Perching in the Present Tense
By Jeff Beckwith
This winter’s been
different…
Fair enough, I’ll be the
first to admit that there’s no such thing as “normal” when it
comes to wintertime in the North Country. Heck, averages are
really just the means of extremes. But having said that, I’m
hanging onto the belief that this winter’s been especially weird;
so peculiar in fact that I’ve had to change the way I fish.
I’m
a “percher” by trade. Through the ice, there’s simply no better
game. Perch are willing and able, abundant, and pleasing to the
palate. Plus, they continue mauling baits and baitfish into the
deepest, darkest and deadest epochs of winter.
Normally, as February
unfurls, I’ve got those little buggers pegged too. There’s plenty
of ice, as well as snow cover, so I just drive my pickup to a pet
hump, cut a half dozen holes, and prepare for sore wrists and
elbows. That’s how it usually goes anyway, but not this winter.
On a recent outing to one
of those darling and unfaltering spots I quickly learned that
circumstances were anything but normal...
I was greeted and
supported by 15 inches of pure and brawny ice, which is perfectly
normal, but abnormally, the surface was bare. Not a wisp of snow.
Not letting the
snow-less-ness affect my operation, I drilled a small cluster of
holes and commenced jigging. Like clockwork, thump, there was a
jumbo on its way skyward. And as swiftly as I could get back to
the bottom, another fish was snared. So easy I thought, so
wonderfully and consistently easy.
But much to my amazement,
a third fish never materialized. The Vexilar was blank. Huh…
What’s with this? Had the machinery of my perch factory grinded to
a halt? Had aliens blasted the lake with a tractor beam and
siphoned all its contents?
Well, the answer to each
of these questions is a resounding “no.” But real solutions were
at hand.
I’m not accustomed to
moving around so much. My spots aren’t arbitrary, but precise,
like a diamond cut. I usually drive directly to GPS coordinates
that have long been established. Searching is reserved for first
ice, sometimes last ice, but not midwinter when everything’s
schooled.
But on this day I caught
more fish staying on my toes than dragging my heels. Micro-moves
transported me from fish to fish. It seems that perch were easily
startled without the shroud of snow. The water was especially
clear too, making matters worse. You could actually see your lure,
through the hole, down to 12 feet.
I theorize that perch were
spooked by the commotion of a family member being towed to
surface. That explains why I saw a screen full of fish, hooked one
or two, and then watched the premises go vacant.
That’s where the
micro-moves came in. I merely paced 20 or 30 feet away to another
hole and bagged a couple more fish. But then, in compliance to the
pattern, the hole would clear out – nothing.
Cycling back to old holes
every now and then worked too. So it wasn’t like I had to bore
hundreds of holes, but rather a couple dozen, and then jigged ‘em
in rotisserie fashion.
A couple of components
that did hold true, though, were depth and orientation. Even
without snow, the perch, as usual, lurked near deep structure.
Breaklines on offshore
humps were key. In the morning, and when clouds invaded later in
the day, perch held at the cusp of the break in 22 to 24 feet of
water. During the afternoon, when the sun shone, they skimmed off
the structure into 30 to 36 feet of water. This daily migratory
pattern is rather universal too, regardless of the region.
I also noticed that the
increased light penetration – due to the absence of snow cover –
accelerated the morning feed. Meaning, the hottest action occurred
between 7 and 9 a.m., whereas that window usually sets up an hour
or so later. Likewise, the evening bite lasted until dusk.
Normally, the hot-and-heavy stuff ends ahead of actual sundown.
Curiously, though, the
edginess which sent fish scurrying didn’t radically influence
their eagerness to strike. Spoons were still in play, albeit
downsized a hint. A 1/8th ounce Scenic Tackle Glow
Devil – a bonafide perch demolisher – got a lot of attention, so
too did the JB Lures Varmint and Northland Tackle Forage Minnow
Spoon. Each was affixed with a minnow head, not the whole
enchilada. And as expected, perch and firetiger were the patterns
of the day. That seems to never change.
Mellower jigging motions
produced best too. I did more quivering in place than exaggerated
lifts and falls. Understated motions were certainly in vogue.
I even downgraded to 4
pound test monofilament – clear Trilene XL – from my everyday
preference of 6 pound test. Again, under the conditions, such
subtleties mattered.
A few times, too, when
nothing would attack the spoon, I dunked a plain 1/6th
ounce jig head with a complete but small minnow. Ever so lightly I
bounced the jig on the bottom, and then locked it in position for
several seconds. More than a few perch slurped it on the freeze.
Those bites were telegraphed by slight tics in the line and twangs
in the rod tip.
The biggest perch of the
day – 12 and 13 inchers – came from depths in the 30’s. Those pigs
were suspended and traveling singly or in small pods, but still
always nearby structure. Perch seldom camp on an actual break,
like walleyes do, but they rarely stray too far from one.
My outing was an awakening
as much as it provided reassurance. I was alerted to the fact that
even my hardest and fastest perching rules have liabilities.
Factors beyond my control can alter what I thought I knew. But on
the upside, I found that many of my beliefs held true and that
with a little tweaking I can adjust and prevail to catch perch in
the present tense.
Editor’s note: The
Angel Eye and Angel Eye Jr. by Scenic Tackle are available at
select sporting goods stores and bait shops across the Ice Fishing
Belt. For more information, call (218) 751-9669, or visit their
website at
www.scenictackle.com .
