Ice Fishin' on Chautauqua Lake
Chris Yasko
"Sun's just peakin' over Chautauqua Lake, cups full of coffee, ice shacks startin' to wake. Griff's in sweatpants, says he's feelin' just fine. But we know it's that whiskey keepin' him warm inside."
The cold had settled deep into Chautauqua Lake, turning its surface into a frozen highway, thick and solid beneath our boots. A January morning below twenty degrees wasn't enough to keep six of us from heading out, fueled by coffee and a stubborn optimism that today would be the day we'd land a haul worth bragging about. As we parked at Long Point and trekked across the ice, the scene was a winter wonderland - a snow-covered lake, dotted with ice tents like tiny fortresses against the wind. This had to be a good spot. The crowd of fisherman already out there told us so (or maybe it was just the easiest to get to).
We are amateurs, painfully aware of our lack of preparation as we hauled our gear in a flimsy plastic bin that we bought at Walmart, while seasoned anglers zipped by on snowmobiles, dragging heavy-duty sleds packed with everything, but a guarantee of success. Still we set up as best we could, drilling holes at various depths, every breath visible in the icy air. The plan was walleye, though we'd settle for perch or really, anything that bit. But as the hours passed and the only thing biting was the wind, we turned to our backup plan: hot dogs and burgers sizzling on a travel grill, stories shared over the hiss of propane, and the occasional sip of something strong enough to warm the bones.
The wind slammed against our budget ice hut, its walls threatening to rip away and expose us to the full fury of the lake. Laughter echoed across the ice, blending with the occasional groan of frustration, and maybe even some tears. Someone in the group swore he wasn't crying, it was just cold wind cutting his face. Sure.
This old saying holds true --a bad day fishing still beats a good day working.
As the sun dipped low, we tallied our catch: a single perch, pulled up from forty feet of water. Not exactly a feast for six. But there was always the Green Door Tavern, where wings and cold beer would serve as consolation prizes.
Next year, we'll be back--better prepared, better equipped, and maybe, with better luck.
Jason Milnes
🐟 🎣 🐟
March 2022
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