The first winter activity I attempted here in Canuckistan was hockey – the type on ice, of course. Next came ice fishing.
That’s when you get up way earlier than any sane person should be awake, stock up on Timmy’s coffee, drive to a frozen lake, wade out through the slushy snow to a point just off-shore, drill a hole or six in the ice, bait up some lines with “jigs” and shrimp and then stand around waiting for a famished fish to bite. A high-energy adrenalin-rush sport it most certainly isn’t. (Fortunately I had my camera to keep me occupied when the fishing was slow.)
The weather was all most balmy both times we ventured out to Bouchie Lake (the warm weather the reason for the foot or so of melting snow on the ice) and so we didn’t bother with a heated cabin – that’s for temperatures closer to -30°C … and for sissies. And Cariboo folk aint no sissies. I, however, am not from the Cariboo and was soon complaining about my soaked feet, and the fact that my toes were going quickly from soggy to stinging to numb to “Toes? What toes?”
Of course, despite my frozen footsies, we stayed out there until we’d caught our full quota – popping the torpid trout out of the water like corks from a bottle, and then clubbing them repeatedly until they either played dead or really were.
I’ll be leaving Canucki territory in just a few days but still hope to savour some of the fruit of my fishing expedition. Smoked, perhaps …