The photo above really doesn't do the fish justice, but Glenn and I rounded out our ice fishing season this past weekend by heading to the Chesterfield Reservoir three times. It's an 88-mile round trip for us, despite the water being only 13.5 miles from our home 'as the crow flies.' Fortunately for crows, they merely zoom over the mountains that intervene.
Friday we were accompanied by the Smiths, novice ice fishers, both. Unfortunately, the fish weren't really biting too hard that day, but I did pull this clunker through my hole. It not only grabbed my bait, but my personal record for ice fishing as it weighed in at 3 pounds, 4 ounces and 19 inches long. Not the longest fish, but the heaviest. Although Friday's fishing was slow, we did have a couple of memorable moments involving bald eagles. One flew slowly above our heads and against a beautiful blue sky was magnificient. It, or one of its cousins, returned a couple of hours later and circled our band of ice fishers, eyeing up two trout we had on the ice. Certainly, had the four of us not been sittting there, the trout would've been dinner for a hungry eagle!
Saturday, the fish gods smiled on us. Although Friday's weather wasn't unbearable, a constant north/northeast breeze kept things cool. Saturday afternoon, nary a whisp of breeze and sunny skies again. This time, Glenn and I hauled through our holes 13 trout, of which we were allowed to keep four. Glenn lost the biggest one of the day right at his hole and in an attempt to gaffe it . . . lost the gaffe as well. So far, I'm 2-0 for guilt in the lost items category. Last season, Glenn dropped our scoop through a hole, this year the gaffe. Fortunately, I can still find all of my belongings!
Considering the condition of the ice the prior day, we pretty much figured this past weekend would be an end of it for the year, so we returned Sunday for three hours of fishing. Slow, slow going but we pulled up five fish, kept three. Our total take on fish for the 09-10 season is 51 trout, one less than last year when we fished Devil Creek Reservoir exclusively. We are pretty sure that the poundage this year is up, though, as we pulled in fewer, but larger trout. Now, I'm getting eager to try my new waders and get back into fly fishing!
Other updates for the week in review --
Meghan has returned safely from her trip to Belgium, but I haven't had the opportunity to sit and see her photos or hear the tales yet. Miles is delighted to have her back, we're sure. Although we aren't certain he grasped everything, he did know his "Mum-mum" was gone on a "pane" for "work" and "darn it!" He did seem much more preoccupied with other comforts while she was gone, though. A Nuk pacifier dangled from his mouth much more often, and he dragged his blanket and monkey everywhere. Da-da Josh did a great job caring for the little guy while going solo in Meg's absence. They both missed Meg/Mum-mum, but I'm sure enjoyed the 'guys only' bonding throughout the week.
Fishing and Miles pretty much sums up the last seven days. Our weather continues to point toward spring, with the snow melting rapidly. I realized the other day a significant difference between spring at 600' elevation in Michigan and at 5,250' and high desert here in Idaho. No mud puddles. Weird to think of it, but it occurred to me that if I was back in Reese doing my daily jaunt through town with cousin Rose, we would be dodging puddles on the sidewalks. Now, my saunter with friend Dixie takes me on gravel which is soft, to be sure, in the warming sun. . . but no puddles as the lack of humidity and hilly terrain means quick evaporation or swift runoff.
Tomorrow our little guy comes again at 5:15 a.m. or so; the day will be partially occupied with Book Babies at the library and then caring for him. As the end of the month draws nearer, I've bookkeeping to do, bills to pay. I'm baking a cherry pie later today with my home-canned pie filling and then a walk with Dixie later in the afternoon. Perhaps an opportunity to chat with my daughter will present itself and if so, I'll certainly grab it.
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