I had promised to take a coworker, Dane, on a number of fishing trips this past year, but it seemed as if fate was aligned against the idea of getting him exposed to the different niches of angling he wanted to learn about. Our muskie adventure in August was cancelled when he took ill, and when family obligations came up for him in February, he was a scratch for my 180-ice hole adventure. Due to some on-key Toby Keith, a trip planned for later was nixed, as I had qualified for the local Karaoke Idol finals set for our next penciled-in adventure. Fortunately, he was able to reschedule for a panfish trip on the ice last weekend and on Friday we were on the way up to the cabin.

Dane had never used a spring bobber before, but I explained to him it was the best (if not the only way) to fish bluegills and crappies through the ice. As we drove up north, I informed him that if he had ever fished through the ice for either species before, he had probably missed most of the bites by not using a rod equipped with one. As we set up in a small bay for the night, I walked him through what he would see when fish rolled in on the Vexilar.

“First you’ll see the green lines come in and turn to red, and then they’ll approach this line,” I said pointing to where his jig was located, about three feet off the bottom, “then you’ll see the tiniest bump or twitch in the spring at the end of your rod – set the hook on any movement, even if you think you imagined it,” I concluded.
It took him an hour or so and a few missed crappies before he got it down, but he learned quickly that the small movement of the spring meant a fish was inhaling his tiny jig. We finished the night with a few eater-sized crappies in the sled and headed back to the cabin. The next morning we set out for my favorite slab crappie lake and there was no need to provide any more instruction.

As I took the Vexilar around and inspected a deeper area off the breakline where we set the portable shack, I heard Dane shout. I turned around and saw one of the lake’s famous monster specks in his hand and a smile on his face. I ran over and snapped a photo of him and his fish and he sent his jig back down the hole. A red line rose to meet his offering, and a 10-inch bluegill was quickly on the hook after a slight wiggle in the spring bobber’s bead. As he unhooked the fish, he reiterated his amazement at how tiny the bites were and how much he had been missing in past seasons. We whiled away the day moving from hole-to-hole working for our fish, but making each strike count. By the time we were packed up, Dane was a pro with a spring bobber, connecting with a good number of the lake’s colossal crappies. I was content with the handful that I had landed, knowing that I had passed on some knowledge to Dane, which would help him enjoy the outdoors more in the future.

For those who know a great deal about a certain area of angling or a niche of hunting, it is important to pass that information on to others. Whether it is to a young hunter, a casual angler or someone branching out into other areas in the outdoors, the information we share when it comes to catching a certain type of fish or pursuing game in a way beyond the conventional, helps them learn and grow.

With spring just around the corner, options for the coming months will open quickly, providing us all with a chance to share the information we have locked up in our brains when it comes to trolling for walleye, shooting trap, working plastics for bass, tuning a bow and other hunting- and fishing-related activities. Make it a point to share your knowledge with someone who likes to be outdoors, but might not have the same understandings as you. It’s an enriching experience, not only for the student, but also for the teacher, and you will undoubtedly find that you learn something in the process too.

Passing on to others those things that work well for you and result in more success for them is part of the evolution of an outdoors enthusiast.

Filling a limit, catching a trophy, or shooting a wall-hanger is satisfying, but helping another person accomplish the same feat carries with it an equal amount of pride – if not more. Find out for yourself when you share your tips and techniques and make someone else successful…in our outdoors.

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Our Outdoors: 180 Ice Holes

By Nick Simonson

180 ice holes make an area about the size of a football field look like a giant slice of Swiss cheese. 180 ice holes feel like a P90X doubles workout day followed by a lactic acid soak for the shoulders, back and triceps, even with a lightweight auger. And 180 ice holes smell like blue exhaust, which lingers in the nostrils until fish cleaning is done and the first hand of poker is dealt for the night. But when the topic tossed about over the antes, full houses and folds is 13-inch crappies, hump-headed bluegills and how all the effort was worth it, 180 ice holes don’t seem so bad.

C.S. Lewis once wrote that nothing ever happens the same way twice. And while fish relate to similar structures, bends, holes, and other features under the ice year after year, no two seasons are ever alike. This weekend last year, I cut a mere 20 holes and set my buddy up on the first in the series, directly over two red lines on my sonar screen. I explained the basics of the Vexilar and the spring bobber rod and his first slab crappie was on its way up just a few moments later. We set the house up on that hole, and didn’t move all day, catching a number of fat crappies spanning the 11- to 13-inch range and bluegills topping ten inches, with almost effortless regularity.  Like Prince Caspian compared to The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, the story was almost completely different on our return to the lake. The characters were the similar, the mission was same (save the world, of course, and catch some monster panfish) but the place we had returned to was vastly different than the one we left last spring. We struggled to find fish in the usual haunts as a blanket of thick snow covered the ice, where last year it was an easy drive to any spot on the lake the entire winter. The drifts were so thick and powdery this time around that a snowmobile was necessary to access the spots we fished, now isolated from the main road plowed onto the lake.

We chased the tiny blips on the sonar from 16 feet to 18 feet to 21 feet and beyond, each time punching more holes in lines that weaved out toward deeper water in a desperate searching pattern. I grimaced with each three inch perch that took my tiny jig and barely bent my spring bobber. I took heart when a nice bluegill came spinning up the hole. And when we set up over a pod of the slab crappies the lake had become known for, we fished them as fast as we could, because as quickly as four fish were on the ice, the four holes they came from went cold.
Another twenty holes yielded nothing. Fifteen more, a few ‘gills. An hour later, we began to lose heart when we thought the fish we sought were gone for the day. I worked one last line, preparing to pull the plug on the outing after we agreed the drought had drug on too long. A fish worked its way up the screen to my Genz worm tipped with spikes and the spring bounced. I set the hook into a brick that bobbed and whirled under the hole. The shine of green and gold sparkled off the edges of ice hole as the 12-inch crappie came up the cylinder and into my grasp.
I called my buddy over and we took turns dropping our offerings down and pulled up three more slabs along with two impressive bluegills and everyone’s spirits rose when the group set up on the new line. We worked the area hard for another hour, landing a few more crappies and a bevy of sunnies before it cooled off. I punched one final line of holes and stopped over the second-to-last one and pulled up the final crappie of the day, nearly eight hours after we had started.
I had spent about as much time fishing as I did punching holes, as the duties of jigging, checking, moving and setting up shifted between the members of our party; and the teamwork, persistence and two auger tanks worth of mixed gasoline, combined to pay off with what we deemed a success, considering what we were up against.
Though the ibuprofen and the multivitamin after our endeavor played a big part in silencing my screaming shoulders, the golden filets of some hard-earned panfish undoubtedly helped me forget the 180 holes it took to catch dinner. As I missed the river card on the last hand of Hold ‘Em, and folded my four-card flush, I volunteered that I’d be happy to do it all over again the next day, or anytime for that matter…in our outdoors.

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There’s an old Irish proverb that wishes good luck to the traveler by stating “may the road rise to meet you.” For anglers, especially those on the ice, it should be more like “may the fish rise to meet you.”
Presentation is one of the key factors for consistently catching fish and the nature of angling through the ice doesn’t leave a whole lot of horizontal options. For that reason, knowing why fish take to a vertical presentation, how to draw them up to your lure and what to do to seal the deal when they do rise to meet your jig are vital for success.

Most active fish in the winter will rise up to take a lure that is worked in the water column above them, whether it’s just a few inches or up to several feet. Even neutral fish will come off the bottom or out of the depths to inspect a jig or a spoon worked up higher in the water column. The reason for this is simple armchair biology. The eyes of most fish species are mounted so as to provide an upward viewing angle. They see everything to each side, out in front of them some distance and up toward the surface of the water. Therefore they are more likely to see an item of prey that is above them than below them, where their viewing angle is limited.

When fish are marked on or come in close to the bottom, a presentation of 12 to 24 inches above them is ideal in gauging their aggressiveness or at least in determining their interest. If an aggressive fish doesn’t speed up to the bait, lower it slightly with a few jiggles and hops. Particularly with perch and bluegills, when watching a sonar screen, the highest-sitting fish in the column may not be the first fish to the bait. Oftentimes, a smaller specimen will race past that top fish to seize the opportunity. On a hot bite, that first fish might trigger a rush of strikes, drawing fish of all sizes (including the big one who didn’t seem all that interested) up to the bait, and the fishing is good in that spot for some time thereafter.

More often than not though, anglers are forced to finesse those fish into biting. For this situation, an elevated presentation also helps draw their attention. Then it’s up to the angler to convince them to bite. When fishing crappies and bluegills, a sensitive graphite rod with a spring bobber helps manage a finesse presentation and often only a slight jiggle and pause above the fish will start them moving in for a closer look.

Remember when fishing panfish, that they have relatively big eyes and small mouths and dine on the tiniest pieces of food – some almost too small to see with the naked eye like daphnia, a near-microscopic life form. As a result, these fish can see and reject imperfect presentations or baits that appear or act unnatural. For this reason, be subtle in your presentation when a slow-rising fish (neutral or just slightly active) moves in to inspect. The closer the crappie or bluegill gets, the more subtle your jiggles and hops and the longer your pauses should be. Sometimes, as a blip closes in on the Vexilar, all it takes is the tap of a finger against the rod handle, or just a slight squeeze on the grip to impart the necessary movement to trigger a bite. In these instances, watch the spring bobber and line carefully as the bite from a neutral fish will be very subtle, telegraphed as just the slightest twitch.

When fishing active predators, like walleye and pike, the opposite may very well be the case. The fish may approach cautiously, but be triggered into biting by a wild jigging motion which pulls the bait up and away from them, inducing a reaction strike. A buddy once reported on a fishing trip to Lake of the Woods that the only way to get the walleyes to bite was to draw them in with a larger Salmo Chubby Darter, jigged aggressively and then ripped away from the fish when they were directly under the hole. The walleyes would then smash the lure as it came tumbling back down.
There’s one common instance where a bait lower than the fish can trigger a bite. If you are over a school of fish that have cooled off and are not biting, and none will rise to meet your bait, try letting your jig freefall through the group and hit bottom before raising it above them again. This rapid elevation may trigger the curiosity of some of those fish from the bottom of the school to ascend and take your jig. The disturbance caused by the jig may also free debris from the bottom, attracting fish and restimulating a slow bite.

After a few outings, you’ll be able to better pattern the species you are after. You can determine based on how a few individual fish respond to your presentation whether you need to get lower or more subtle. On those fast-paced days over a good school of fish is when you learn the value of an elevated presentation. This season on the ice, start above your quarry, and then work your way down, or make them come to you with a series of jiggles, hops, taps and pauses. Adjusting your presentation based on how fish view their prey will help elevate your success this season…in our outdoors.

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When you look at some of the best ice anglers, there often is some strategy in how and where they drill holes.  Ice anglers might not be able to drift or troll but they can drill holes in a pattern and discipline themselves to fish the holes in a set time to cover water.  There is a method behind the madness and successful anglers often have a strategy behind the drilling.  Just drilling a bunch of holes for the sake of drilling holes can be counter productive if there is no purpose.

The reality is that some of the better days I have had on the ice were days where I didn’t have to move a lot and was able to catch a lot of fish out of a handful of holes.  For whatever the reason, there was enough fish underneath me and new fish moving in below me where I didn’t have to move.  There is also the play it safe scenario during tough conditions where patience and small moves on a spot that holds fish can be the best call.

I don’t like the idea of big moves where anglers drill lots of hole and attempt to cover a lot of water without a purpose.  Too much time is wasted.  Pick spots, pick structure and have a game plan where there should be fish.  If you fish a few spots through and don’t contact fish, the next step is gather more information so that you can make a more educated guess on where fish could be as finding fish is often the process of elimination.  Even on a small lake, you can’t look at the whole lake through an eight inch hole.  You have to be smart and pick your battles.  Once promising areas are found, let lake maps and GPS guide and suggest where and how to drill the holes.

There are several factors that often dictate how and why to drill and fish several holes.  One common scenario occurs when fish are not sorted by size, big fish mixed right in with small fish where the big fish are the minority.  Most of the time, the big fish will be the dominant fish and usually, the first fish out of a hole will be the largest.  As the big fish get plucked, the size drops off.  This is particularly true in thick stands of weeds, underwater cribs and planted structure where anglers are finding isolated pockets of fish.

Another factor that can demand drilling a lot of holes to catch fish are roaming fish that move across the basin of a lake.  These fish might suspend or school vertically versus spreading out across the lake bottom.  These fish are also generally moving, typically about the speed of a slow walk.  This type of situation generally takes some effort to find these fish and sooner or later, the school will drift off where you either have to drill more holes to stay on the school or find another school of fish.

Time of day is another element that can dictate the strategy as low light conditions often see the best fish movement for not just walleyes but even panfish.  When fish are moving and the movements are somewhat predictable, you can set up on good spots and drill less holes because the spots are recharging with new fish.  Often when the sun gets a little bit higher, this strong fish movement stops and you have to drill holes to hit fish.

In a perfect world, we would always be fishing familiar water where we know the details of the lake bottom like the back of our hand and also have a GPS with this information saved but the reality is that some really good water doesn’t have good GPS mapping available or the detail might be lacking.  New or unexplored water can only be dissected one way and that is by drilling a lot of holes.  Even on familiar water where there might be good mapping available, there are often little subtle sweet spots that will never show up on a map.  The only way to hit these gold mines is to drill holes and basically stumble on to them so maps and GPS are a reference but remember that some of the best spots don’t look that good on a map.

Applying good strategy to drilling holes separates the best ice anglers from the average. The first variable is how far apart to drill holes.  When exploring basin areas or expansive shorelines on big water, we often begin our search by stretching the holes far apart.  Much like open water fishing, we make big moves to find fish.  Once productive or potentially productive areas are found, we focus on specific areas and drill holes much closer together.  A good rule of thumb when searching through an area that you know holds fish is to consider water clarity.  Ten foot visibility means drill your holes ten feet apart.  I usually use the water visibility factor when I first move through an area but there are other factors that might cause me to slow down and drill holes even tighter.

We often drill holes much tighter if we are fishing in groups so that if somebody gets on a hot school of fish, there is another hole available.  Structure like weed growth, flooded timber or large rocks might also create windows of visibility where there is an obstruction to how far the fish can see you.  A massive rock pile for example might take several more holes to fish through because fish five feet away on the opposite side of a boulder for example can’t see you.  The other factor already touched on is the mood of the fish.  High sun, clear water, fronts or other factors that push those fish down where they won’t come underneath you means more holes.  Really touch fish require more holes because you have to drop right down in front of the fish, much like a bass angler trying to find the right angle.  When things get difficult, you can’t assume that the fish will swim over four feet or even turn around.

Above are several reasons why an ice angler should be willing to drill a lot of holes.  What really good anglers will do however is slow the day down by also spending enough time in an area so that the bite can develop.  Remember that big moves find fish but small calculated moves catch fish.  If you are in a good area that has slowed down and can’t sit still… make short, small moves where you can be in position to slide back to spots that produced fish earlier.  If you are over a basin or type of structure, good spots will recharge with each new school of fish that moves through.  Weeds can sometimes be different in that some pockets take longer to recharge because the fish might not get funneled into them the same way as fish relating to a point or depression for example.  Remember to slow the day down and adjust the presentation so that you can catch the fish below you.  There have also been occasions particularly with shallow walleyes where we found that we caught more fish by drilling just a few holes in the best spot on the spot and let the commotion settle down as a lot of activity shut the spot down.  Heavy snow also can create a lot of slush and water on the ice so again on a good spot, drill fewer holes so that you can fish the spot the next day without having to stand in a foot of water.

In order to fish aggressively on the ice, you need a few essentials for equipment.  To find fish and make the big moves, I am often fishing out of my pickup or off my snowmobile but to really scour an area for fish, nothing beats fishing out of a portable one man Fish Trap or fishing outside.  To fish outside in extreme conditions, you are going to need the proper clothing which I highly recommend the Ice Armor suits as they allow a lot of mobility, are dry and most of all warm.  When you are fishing outside or off a snowmobile and a twenty mile per hour wind is hitting your back, you need to have Ice Armor.  The other piece of equipment that makes this style of fishing much more productive and enjoyable is a fast, lightweight auger like the StrikeMaster Solo.  After you use a Solo, everything else feels too heavy and slow, kind of like picking up a much heavier shotgun.

Editors Note: The author, Jason Mitchell earned a legendary reputation as an ice fishing guide with Devils Lake’s Perch Patrol Guide Service and is credited with pioneering many of the advanced strategies and presentations that have revolutionized ice fishing over the past twenty years.

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As the seasons pass and I have become more adept at ice fishing and technology has bolstered my ability on the ice, I have drifted away from those species I once pursued primarily in winter. Walleyes and northern pike, though tops on the food chain, take a back seat these days to chasing crappies, bluegills and yellow perch when cold weather arrives.

Maybe it’s a phase that I’m going through. Maybe it’s because they’re ready biters with the right presentation. Maybe it’s because they require me to be ready, aware and reactive to their subtle and tiny strikes. Whatever the reason, panfish have become central to my chase across the frozen lakes and ponds of the upper Midwest.

I still carry a “big fish” box in my ice tackle bag, loaded with spoons, jigs and other lures when I choose to pursue predators, but my panfish box is much deeper. Where I once spooled up my rods with four- and six-pound test line (which I thought was a bit on the small side at the time) and carried three nylon-lined tip-ups at the ready (which most seasons gather dust in my sled), I now find myself threading whisper-thin webs through the eyes of my rods. And those rods are not the telephone poles I once held over a hole in the ice either. The light and ultralight models, with super-sensitive spring bobbers, are designed to detect upward bites, downward bites and every direction of bite in between.

Panfish, especially bluegills require minute meals in the form of jigs that weigh 1/64, 1/80 and even 1/100 ounce. I’ve tied a number of small and simple fly fishing patterns on tiny ice jigs and found success in the past few seasons and I employ only the smallest store-bought lures, such as Lindy Genz Worms with hooks in sizes 10 and 12 when searching for bluegills. The same can be said for crappies and perch. While the larger, more aggressive fish may still smack a spoon, more often than not, I don’t exceed a jig bigger than 1/32 ounce. These jigs are rarely baited with anything more than a single maggot, maybe two. On an aggressive bite, it might be a waxworm, but for the most part, I keep the live bait small.

Downsizing my line diameter has also become a key factor in on-ice success for panfish of all varieties. Where I once used only four-pound test line, I now rig several light and ultralight rods with two- and one-pound test. The decreased diameter allows tiny jigs to drop faster and hang more naturally. That and the line, at least in my mind, is less visible to these fish, which are obviously capable of picking up microscopic bits of food under four feet of ice and snow. Modern lines are smaller, thinner, less visible yet stronger than ever before and a world of options awaits the winter panfish angler.
Finally, my rod selection leans heavily toward the light side of things. With three spring bobber rods in tow, an option is readily available no matter what species I’m after. I use the spring bobber while keeping a close eye on my Vexilar. As a red line approaches my bait on the sonar screen, I look for any movement in the spring at the end of my rod. Up or down movement, and sometimes just the tiniest twitch will signal a bite. Reacting to the movement can be the hardest part. Bluegills and crappies are notorious for their spit-takes, where a jig is inhaled and exhaled in a fraction of a second and the only sign is the telegraph of the spring bobber. Employing sensitive rods with even more sensitive springs have helped me learn more about panfish on the ice than any other tool.

Panfish provide great experience on the ice and are a lot of fun to learn from. They taste good too, at the end of the day, if you’re interested in a fish fry. From the glacial lakes of northeastern South Dakota, to Devils Lake, N.D. to the lake country bluegill waters in Minnesota, there are a number of species to choose from across this great region. Take these lessons I have learned and downsize for greater success on the ice this season…in our outdoors.

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Bluegill fishing is about balance. Each trip is a constant trial and error to figure out if the fish want a tiny speck of an ice jig – the flash, vibration and, meaty profile of a jigging spoon, or any presentation that falls in between. Each presentation has its strengths and weaknesses so experimentation is a must every day—sometimes every hour!

Miniature jigs are great when the fish are super-finicky. Even the most wary fish can be fooled when a tiny jig is paired with a super-thin line. Seriously, what bluegill can’t resist a tiny Northland Jiggle Bug tied to the end of two-pound test, better yet, 100% fluorocarbon. The smaller the jig and line the better when fish are lethargic, spooky, or just a little “off”. Yet small bluegill love the tiny jig and thin line combination, too. Sometimes the ratio between catching a small fish compared to a nice one is 50:1. And once a bigger bluegill does take your microscopic presentation, retrieving the hook becomes yet another chore.

Conversely, a jigging spoon is a great choice for bluegill when the fish are very active, spread out, or if you’re constantly pestered by smaller fish. The flash and vibration of the spoon calls fish in from afar, and the larger size discourages smaller fish. But sometimes, coaxing a bigger fish to eat such a large offering becomes frustrating. The fish may have been feeding for several days and they’re simply not as active compared to last week, not to mention the waxworm, larva or plastic tail dangling from the treble doesn’t conceal the hook well enough to grant a bite. Eager smaller fish still attempt to grab the treble hook, but instead get a mouthful of waxworm or Eurolarve, ripping it from the hook with a headshake. Take off the gloves and rebait. Rebait. Rebait.

So you try the small jig again and silver dollar sized sunfish continually pound the tiny offering you drop down the hole, beating the bigger fish to the hook. Solution? Ride piggyback.

As previously mentioned, jigging spoons and ice jigs each have positives and negatives. Yet putting the two together is like joining peanut butter and jelly, an engine and gasoline, or a young child and a set of blocks; it’s simply a good fit.

It doesn’t take much know-how in creating a piggyback spoon in your angling laboratory or garage stall. You can even accomplish the task on the lake if you’re careful so the components don’t get lost in the snow.

Simply remove the single or treble hook from the split-ring of your favorite jigging spoon, and then add your favorite ice jig to the now empty split ring. A pair of split ring pliers makes the job easier, but sometimes a strong thumbnail can open the ring just enough to remove and replace a hook.
Jigs that hang vertically work best, but don’t underestimate a horizontally sitting ice jig either. Sometimes an odd appearance is enough to trigger bites from inquisitive bluegills.

You’ll find endless possibilities to be creative as you begin pairing up various jigs with the wide variety of spoons on the market. Just imagine the color combinations, luminescent finishes, hair, rubber or synthetic attractors on the jigs, spoons that rattle and even the size options for making a wicked, bluegill catching bait. Yet don’t be surprised when your piggyback spoon lands a perch, pike, walleye, bass, crappie or other variety of fish swimming in the lake, river or reservoir you’re fishing.

My favorite combinations include Northland Tackle’s Forage Minnow Jigging Spoon or their super-noisy Buck-Shot Rattle Spoon paired up with a Northland Spider Ant or Jiggle Bug. The legs on the Spider Ant are a great attractor and the Jiggle Bug hauls in the big ones when less is more. In other words, when the fish are finicky the Jiggle Bug has just enough color to excite whopper ‘gills, but is subtle enough to tempt even the pickiest eaters. Tip the jig with a waxworm, Eurolarve, or one of Northland’s lifelike Bloodworms from Bro’s Bug Collection.

So the next time you’re looking for huge bluegills through the ice, consider teaming up your favorite ice jig and your favorite jigging spoon – a powerful combination that is sure to put a bend in your rod.

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It’s the evening of the first day when the temperature has stayed well below freezing and I’m sitting in the not-quite-bright-enough light of the living room, squinting as hard as I can in an effort to thread a wisp of one-pound test through the eye of a 1/64 ounce Genz worm in preparation for an activity I won’t do for two weeks. They say ‘never stop learning’ and last year, just when I thought I had ascended to the plateau of the ice fishing learning curve, I realized I still have a very long way to go.

Small ice jigs are great for panfish at all hours

Focusing the majority of my efforts on pike, perch and walleye in my formative years of ice fishing hooked me on the idea that any fish will hit a spoon or a jig on six-pound test. It didn’t seem to matter what these fish saw in the murky alkalinity of the flooded sloughs stocked by the Game and Fish Department in the late 1990s. The game was more about jiggling the biggest rattling spoon I could drop down there or making sure the biggest frozen herring was the one impaled on my treble hook attached to the tip-up. But like all schools of thought, there’s usually one eureka-type moment that blows the common conception out of the water and opens the door to areas of new exploration.

That moment came for me while I was hunkered in an ice shack with my buddy over 30 feet of water, just off the Lake Ashtabula shoreline north of my hometown of Valley City, N.D. An annoying red line would phase in and out on my trusty Vexilar FL-8, and no matter what I dropped down there, the line would reappear, swim up to my lure and then disappear with no reaction. I threw everything I had in my tacklebox at the blip with the same result, until I swore to my friend that this fish was mine. I clipped the line and was just able to squeeze it through the teeny eye of a size ten Lindy Fatboy jig. Baiting the hook with just a segment of a waxworm, I waited in impatient agony as the tiny jig slowly spiraled its way down the water column.

The red line reappeared and met my offering a few feet off the bottom. The monofilament bumped slightly in the last guide of the rod and I set the hook. With zeal, I cranked on the reel and rocketed the fish out of the water, nearly hitting myself in the head with my rod. For the rest of the outing my buddy and I hovered over that spot without another bite. But I was satisfied with my one fish, and I took the lesson of downsizing with me as we folded up shop and headed in.

Flash forward to last season, where panfish became my primary pursuit. I targeted crappies out over the depths, bluegills along the weedlines and a pod of perch packed into a tight inside bend. The lake in northeastern Minnesota was a far cry from the farmland perch and pike sloughs in Barnes County, N.D. and the fish in it had eyes that probably could pick out each individual angel on the proverbial pinhead. Small was the ticket, save for those three-day stretches when the crappies were bingeing under a full moon.
Jigging raps and rattle spoons were stashed away in favor of size ten, 12 and 14 jigs and ice flies, and my standard four-pound test was halved on a majority of my reels. Even then, in the gin-clear waters beneath my shack, I watched as the finicky bluegills turned up their noses at some of my smallest stuff on my thinnest lines and I vowed that next season, while the fish might get reeled up a bit slower, the connections would come more often and I’d push the limits of the infinitesimal.

So here I sit, practicing my clinch knot with one-pound test on my most sensitive spring bobber rod knowing that my tactics have evolved to deal with whatever water quality lays beneath the ice. Whether it’s perch, bluegill, walleye or crappies, I’ve learned that sometimes bigger isn’t better, and from the spring-fed reservoir to the gravel-bottomed natural lake, clear waters require special tactics to scale the slopes of their learning curves. Each season provides its ‘a-ha!’ moment, whether you’re pursuing a new species or fishing new waters. Learn from them, grow from them and expand your knowledge, even if it means getting smaller…in our outdoors.

Nick Simonson is an avid multi-spiecies angler and hunter and has been writing his columns since 2001 for a number of publications and websites across the upper Midwest. Find more stories on www.nicksimonson.com or become a fan on Facebook by searching “Our Outdoors.”

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It's tough to beat fast action crappie fishing through the ice

On a recent fishing trip to a small, virtually featureless lake, save for one giant point that separated the body of water into two halves, I began to wonder where to get started. It was a sunny day with unseasonably warm temperatures and a slight wind. My friend Adam and I began our adventure from the snowed-in boat launch where several other trucks were parked.

Following the snowmobile and ATV tracks from the shore out to and across the middle of the smaller half of the lake, I remarked to my companion that I really had no idea where to go for the crappies and pike that inhabited the lake, other than around the point. We trudged along by foot, towing the flip-over shack and the auger behind us. Halfway to our destination, I saw a cardboard box about 50 yards off the beaten path.

It looked like a marker for a spearing hole, designed to warn those traveling by vehicle of the recent large opening. We walked by it and continued on toward the pine tree marking the end of the point. As we walked we saw tiny footprints in the slight layer of snow that covered the ice.

“Crows were here,” I said, knowing that the scavengers frequented old fishing sites looking for dead minnows and crumbs of food.

I looked around and saw a few frozen fishing holes, slightly darkened by the reddish water underneath them. Next to one hole lay an empty pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. The gears in my brain started turning. I grabbed the lake map from my jacket pocket and stared it down. It provided me with the same information as before: this side of the lake was about 80 acres with virtually no contour to it, just a gradually sloping basin, supposedly filled with crappies and pike.

The author's partner with a crappie from the day

“No one would sit around and smoke a pack of cigarettes if they weren’t catching any fish,” I surmised out loud and my friend agreed, even though we recognized that the depth wasn’t the same as where we had found crappies on other area lakes.

I picked up the auger and prepared to re-open one of the old holes. As I set the blade in the frozen slush cone, the thin layer of ice in its center gave way and the auger fell straight through. The hole had just recently been fished. With highs in the thirties for the past few days, the spot could have been used within the last 24 hours.

I dropped the transducer of my Vexilar in with a splash and the screen lit up.

“There’s fish here,” I exclaimed as I rapidly fumbled through my rods for one rigged with a small spoon.

I pinched a minnow in half and impaled the head on the hook and dropped it down. The fish flew up to it. I felt a slight tap and set the hook – a swing and a miss. The fish felt small, and I winced with memories of the previous day’s outing exploring a rock reef where all I caught were perch no bigger than seven inches, a paltry reward for punching over 100 holes and freezing my feet in slush for over five hours.

I bobbed the spoon a couple more times and felt a hit. This time the hook found its mark and the light-action rod doubled with the stress of a good-sized panfish. I watched the red blip zoom up the sonar screen as I reeled it in. A gape-mouthed crappie surfaced, well over 10 inches in length.

“CRAPPIES,” I shouted to my companion, “grab a rod and kick open that other hole by the cigarette pack.”

Within minutes, we had 14 crappies on the ice, all 10-to-12 inches in length. The fish would smash our little chartreuse spoons with reckless abandon. It was a strange place and time to be catching fish; 17 feet deep on a featureless basin in the middle of a bright and sunny afternoon, as opposed to the find-35-feet-and-wait-for-dark bite my friend and I had experienced on other local bodies of water. We had our ten-fish limits within 20 minutes, and were almost sad that we had to move on. I picked up the empty blue Pall Mall package and placed it in my pocket. We began packing our gear to head to the shallows of the basin in search of pike. As we did, we saw two lightly-geared anglers heading toward us.

“You found my spot,” one of them said as they approached, “Everyone usually just passes this place by as they head to the point, even when we’re fishing here. They look at us like we’re crazy,” the man, who was a high school classmate of Adam’s, continued.

“Well, we wouldn’t have stopped, except for the cigarettes; which one of you smokes Pall Malls?” I inquired as I held the package up for inspection.

The man glared at his friend, and pointed to him.

“We usually pack everything up so no one realizes how good this place is, we must have missed it in the dark last night,” he responded, recognizing how we had discovered the spot.

“I won’t tell anyone about this place if you don’t,” I said with a smile as we headed to a nearby shoreline, chuckling to myself the whole way.

I have always been one to pick up after others and myself whenever I am on the water, and I have developed an eye for old fishing line, pop cans, and chew tins. Having a cleaner area to fish from has always been the only reward, and that is enough for me. But sometimes, in addition to that feeling, the reward for having an eye for garbage is gigantic green crappies, and payback is a beautiful thing…in our outdoors.

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The gaping mouth and sucking powers of a crappie make vacuuming up freshwater shrimp child's play. Bro's Scud Bug from Northland Fishing Tackle is just as easily inhaled.

A system is only as good as the weakest link. That’s a profound statement and applies to everything from a football team to stereo systems. Think about it. Well, in fishing, it also pertains to the freshwater shrimp – or scud as they’re referred to on the ice.

They’ll never make it into a shrimp cocktail or even grow to scampi size, but they certainly fill a niche in the freshwater food chain. Scuds are a staple dietary item on many bodies of water, and a more important food source than you might realize.

Lakes that do contain scuds tend to produce tape-measure bluegills, crappies and perch. The key is availability. Baitfish are scarce at times. Aquatic invertebrates (immature insects) aren’t always out in the open. Shrimp snacks, on the other hand, are always being served. Panfish might have to search-out the mother lode, but there’s always a cloud of scud somewhere out there.

One sign of a lake being shrimp-free is finding empty stomachs while cleaning fish. Again, shrimp are the slow moving, easy to catch, fail-safe food. Panfish will literally go hungry at times, on some lakes, when shrimp aren’t available. In fact, the absence of shrimp can diminish the overall size structure of panfish on a given lake. Scuds are a stop-gap in the food chain, ensuring that there’s always food on the table.

Freshly found shrimp indicate that panfish are likely nearby. To first find shrimp, though, you need to know a little about their required habitat and dietary needs. Shrimp love vegetation. Large mats of weeds covering largely soft bottoms make for ideal habitat. Shrimp are omnivorous, dining on both detritus (decaying organic matter) and live critters, such as bloodworms (mayfly larvae) and daphnia (zooplankton), all of which share parallel surroundings.

Shrimp, like panfish, will also wait for zooplankton to rise in the water column, which generally occurs during low-light periods and into nightfall. I’ve seen this happen on open water, too. The Humminbird shows a cloud of bigger marks (shrimp) tracking smaller marks (zooplankton).

The volume of scuds in a lake also affects actual fishing success. If a lake is wall-to-wall with scuds, the fish are scattered and hungry less often. I prefer lakes with sizable but isolated populations of scuds. This keeps panfish on the prowl.

Fish recognize forage based on their profiles. Not always is a scud’s color and pattern obvious, but its silhouette is omnipresent. That curled shape; those dangling legs; that flexing tail. It’s hard to reproduce with a lure, though. With that inspiration, I designed Bro’s Scud Bug, part of Bro’s Bug Collection from Northland Fishing Tackle.

The emphasis is on realism. Not only does the Scud Bug physically resemble a freshwater shrimp; it swims like one. The hinged tail straightens and returns to its curled posture with every pull. Shrimp propel with a compound action. So does the Scud Bug.

From a technique standpoint, whether you’re fishing a Scud Bug or some other plastic, there are key strokes that aim to mimic the real thing. Freshwater shrimp move in short bursts, kicking with their tails. Between motions they pause and gently fall, making up for the drop with the next kick. The action is easy to replicate. Make 2 inch or so pulls with the rod tip, following each jig with a limp-line freefall. Maintain the cadence while gradually working your way up the water column. Strikes typically come on the pause. And if you mark fish but they’re uncooperative, go to a modest quiver. Maintain the action for 5 to 10 seconds between bursts.

You’ll want a rod with a soft tip as well; something that promotes the soft stroke. I’m partial to longer, strike-signaling rods like the 24-inch quick tip Bro’s Series Combo from Frabill. Spring bobbers are also effective for indicating strikes and making a smooth-moving, natural presentation.

Modern soft plastics nail the fluid motion of native forage, but not the scent. Only live bait can achieve that. My solution is threading a single waxworm or maggot up the hook shank and hiding it under the belly of the Scud Bug. This adds seductive scent while not jeopardizing the desired action.

Okay, so scud isn’t the most flattering 4-letter word, but neither are the street names for burbot (lawyer), dogfish (bowfin) or junk fish (carp and other bottom feeders). “Scud,” however, is music to the ears (lateral lines) of crappies, bluegills and perch.

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The author with a pair of 10 inch perch that were caught recently, thanks to the bite detecting abilities of a spring bobber.

I  cannot recall how many times I have watched fish rise up on the Vexilar as I work my lure in the water column only to have the fish pause at my offering then head back to the bottom. Be it a small jig with a wax worm or a spoon with a minnow head, it is frustrating to have fish attracted to a lure, but not hit it.

A few weeks ago, while fishing near Park Rapids, Minn., I watched several crappies rise and disappear on my sonar readout. A few committed early in the evening, but most would turn their noses up at my offering, or so I thought. That’s when I decided to investigate how to better close the deal with fish that inspect my baits, but turn away.

What I learned was surprising. Many times, especially in the case of finicky panfish like perch and crappie, the fish will hit without even sending a vibration up the line. A quick inhale and exhale of the bait and the fish moves on, knowing something isn’t quite right with the glowing blue hook or the funny-acting minnow. This action doesn’t budge a bobber and rarely moves a rod, leaving anglers in the frustrating situation of asking themselves why the fish didn’t hit when in reality, it did.

Nothing new

St. Croix's new Legend series of spring bobber rods come with light (pictured), medium, and heavy spring bobbers for all types of fishing

Looking to cure my panfishing predicament, I investigated deeper into the growing realm of finesse ice fishing and read some more on a simple invention – the spring bobber. I never had the need for one before this time because I had never been overly-frustrated by uncatchable blips on the Vexilar. I figured I would give it a shot and acquired, through a well-placed Valentine’s Day hint to my girlfriend, a 24-inch light action St. Croix Legend spring-bobber rod.

Coming equipped with a three-inch spring bobber and a solid carbon blank and cork handle, I knew the name alone meant the rod would be high quality. Designed by renowned panfish angler Greg Wilczynski specifically for St. Croix, the rod looked to be the answer to that mysterious question as to why the fish weren’t hitting.

A new perspective

As we set up on the ice that weekend, I tied on the smallest thing I had in my tacklebox – a size 12 nymph I had crafted out of orange dubbing and peacock herl – and the tiniest split shot I had available. The fish rolled through and several passed on the traditional opening-hour offerings such as Genz worms and rattle spoons. As day broke over the frozen feeder creek, I prepared to try the spring bobber rod for the first time. I tipped the nymph with a wax worm and lowered my offering down the hole. Watching the fly and weight on the Vexilar, I held them a few inches off of the bottom. Tapping the spring bobber with my index finger, I saw a faint orange line rise from the creek bed. I held the rod steady. The spring bobber moved downward just slightly, less than an eight of an inch, once…then twice. I snapped a hookset and felt the resistance of what would turn out to be a fat 9-inch perch.

The day would be cool and unstable, and the fishing would be tough. With my tiny flies and jigs and the spring bobber rod, I could detect more hits than my fishing buddies. And by giving the fish a smaller snack, instead of a bigger meal, I would land about two dozen perch, with seven keepers.

A majority of the success that day – and in my perch fishing trips since – came from having the spring bobber to detect the tiniest of bites in a winter that has produced a less-than-aggressive angling environment.

Spring bobber options

In addition to the springs that come built in to St. Croix’s Legend series of rods, the company offers a variety of sizes and sensitivities that can be ordered from their website (www.stcroixrods.com) or purchased at many sporting goods stores. Other companies such as HT Tackle (www.htent.com) offer free-standing spring bobbers for sale that can be attached to the end of your favorite ice rod to help with hit detection. They also carry a smaller price tag than purchasing a new rod.

Whatever you choose to help with finicky panfish as winter wears on, a spring bobber is a simple and effective way to downsize your baits, take the questions out of angling, and help you ice more fish…in our outdoors.

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