck careened violently over the crusty snow as I pulled abreast of his camp. I slipped out of “old red” to a warm, hazy afternoon calling out to the now closed tent, “Hello, is anybody home?”

“Yea, sure,” came back a response in a heavy European accent. Two men in well used snowmobile suits immerged from the shelter. I offered them my card and began passing the time of day with a tall, bespectacled, chiseled featured man who had a full grey mustache and short grey hair under a hunting cap.

Bogdan Mutic from Beausjour was his name, he said, as he pointed to his shorter quiet friend by the name of Dino Stojanovic from Winnipeg. Dino’s eyebrows, cheeks and nose were full and round yet like his life-long friend, though senior, stood straight and had powerful hands. Bogdan proudly revealed he also had a cattle dugout on his property, which they seeded each spring with 6” rainbow trout from the Garson hatchery and harvested them in the fall. Sport and farm fishing, well, you know what you like boys.

On Friday, last, I toured up and down the Red hanging out with anglers until I came across a very narrow weathered plywood ice shack. A thin, brown haired fellow stood up from a stool as I approached sprinting to a rod whose end was wildly vibrating. The rod went still as I got out of my truck and we introduced ourselves.

Daryl Ellis of Winnipeg was a kindly sort with an unassuming caring nature. He was a thin man with a somewhat gaunt face and graying mustache. A gold tooth peeked above his lower lip, which his tongue played with as he talked. Daryl kept one eye on his rod as we spoke and sure enough it snapped down again. As he pulled up his second fish of the day, he shot a smiling glance my way murmuring, “You’re a lucky guy to have around Arnie!.”

He saw me looking inquiringly at his very narrow shack so with a knowing grin he explained how a number of times the wind had caught his shack and sent it skidding across the ice. It was small, light and old to begin with and each time the wind took it for a ride some of the more rotten parts fell off which he had to pick up. Since Daryl didn’t want to put new material into an old shack, each fix required it getting smaller and narrower. Now, one could barely squeeze into it.

Saturday afternoon on beautiful Shoal Lake north of Stonewall turned out to be a heartwarming experience.

The blazing sun was out in all its’ glory and the wind was soft and pleasant. Out in the middle of the flat, glaringly white ice pack I saw a large group bustling about their tent camp. It was an easy run up to them and jumping out of the truck the air was filled with kids yelling and chasing each other around in the snow (as well as eating some off their mitts). These friendly folks welcomed me, saying who they were and showed the few fish they had caught.

An outgoing gal by the name of Shaunne Precourt from Stonewall introduced me to her group and in no time all of us were having a fine old time joking and swapping fish stories as one of the kids, young Nickolas Soroka got a bit on his line. He dashed over to it grabbing it up as the end of the rod met the water. He was in command though and reeled up with authority. With the help of one of the men, Paul Breland, Nick brought a very respectable sized jack out of the ice hole. The men laughed remembering two years ago when Nick caught a jack and got so upset he almost didn’t land it because as it broke water he cried out, “it’s looking right at me.”

Till next time, bye for now.

Photo: Dennis Barchuk of Belair with a nice eating pickerel just caught.

Hello again fishing buddies.

It’s hard not to make some reference to the movie The Wizard of Oz when I share a story given to us from the folks at Belair. Belair is on the east side of Lake Winnipeg where the road onto the lake is named the “Yellow Brick Road.”

I’ve joked about this road before but last week it took on an added flavor when I met two fun loving ice fishing couples here. I could see them not far out as I came off Yellow Brick onto the ice. Jostling towards them “old red” threw cascades of water away from the front wheels I as sliced through the mushy melting snow. I pulled up beside our new fishing compatriots including Dennis Barchuk who you see holding up a pickerel he had just caught, Brian Kwitecki a tall, gangly, chap with long grey curly hair and piercing yet kind eyes and the “two Dorothys.”

The “Dorothys’”didn’t want their names mentioned but let me tell you they were true outdoors gals dressed in old winter wear, snacking and drinking coffee from thermal cups as they slogged around in the slush joking around with me and the boys. Then Dennis remembered a funny fishing interlude that happened many years ago with an old girlfriend.

They were fishing out of a canoe on Lee River when Dennis caught a fair sized jack. He told his girl, Sain (I know, I’ve never heard that name before either) to net the thing. Sain grabbed the net but when she leaned over the canoe’s side and saw the jacks’ menacing head she dropped the net and cried, “I’m not touching that thing.”

Poor Dennis had to grapple the fish by the gill and paddle to shore at the same time.

A day later I found myself pulling up to a very large ice shack on Netley Creek across from Chesleys’ campgrounds. Getting out of the truck to a warm grey misty day much like yesterday, I hailed the folks inside and was greeted with a “come on in” by a woman’s voice. Entering, I took in the features of a sturdy shack. Anglers sat on either side of common ice holes along the floors’ center. The mellow voice of local gal Bev Rozmus who invited me in was that of a fine-featured lady with dark short hair.

We began getting acquainted as she told how she and her friend Kim Hansen, with friends, had built this shack. At the far end of the shack sat a petit, charming, pixy faced lady with an enormous smile and short bobbed dark brown hair.

“I lost my first ever fish today,” new friend, Kathie Cuddleford proclaimed. She continued as I turned my recorder on. A jack had struck her baited hook and as she excitedly began reeling in her prize it slipped off the hook half way up the hole. Kathies’ joyous expression changed to a determined frown. She tossed aside her rod and dropping on all fours she plunged her arm down into the cold water of the ice hole catching the jack by the gill.

“That’s my first fish and it’s not getting away,” she growled. The fish thrashed about slamming into the sides of the ice hole and out of Kathies’ grasp. Quickly she lay face down on the floor and drove her freezing arm into the depths after the fish but sadly it found freedom beyond her reach and disappeared. Slowly Kathie regained her seat changing back to the sweet unassuming lady her friends knew and loved.

Last weekend I finally made it down on the ice at Lockport, which looks like craters on the moon from the locks to the spillway. A few adventurous souls had managed to get their shacks on the ice one of whom was Mike Templeton of Winnipeg. He gave us the story where not long ago he was fishing beside his shack while his son was inside doing the same. A fish took Mikes’ baited hook, then for good measure also took his rod down the hole. A few hours later his son got a bite and pulled up a sauger as well as his dads’ rig, which had another sauger on its’ hook.

See you on the ice my friends, bye now.

Our shirtless guys on the Red River where Tyler landed the fish with a flik of his foot, left to right, Travis Noble, Jack Campbell, Tyler Dusanek and Drew Richards all of Winnipeg. What a great bunch of fun loving guys.

Welcome fellow outdoors enthusiasts.

I guess it was last Tuesday when I urged “old red” down the steep access lane to Lake Winnipeg’s ice at the east end of Sandy Hooks’ #519. About a quarter of a mile out, I noticed a large grey shack with a truck by the door so I followed the snow tracks to them and hailed the anglers inside.

The door popped open and a guy of average height, rugged strong physic, dark brown hair and a deep base voice invited me in. As I stood by the door he plopped down on a bench at one end of the shack taking up his rod while opposite him was a shorter, muscular, round faced, always smiling chap who raised a hand in welcome.

The deep voiced fellow, Shawn Cummings from Lac du Bonnet said he and his buddy, Jeff Watson of Winnipeg had permission from locals Rick and Nick Turkewich to use their shack. As we struck up a conversation I couldn’t help but admire the gigantic pike mounted on the wall of this well-appointed shack.

With the smell and warmth of a wood fire crackling in the small stove Shawn gave us a story.

Last summer he and his girlfriend, Shannon Mulvanuy, were boat fishing on a hot sunny day at Pointe du Bois. Shannon was lying in the bow of the boat rod in hand while Shawn slumbered in the back. Suddenly she sat up sharply as her rod end plunged into the water. Shawn half asleep, grasped the situation with mild interest. Shannon rose to her feet hauling up hard then lowering her rod to reel in the lines’ slack. Soon the head of a 2’ pickerel broke the surface, its’ thrashing tail sending sprays of water into the air. Shawn leaning over the side of the boat took on the air of a dispassionate observer. He admired Shannon’s rod play for a good 10 minutes as she at last brought the huge fish to the side of the boat. It was only then when his gaze met her glare that he realized he should be helping.

“What are you waiting for Shawn, get the net,” she cried. Stumbling on tackle boxes, food coolers and his lady’s’ feet he got their net and landed her prize. Tired, Shannon lay down in the boat to catch her breath murmuring, “thanks for getting the net this time honey.”

She was referring to a few weeks earlier when trying to land a 3’ jack “slow with the net Shawn” had caused her to lose it.

Downstream of Netley Creek on the Red River all manner of tents and shacks were spread out for miles on the ice last Saturday and I was in a predicament. I needed a small fishing story to finish this weeks’ column.

All afternoon I visited folks from shack to shack asking but to no avail. Finally, when talking to chap from Steinbach who was fishing out in the open, we saw a guy coming out of a big metal shack with his shirt off. We looked at each other laughing and he said, “looks like a story there.”

I jumped into “old red” and threaded between shacks until I was alongside the monster. Just then the shirtless guy came out again.

“Hi,” I called as I stopped the truck and walked toward him.

“Hi, come on in” he returned. Inside sat three other guys, also shirtless. All of them seeing my hesitant expression began chuckling. The first guy I met, Travis Noble introduced me around to Jack Campbell, Tyler Dusanek and Drew Richards, all of Winnipeg and explained they worked in a factory that was very hot and were so used to it they liked to keep their shack hot too.

Travis had a little story saying earlier they had told Tyler he had a bite on his line as he was on his way to the stew pot on the heaters’ stove. Tyler flicked his line up with his foot and the fish you see in this weeks’ picture popped out onto the floor of the shack.

By the way for of our Canadian and U.S. anglers, most jump off spots onto the ice of Lake Winnipeg’s south basin, east Lake Manitoba and Shoal Lake (north of Stonewall) are ok but Warner Road at Matlock is blocked so try Ralph Ave.

Well, we’ve got some great weather friends so “get fishing” and enjoy! Bye for now.

Photo: Stephanie, Guy Darrens’ wife, with a pickerel she caught on Dauphin Lake.

Hi folks.

Last week my instincts told me it was time to visit anglers on Gull Lake and Shoal Lake, which are known for great perch fishing. The grey, cool, breezy day seemed to have little affect on some folks at Gull Lake last Tuesday as they sat on overturned pails nursing baited lines in ice holes. Children played tag in the snow as I moved from one ice shack to another getting to know folks and in time met Alexander Embrechd with his son Robin from Steinbach.

Young Robin looked much like his father who was of average height, thin, strong in movement and expression with short brown hair, beard and mustache. They like everyone else on this amazing lake took great pleasure in showing me how many fine eating perch they had caught that morning. In the middle of last week I got onto the Red River ice off the “CIL” road by Selkirk.

Some ice anglers who love for this pastime, have brought their hard wall shacks to this river bend for decades. I watched old friends greet each other with friendly waves while setting up as I urged “old red” toward to a fairly new shack.

A young athletic looking chap emerged from his hut as I got out of my truck. He had just got there so while his shack was heating up our new fishing friend, Dacota Mayer from Winnipeg said, “let’s jump into my truck, I’ve got a story.”

He began, telling how he was summer boat fishing with a buddy on Macara Lake who had caught a huge jackfish. Bending over the side of the boat, he called to Dacota to come help with “them”. The “them” didn’t register with Dacota until he came alongside his buddy ready to tease him for not being able to handle and 3’ jack by himself. He was stunned to see the gaping mouth of an even bigger musky tearing into the jack.

They tried to grab the musky, why, they’re still not sure and once or twice they came close by grasping its’ slippery tail. Eventually their hands weakened as they fumbled over each other and the monster, freed, disappeared beneath the dark water.

We sat laughing over the story noticing the window in his shack had become clear which meant the shack was warm so he went in to fish and I went for lunch.

On the weekend I was close to that other terrific perch fishing spot, Shoal Lake north of Stonewall but never made it. I met a truck obviously returning from the 93N church jump-off spot and waved it down. There wasn’t another soul around so we stopped in the middle of the road to talk. I introduced myself to Darren Guy and Kerry Yanke of Poplar Point who revealed the only way to get onto Shoal here was with sleds. I judged Darren and Kerry to be in their 30s, both had brown hair under toques. Darren was heavier muscled while Kerry was thinner in body and face. Both had funny stories.

First, Darren got a kick out of telling me how when they first started fishing together, his wife Stephanie, would walk beside their truck as he drove out onto ice for fear of being caught in the truck if it broke through. That was until she started catching fish. The next time out she was behind the wheel first telling Darren to get a move on. Then it was Kerry’s turn.

His mood became soft as he told how a few years ago the two families including his very young daughter, Taylor, were ice fishing here and he noticed she was losing interest. He got an idea. He had Darren distract her then pulled up her line, put a jelly bean on the hook, dropped it in the water then shouted, “Taylor, I think you have a fish.”

She rushed to her line pulling it up squealing in wide-eyed joy, “daddy I caught a jelly bean!”

“Yes honey you can catch jelly beans as well as fish,” he lied with an innocent stare.

Back went her line into the water as fast as she could get it there. Holding her rod, she did a little dance in excited expectation but guilty dad couldn’t bear his deception and came clean offering her the whole bag of candy. Loving Taylor forgave him. Bye for now.

Photo: Chris Passalis of Winnipeg with some of his pickerel catch caught on the Red River by the Selkirk Park.

Hi outdoor buddies.

I hope you survived the Christmas and New Year’s Eve festivities. Happily, the good times continue with humorous fishing stories our fellow anglers have offered for our pleasure.

A light breeze sent snow dust skipping around me on a bright afternoon just after Christmas as I made my way on the snow-ice pack out to the portable shacks off the north shore of the Winnipeg Beach harbor. I called out to the folks inside a large blue tent asking how the fishing was. A mature gentle voice called back, “Yes, we’ve had success.”

As I approached a thin fellow with defined features and slightly graying closely trimmed hair peered through the door. Soon, inside, he introduced himself as Jim Bennet and his grandson Tommy Bennet. As we casually talked of this and that he remembered a time winters ago when his son lost his truck keys down their ice hole when fishing on the Gimli south bay. He became frantic realizing his spare keys were at home in Winnipeg.

Luckily anglers in a tent beside them caught wind of his predicament and shouted out saying they had a camera fish finder and were bringing it over. They placed it beside the hole and dropped the fish shaped camera to the lakes’ mud bottom. There not more than two feet from the camera lay the keys in full view. A little snagging action with a weighted jig and the keys were rescued.

Isn’t it great how anglers help each other?

Four or five days ago the snow and ice were no problem as I urged “old red” past Balsam Bays’ harbor. Again, the sun was brilliant on a warm afternoon as I lumbered along passing dozens of ice shacks. To the north about a mile out I saw a bunch of shacks and pointed the old girl toward them.

I pulled up beside a group of guys, stopped and with my door open sat looking at a smiling, tall, heavily built, robust, grey haired fellow. We looked at each other for a moment then he burst out eyes to the clear sky, declaring, “Isn’t it great to be out here on a day like this?” I just smiled back and silently nodded.

Our tall angler, Paul Nellis of Winnipeg, out with his sons Hayden, Chad and James had all caught their limit of nice eating sized pickerel. Standing on the sun drenched ice pack we marveled at the endless sea of portable and hard wall ice shacks stretching out to the northeast as far as the eye could see. I remarked to Paul that in my many years of being with angler’s summer and winter, I had become convinced that way more anglers fished Manitoba’s waterways in the short winter season than during spring, summer and fall.

“Sure,” he said, “we throw stuff in the truck and we’re on the ice fishing in no time.”

Things were hopping on the ice along the Red by Selkirk’s park last week too. I was on the ice walking amongst the shacks passing the time with folks until I came by a guy Chris Passalis of Winnipeg who recalled last winter how he had gotten the better of a thieving dog.

He was fishing with friends here in a tent and as they caught fish they would toss them outside to freeze. Lines with baited hooks were in the water, the smell of coffee and hot cabbage rolls filled the tents’ air, he remembered, when a shuffling sound outside was heard. Chris unzipped the door and peering out was surprised to see a scruffy little black dog trotting off with one of their fish.

“Well,” Chris mused, “he’s got to eat too.”

He rejoined his friends only to hear some time later, his four-legged pest was back. Chris threw open the door seeing the dastardly dog making off with their last fish while at the same time his rod snapped down. He grabbed it and reeled in a big pickerel. Holding it by the gill he opened the tents’ door, this time to put it in the truck. There standing right in front of him with an innocent expectant look stood the thief. Chris stomped over to his truck, opened the door and put his fish on the floor.

“Now try and get that one,” he said as he slammed the door shut.

Till next week, bye now.

Photo: Curt Bayak with a pickerel he caught standing on front of his and Terry Roth’s rental shacks.

Hi gang. On New Year’s Eve, we celebrate the hope for better things to come. In our world of winter outdoor sport, two young guys at Sunset Beach bay just south of Grand Marais are making things better.

The winter ice fishing culture in Manitoba is evolving at a mind spinning rate. On the thick ice pack of our waterways, traditional small hard wall shacks now sit side by side with portable soft wall shacks, house-sized custom trailers, bombardiers, snowbears, sleds, ATVs and now rental shacks, thanks to Curt Beyak and Terry Roth. They built a bunch of ice shacks, towed them onto their bay and are renting them out. Good for you, guys.

During one of our conversations, Curt told me once the shacks were out, his grandfather came and they “baptized” one of them catching their limit in an hour. His granddad, always gracious, having caught the most fish, explained his luck by offering that the fishing is always good on “first ice.” When I asked Curt if he had ever had an unusual fishing experience, he thought for a minute. Then he smiled sheepishly, saying, “Yes, last spring I went onto Jessica Lake southeast of Pinawa for some fishing and almost lost my lunch.”

He went on, describing how he was clipping along over smooth ice on his sled enjoying a beautiful early spring warm sunny day when he felt the back end of his sled drop. Then he heard the motor go under heavy load. He tensed, his senses alert. Almost instantly, he saw his skis break through the ice and water began splashing over them. Instinctively, he sat back on his seat and clamped the throttle tight, forcing the machine to rear up and shoot forward, planing over patches of water pockets.

He tore along, being sprayed with icy water every time he hit a patch of water trapped between the lower thick ice and a top thin layer. Close to the south shore, he hit true solid ice and stopped letting the sled idle. Water steamed off the motor. He stood looking back at his trail of ice and water, and to his surprise, his baloney sandwiches, hot coffee canister and fishing gear were strewn everywhere. They had flown off the back of the bucking sled in his rush for shore. He had no choice. Leaving the sled running, he gingerly walked back and collected all his belongings. Carrying his much-loved baloney sandwiches and dragging his other gear, he got to shore and made camp at dusk.

Before the snowstorm two weeks ago, I was at Breezy Point. It was cold but you could still see grass between snow patches. I got talking to three young chaps from Selkirk, BrettonFewchuk, Jesse Waterman and Brandon Sutherland, who had just loaded their boat after a day of fishing. While we were joking around, as they showed me their catch, I couldn’t help noticing some trampled snow in their boat. I asked themwhy they hadn’t tossed the snow out before launching.

“We didn’t want to wait,” Jesse quipped, “ but the snow on the aluminum boat bottom made it super slippery and we did wind up on our butts more than once.”

After we stopped laughing about that, I think it was Brandon who said he remembered when they were fishing here last winter and his dad decided to pull their shack to a different spot with Brandon in it. As they were bouncing along, the door flew open and Brandon’s best rod holder fell out. He was determined to get it back so he put his sled helmet on (he wasn’t sure why) and jumped out of the moving shack, tumbling onto the ice. He rescued his holder as a cousin came along on his sled. Brandon jumped on the back and headed to dad, who had stopped with their shack. As Brandon approached, the shocked expression on Pop’s face was something not easily forgotten. By the way, the shoreline ice on Lake Winnipeg’s south basin is fairly flat from Riverton to Winnipeg Beach but kind of rough from Matlock/Libau north to Victoria Beach.

Have fun New Year’s Eve. See ya.

Photo: John Klassen, left, and son Kyle Klassen with some of their pickerel catch by Sugar Island on the Red.

Seasons greetings, everyone! This is our time of year when we share love in all its ways as well as helping others in need. It reveals the best in us. The stories that have been given to us this week are fine examples of that.

Jim Zagozewski told me of an experience he had about this time years ago when he and friends were ice fishing off Sandy Bar by Riverton. Five guys on three sleds came by their ice shack lost, asking for directions to make landfall because it was starting to blow.

Jim showed them what direction to go using his GPS. The group climbed back on their sleds and disappeared into the growing storm. Looking out the window once back in his shack, Jim soon realized they were in a white-out situation. He couldn’t see 10 feet away. His gang loaded their gear into their bombardier and were about to head for shore and home when out of the vial of blinding snow, the men on the sleds reappeared.

They had become totally lost and had gone around in a gigantic circle. Worse, some of them were not dressed for a storm on the ice of Lake Winnipeg. One was wearing running shoes.

Jim’s bombardier was packed to the roof, but they made room for the chap in running shoes whose feet were badly frozen. Then away they went in a convoy, Jim in his bombardier leading using his GPS with the sledders following. The bombardier bounced viciously over ice crack pileups that couldn’t be seen in the storm.

Soon the early darkness of the winter night covered them. The small lights of the bombardier seemed frail against the wind-driven blizzard, but Jim faithfully drove according to his GPS. Then abruptly through the swirling maze, the shore popped up right in front of them. Tensions eased as everyone busied themselves loading the sleds onto trailers.

Lastly the chap with the frozen feet had to be carried to his friend’s truck for a trip to the hospital. Jim, you and your friends did just fine. We’re proud of you!

A few days ago, I was on the ice of the Red River, which is about a foot thick now, by Sugar Island downstream of Selkirk. I walked from one portable ice shack to the next, passing the time with our fellow anglers. It seemed everyone couldn’t get over how many pickerel they were catching!

Later, out on the flat snow pack, I saw two men putting their gear into a toboggan, obviously quitting for the day, so I trudged over to them and asked how they had made out.

These very pleasant fellows, John Klassen and his son Kyle from Oak Bluff, quickly held up some of their catch, which I took a picture of.  I then asked if they had a fishing story for us. After thinking for a moment, they remembered an unusual happening.

Last summer, they were boat fishing on the Winnipeg River. There was another boat maybe a half-dozen boat lengths away from them.Apparently those anglers had enough fishing and started pulling in their lines. The driver started the motor and gunned it. What he hadn’t remembered was that the anchor was still out.

The boat shot forward but the anchor stayed right where it was! As the rope tightened like a thick rubber band, the anchor decided to come free — like a torpedo! It tore from the water with “whosh,” slamming into the side of the boat at the water line, sounding like a thunder clap.

John and Kyle sat in their boat, eyes and mouths wide open in shock, staring at a situation that could have had a lot worse ending. They took a minute to regain their composure and then idled over to see what they could do to help.

We continued talking, and John and Kyle mentioned that they belonged to an organization called the  Manitoba Pioneer Camp at Shoal Lake where they take disadvantaged kids for some fishing every so often. Jim, John and Kyle, these are their stories and I think it shows they have the spirit of helping others all year round.

So, to all of you, my fine fishing friends, best wishes and bye for now.

Photo: Ron Iverson, left, Wes Hurd, middle, and Dale Iverson with some of Dale’s catch on the Red River.

Hi guys and gals.

Man, talk about mowing the lawn one week and cranking up your snowmobile in a ice storm not long after. On the bright side, maybe we’ll be able to go from open water fishing to ice fishing in a really short time.

Ron Iverson of Balmoral, his brother Dale Iverson of Stonewall and his buddy Wes Hurd of Gunton, whom I met on the Red riverbank upstream of Selkirk a few weeks ago, shared this sentiment. They were joking and teasing each other when I walked up to them, and it never stopped until I was out of earshot later back in Old Red. I asked Ron if he had caught anything.

“Not a darn thing,” he responded. “My brother keeps on catching. I’m just here to look good.”

Wes, chimed in, “Yeah, we pushed our way close to Dale, making him move further downstream, thinking we might get lucky too. That didn’t work.”

As Wes and I shot the breeze for a bit, we couldn’t see Dale for the underbrush but we could hear him periodically breaking out in a happy growl over the sound of water splashing, which meant he had landed another fish.

“It’s easy to get ticked off with Dale,” Ron remarked. “He’s always lucky and he’s always a little smug about it.”

Later, when I was about to leave our new friends, I asked the guys to hold up some fish so I could take a picture of them. Dale, with a slight smirk offered, “Sure, I guess we can use some of my fish.”

Unfortunately, there are times when I have to make a choice about which stories I will write, which also means it gets very interesting when I meet someone who has offered a story but couldn’t find it in our papers or on the Internet. So it happened that I found myself some three weeks ago standing in front of two guys, Stefan Stevens and his son Warren from Stonewall, on the Hnausa pier, who, with accusing looks pointed out, “We checked the Selkirk Record and the Stonewall Teulon Tribune and couldn’t find our story.”

I searched my mind, trying to remember where I had met these fellows. Then it hit me. Two tall guys with half-length beards and trappers caps on the ice last winter off Chalet Beach. They had been so gracious taking the time to talk to me even though they had been fishing on the ice all day and wanted to be on their way home.

Here on the Hnausa pier, I apologized for having to make a choice between Stefan’s story and others. Gentleman that he was, he offered another story about not long ago when he was boat fishing on the Red and caught a huge sturgeon.

It literally dragged him and the boat upstream right up to the Lockport locks where he had to cut his line for fear of hitting the concrete lock divider.

Being an open water angler at Balsam Bay is not that easy anymore but that doesn’t stop our anglers. Last year, one could fish over the metal water barrier, but now a newly placed rock water break is the only place to cast from, and you better be part mountain goat. King Cob of Winnipeg, a round-faced chap with long brown hair, thought he was one two weeks ago.

I stopped there to see who was catching what. When I met King, he couldn’t wait to tell me how he ventured out onto the rock barrier and got soaking wet. He had caught an eating-sized pickerel and balancing on the rocks strung it and continued fishing. A few minutes later, he noticed his caught fish slip the string but become corralled in a hollow of rocks with shallow water.

King sprang to action, sprinting from one rock to another down to the water’s edge to reclaim his fish. He should have remembered that wet rocks are slippery. Up went his feet and down King splashed into the water right up to his waist. To his credit, he didn’t lose sight of his objective, rolling to one side, he reached over and grasped his fish holding it high as others on the rocks cheered his victory.

Well, with this cold, our waterways are making two or three centimetres of ice cover a day — terrific.

See you next week, friends.

Photo: Emily Birley with a monster walleye she caught on the Red at the waterfront pier at Selkirk.

Welcome, fishing pals.

In the last little while, some fishing stories have come to us bearing a humorous similarity about anglers fishing beside each other yet realizing vastly different luck.

It was still, sunny and warm on the Selkirk waterfront pier not long ago when I saw two young gals getting into a little red car, obviously leaving after a morning of fishing. As I passed the time with anglers close by, the girls got out of the car, having heard me asking for stories and one said she had caught a master walleye right here yesterday.

Standing before me, these two petite ladies, Emily Birley and Joelle Alexander, both nurses from Winnipeg, could have been twins. Emily said when she was here the day before, everybody up and down the pier wasn’t catching a darn thing — except for herself, that is. Everybody was using ordinary minnows for bait, but for some unknown reason, the pickerel seemed to prefer Emily’s.

The morning wore on and suddenly, again, her rod whipped toward the water with a whistling sound, but this time, her line began screaming as it spun off her reel. She tightened her drag, slowing the line payout and then methodically began hauling up on her rod, followed by reeling in as she lowered it.

Emily manouevred herself and the incoming fish to a spot in the pier where she could land the fish on a metal incline. Though heavy on her line, the huge pickerel, which everyone on the pier could see now, didn’t really fight much until it was time to net it and then it thrashed about in one last attempt at freedom. With help, she landed the walleye that was almost as big as she was. They took pictures and then quickly returned it to its watery home.

When things settled down, Emily re-baited her hooks, cast out and, sure enough, got another bit. That did it for the guys sitting on either side of her. They hadn’t caught anything all morning and were not going to be a party to this lopsided luck any longer. They packed up their stuff, got in their vehicles and headed for home.

Now Joelle, Emily’s buddy, has the sweetest young daughter, Adrianna, who wanted to fish for the first time a few days later. She’s at that age where she’s thin as a rail, all arms and legs with the biggest charming smile you ever saw. On first cast, Adrianna got a catfish. Keith, her dad, was there when she landed the fish, so he got down on one knee and began unhooking the fish to toss it back in the water. Kindly Adrianna, holding her rod tenderly, bent forward and said to the fish, “Hi. Hope you’re OK!” Nice kid and lucky too.

It was blustery a couple of weeks ago when I was on the Hnausa pier and came across brothers Dennis and Lawrence Kirlicki of Winnipeg. These men looked very much alike with roundish faces, intense eyes and dark moustaches and beards laced with grey. They had been out since daybreak and Dennis was doing just fine having caught two pickerel at a time, twice. Lawrence, on the other hand, had only caught a small perch. Like the guys around Joelle and Emily, he wanted to go home.

I drove over to Victoria Beach not long ago for one last visit before freeze-up. The place was quiet. Snow patches lay at the feet of the winter-darkened pines and spruces. Tire trails showed the way to the pier where a few anglers, heavily clothed, sat hunched over in folding chairs at the far end.

I walked out to them, my boots crunching on small drifts of snow. One fellow, though, seemed more active than the others. He stood as I approached and, with a big smile, said he was Rick Sapecz from Narol. I asked him how the fishing was going and, with a proud smile, he pulled a beautiful mess of pickerel up out of the water. That’s when the guys around him began grumbling. Everybody, including Rick, was using pickerel rigs and minnows, yet he was the only one catching.

Some folks are plain lucky, I guess! Well, so long. Have a good week and we’ll see you soon.

Photo: Dan Dooly, left, and Tyler Booner with two Tiger Trout caught at the ponds north of Lac du Bonnet. Express photo submitted.

Hi. Thanks for stopping for a moment to enjoy a few fishing stories our buddies have been kind enough to share.

Time and again lately, I have stopped by the Ponds north of Lac du Bonnet hoping to meet some anglers. Finally, last week I found two chaps there, local boy Dan Dooly and Tyler Booner of Birds Hill, who had caught a couple of Tiger Trout. I probably should have talked about the “Tigers” before because they are so unique to the Ponds and a few other places; however, let me make amends now.

Tiger Trout are a spectacular fish with their yellow sides overlaid by brown worm-like patterns. These ferocious eaters are created in hatcheries by crossing brown trout eggs with brook trout milt, which results in the breed being sterile — but, boy, can they ever give a fight when hooked! If you get a chance, go over to the Ponds and try for them sometime.

I was visiting folks at the Betel retirement home a couple of weeks ago and met a gal by the name of Jennifer Sweetland from Fraserwood who fondly recalled a childhood fishing experience when her grandmother took her riverbank fishing on Lee River north of Pinawa. They were setting when up grandma pulled out a jar of Noxzema and insisted that Jennifer put some on her Red Devil lure. Jennifer was a little hesitant but did what grandma asked and then cast out her line. In minutes, jackfish were taking her lure time after time. “

It’s worked for me for years,” grandma uttered through her teeth as she reeled in another one.

I guess we can add this unusual bait story to the others, including wieners and kubasa!

Last Saturday, in the cloudy, calm cool afternoon, I roamed up and down the Red riverbank listening to the stories of so many interesting anglers. I ran into one chap, Frank Guzzi, who stood out because he had a clear idea of how he should live his life. He declared that he was a man who took care of his job and family but other than that he was gone fishing. We’ve all heard the jokes about golfers who live on the golf course and horribly neglect their wives. Frank freely admitted that when it comes to fishing, he’s just as guilty.

He was sitting in his favourite folding chair as we talked. According to him, he, the chair and his favourite rod had been to just about every lake and river in Manitoba. As he went on about his love of fishing and being alone in the outdoors, I that he was a commanding figure. His personality, however, was the exact opposite. He was a light-hearted joker.

”I’ve been married to three women and lost them all to fishing,” he quipped as he scratched his beard reflecting, “The last one hit me so hard as she left, she knocked me tooth out!”

“See,” he cried as he pulled back his top lip to expose a dark gap where a tooth should be!

I just stood there not knowing what, if anything, to say as he told this tragic yet humorous tale. What else could I do?

Later, a little further upstream, I saw a gal in the process of landing a nice pickerel. Tall and thin, Carol Jackson of Winnipeg had a rugged outdoor attractiveness about her with her long light red hair and throaty mellow voice. We talked quietly in the misty afternoon as she gave an odd story. A month ago while fishing, her dog splashed into the water, grabbing one of the fish on her string and dragged the whole catch onto dry land. The dog was very proud of herself! In the following month, the dog came to believe that was her job and now Carol can’t break her of the habit!

Well, it’s starting to get cold now, I mean, I saw anglers boat fishing on the Winnipeg River in their snowmobile suits, so bundle up!

Till next week. Bye for now.

Welcome to my fishing pals.

It seems our first cool snap and snow has spurred many of us on to getting our winter fishing gear ready. It’s only human nature to be apprehensive about the coming winter so let me and a new young fishing friend of ours, Dallas Morrisseau of Lac du Bonnet get you into that wonderful cozy mood of ice shack angling.

Here’s what happened to him in his shack last winter. With bright sunlight streaming through the windows of his wooden shack, there was the comforting smell and warmth from wood crackling in its’ small stove. Subdued music from the radio filled the shack. Dallas, a soft faced youth with long brown hair that fell over his forehead sat on a bench on one end of the hut holding a short rod whose line disappeared into the water of his ice hole. On a similar wall bench across from him sat his buddy, Jaden Maki, also fishing. Their heavy snowmobile boots clunked on the wood floor as they shifted about. Setting his rod on the floor, Dallas stood up and went to the window looking out across the sun bathed flat ice pack that reached out to the distant dark shoreline. Other shacks dotted the icescape. Pickup trucks lazily bounced from one place to the other . Then he heard a slight scraping sound. He turned and looking down saw his rod slowly migrating across the floor toward the ice hole. Dallas sprang forward grabbing his rod instantly sensing there was a small fish on his hook. He reeled in and sure enough a little pickerel popped free of the water.

Jaden teased Dallas about his inability to catch a “real” fish.

That stopped sharply as a loud splashing pierced the shack and a huge thrashing jackfish flew up half out of the ice hole water completely swallowing the tiny pickerel. Dallas reacted with lightening reaction grasping his line and dragging the jack up onto the shack floor. After he caught his breath he turned to Jaden and simply smiled sarcastically while pointing to his prize saying, “come on, try and beat that.”
See, winter’s great.

Now, let’s get back to open water fishing. Down along the Red riverbank last week I met Shawna Osueke and her fiancé, Steve Froese from Altona. They were sitting in lawn chairs all bundled up casting questioned glances at the ends of their rods which had not given a signal all day that the fish here were hungry.
Incidentally Steve is no relation to the Froeses’ who gave us the story a month ago about having his or her rod stolen. Anyway, Steve had a story for us that went like this.

He was boat fishing on the Red by Sugar Island and like this afternoon, wasn’t catching a darn thing. What hurt more was he could see the guys around him catching all kinds of fish. Finally a neighboring angler took pity on him and trolled over to him telling him to try putting the tail part of a white rubber twister onto a bright jig for bait. He did and in no time caught the beautiful 34” walleye you see in our picture for the week.
Our next story isn’t really a fishing story but it’s funny.

I was slowly idling around the Winnipeg Beach harbor complex in “old red” last Friday. In the still overcast morning, coming up to a park area, I noticed a pickup truck with one of those Northwest Territories white license plates in the shape of a bear on the front bumper. Rolling past I saw a tall fellow walking his big old yellow lab beside the water. I drove over and introduced myself asking if the truck with the NWT plate was his. “Yea”, a soft-spoken chap with a warm smile who said he was Ernie Brown from nearby Sandy Hook, remarked.

“You’re not going to try to steal it are you,” he joked.

“No, but it’s unusual,” I said.

“For sure,” Ernie laughed, “it’s an inside joke up north that if you have a plate like that you have to go to a guy who knows how to weld up a steel frame and bolt it to your bumper or the minute you get down south to Alberta or B.C., someone will try to tear it off your vehicle for a souvenir.”
Wow. Bye for now.