SPORTS FLASHBACK 1984: More to ice fishing than just baiting your hook

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Drilling a hole through foot-thick ice in order to spend an afternoon peering into the depths of one of Manitoba’s lakes may not be the most exciting way to spend an afternoon, but it can be a pleasant diversion from a steady winter diet of hockey games.

I convinced Jim Lohr to take a Thursday off from his busy schedule in town and he, in turn, talked Lou Laferriere into driving us out to show us his resort at Caddy Lake, and give me background for an ice fishing article, at the same time.

It was with a great deal of enthusiasm that I dragged myself out of bed just after sunrise to head for Steinbach, where we would transfer my brand new tackle box to Lou’s car and leave for Caddy Lake at 9 a.m.

Jim Lohr thought if he could just pull that sinker through there and unwind that piece of line and get that leader away from that other sinker and that hook from between the two weights he would be all ready to put bait on this one. (Carillon Archives)
Jim Lohr thought if he could just pull that sinker through there and unwind that piece of line and get that leader away from that other sinker and that hook from between the two weights he would be all ready to put bait on this one. (Carillon Archives)

Apparently, to go ice fishing you need a number of things: A shovel to clear the ice, an auger to drill a hole in it, a well-equipped tackle box with an assortment of sizes of hooks to lure a variety of sizes of fish, a Coleman stove on which to fry your catch and a very heavy cast-iron frying pan to cook it in.

Warm clothing is a must while you are waiting around for some stupid fish that’s just as cold as you are to chomp on a minnow that is just as cold as it is. And the really smart ice fisherman also packs a picnic lunch in case the fish aren’t biting.

Apparently, an ice fisherman is not as optimistic as the summer angler, who will gladly face starvation during a warm summer afternoon rather than admit he may not catch anything for a shore lunch.

I watched closely while the two experienced members of the expedition packed the trunk of Lou’s car. I was relieved to notice that we weren’t taking along any overnight gear.

On the way to Caddy Lake, I got my first taste of what it would be like to join that elite group known as fishermen. Lou and Jim recalled experiences (slightly exaggerated I think) from previous trips. By the time we reached Caddy Lake, I almost had the feeling that I was really going to enjoy the outing. It was downhill all the way from the lodge to the dock and just the thought of all those fish frying lightened the load of the Coleman stove and frying pan I was relegated to carrying.

Shovelling a patch of ice clear of snow reminded me a lot of the outdoor rink days back at Clear Springs School. Even operating the hand-powered auger didn’t seem to be much of a chore.

More than a few minutes were spent watching Jim untangle lures and lines, and hooks left over from his last fishing trip.

By the time I returned with the bait, which Jim had forgotten in the car at the top of the hill, he had untangled his lines and completed the task of readying the rest of the six fishing holes we would be using.

And then it was on to the task at hand: The purpose for being away from the office on a working day; the catching of the elusive Walleye.

That first fish escaped being fried the instant it left the water, only because I got a little hungry due to all that energy used in climbing back up the hill, and there wasn’t room for the fish in the pan with the farmer sausage being cooked up to tide me over until my fish came in.

When Jim caught the second fish of the afternoon, there was a lengthy discussion about chopping a bigger hole in the ice or simply cutting the line and leaving the monster for some summer angler, Jim somehow managed to squeeze it through the hole and the dilemma was whether to relegate it to the now empty frying pan or keep it to mount as a trophy.

Before the afternoon ended, a third, fourth and fifth were added to the string.

The trip back to Steinbach was almost a carbon copy of the trip to the Whiteshell. The only difference was that the fishing stories began to sound a great deal more like fishing stories.

Because of the astounding success of my first expedition into the winter wilds of the Whiteshell, I expect the ice fishing experience may be repeated in the future.

I may even let Jim Lohr go along. Just to carry things, you understand.

My one-time ice fishing buddy Jim Lohr passed away December 17, 2024. He was 88.

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