With the coming of spring many a young man’s thoughts turn toward the spec fishing.  Many wait until the birch leaves get to be mouse’s ear size to go fishing.  That was how I used to be until quite by accident I discovered a different start to the fishing season in my world.

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I get restless in the spring when the water starts running and the snow banks settle noticeably each day.  I had gotten my first truck the summer before and with the warm days I decided to go for a drive and check out some of the spec lakes for ice conditions.  Just on the off chance I took my spinning rod, a few worms I had found digging beside the house, and my cast fry pan with an egg, some flour and a ¼ pound of butter.

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The roads were for the most part dry already.  On the shade side of the road large patches of dirty snow still lay on the ground.  The creeks were all still rushing torrents of brown water and the two I tried didn’t even produce a strike.  I hadn’t really expected any; the old wisdom said the birch leaf had to be mouse’s ear size.  But the day was spring hot and the bush road was so much more fun to drive than the pavement.  There was no particular destination in mind; I just drove for the shear joy of it.  Then as I got deeper into the wilderness I finally picked the lake I wanted to look at.

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One more creek I stopped at was also high, but a large pool suggested that fish might be holding in the slower water.  My first cast resulted in a rod bending strike.  In a short I saw the golden sides and white fins of a beautiful pickeral.  The season was closed and I released the 2 ½ pounder.  Each of the next five casts brought pickeral to the shore.  I left the pool when I saw that there would be no specs hitting that day.

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Just a few miles down the road I turned off.  The cut road now climbed a hillside partially washed out by rains over the years.  In one spot I had to take two runs to break through a drift well protected from the sun by tall pines.  At the top the lake was on the left and the ice could be seen gleaming white.  There was however a rim of the most beautiful blue between the ice and the shore.  While not a very big lake I had taken many a panful of specs from here in the summers and even a couple of feeds one winter when we came in by snow machine.  That had been a long run and the slush I had found on the lake will be another story someday.

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I parked my truck so others could get by.  The worm I put on the single hook, which trailed a small Colorado spinner, was lively.  I cast out toward the ice and let the hook sink before retrieving slowly.  No strikes.  I wanted to get close to the ice edge as possible and so on the fourth cast I went too far.  My spinner lay gleaming on the ice.  Gently I pulled on the monofilament, my bail was open, and when the bait dropped off the edge of the ice I let it go free.  I let the line from my spool slide over my forefinger.  Suddenly the line was streaking over my finger.  I closed my bail with a snap and my rod tipped arched in a big bow.  Fish on!

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The fish dove for the safe dark water under the ice cap.  Dodging from side to side it slowly came to me as I reeled in.  My net scooped a fine 14 inch spec, with white and red fore fins and highly visible halos around it’s speckles, out of the water.  I needed needle nose pliers to remove the deeply inhaled hook before I slipped the beauty into my creel.  Again I cast out, this time deliberately onto the ice surface.  The slow pull and the freefall right at ice edge resulted in another rod bending strike.  In an hour I had six of natures most colourful fish safely in my creel.

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It only took a few minutes to gather a bunch of dry dead branches and build a fire in the ring of stones, left by some one else who knew of this secret lake.  The fry pan soon sizzled with egg and flour dipped speckled trout fillets.  The truck box made a good backrest as I took another mouthful of golden fillet.  The sun shinning down made for a peaceful, tired feeling and a short snooze, after that fare for a king was finished, was called for.  An eagle was circling overhead when I woke up.  There would be no waste of the fish parts I had discarded.

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Another hour of casting hooked several more nice sized fish.  It seemed that the specs were waiting for nibblets to fall from the ice as it melted.  They would then dart out and snatch the falling morsels.  Try as I might I couldn’t get them to hit a spinner that landed in the water, no matter how close to the edge of the ice.  Only by laying the spinner on the ice then coaxing it to fall, tight to the edge, would I get one of those heart-stopping strikes.  The sun went behind a large lonely cloud that was drifting overhead and the mercury plummeted.  A glance at my watch told me there was less than an hour of daylight left.  It took only a couple minutes to gut and take the heads of, the seven specs that I had kept, for my friend the eagle who was still floating on the overhead air currents.

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Over the years since I have made a point of fishing at least one lake at this fist water situation.  On some of the put and take lakes, where some 3 to 5 pound fish can be caught, the action can be furious and heart stopping as they race under the ice edge and the line can be, and often is snapped.  I have added flies to my arsenal of weapons for this critical time.  Some I’ve found, with weighted heads for the freefall, and some I’ve tied myself.  My eight and a half foot 5 weight rod combined with a 2 or 4X tippet on forward weighted line makes for a thrilling afternoon when the trout are co-operating.

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Over the years I have found that there is really no time when the wonders of nature can’t be explored.  The opportunities are there year round all one has to do is recognize the subtle signs that are visible if you study my world carefully.

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