We get to Tofte via snowmobile and to the narrows we went. Lots of people out there but we pick a spot, drilled the holes and set up the Clam Basecamp Thermal pop-up, move in and begin the weekend ritual. Watching down the hole, we each have #3 Salmo Chubby Darter in Yellow Dace (bright yellow color with a light green back). Nothing moving down below but the those active little Chubby D's zooming and wobbling as they entice fish from afar to come in and attack.
Five minutes into the morning's adventure and the Curmudgeon's dad sets the hook on a very large rainbow. It's peeling out line and fighting like a trout, pummeling, twisting, yanking and trying to not go the way Dad wants. He finally gets to the hole and starts coming up but then suddenly rolls and takes another run. More fighting and he comes up the hole again only this time tail first. Not good. The gaff is not even out of the bag yet. Keeping tension on the line and not having lot of options, the Curmudgeon grabbed the tail in a fruitless attempt to pull out this really nice fish and SNAP....Buh-by! Away he blasted off with a brand new Chubby Darter in tow. That was a nice fish. Everything happened in far less time than it took to type this paragraph.
After several swipes at really cranked up fish and none on the ice, we decided to move for the rest of the day. The funny thing is that EVERYBODY fishes Tofte for these test-tube trout like there is some rhyme or reason to where they will be. There is no rhyme or reason. These fish were born in a bottle and they cruise the lake. Their purpose is to eat, be eaten, or die naturally. The Curmudgeon does not believe that anybody NEEDS to be on the exact same spot in a designated trout lake. But, look out and you will see many people on the exact spots, year after year with holes all over the place because those are the best places. To prove that all places are about the same, we decided to try a spot where nobody EVER fishes. We picked a nondescript bay, looked for about six to ten feet of water, set up and dropped down to fish the uncharted territories.
Sure enough, there they were. The Curmudgeon caught a little splake on a tungsten jig with a plastic tail. Then, of course, the Curmudgeon'd dad lands a pretty big rainbow but not as big as that first one. Nonetheless, it was gaff-worthy and with it being darker, grey and gloomy outside and pretty dark in the pop-up, we had a heck of a time gaffing this fish. Finally, hooked him and flipped him outside to avoid the gravitational pull of the hole in the ice. Everything heads for the hole much like a black hole in eating a star in space. It is a well-known icefishing phenomenon.
Then, as more fish zoomed past everything the Curmudgeon had to offer, Dad hooks another one. Fight, fight, fight, pop out of the hole, stab with the gaff. Almost missed this one as it was heading to the hole. suggested we bring a .22 pistol instead of the gaff, tomorrow. Out the door he goes and it's back to looking down.
Now, the Curmudgeon's dad notices that a nice trout is cruising five feet above his Rainbow Dace Chubby Darter and just two feet under the ice! He cranks ups and the fish comes back for a look see. The Curmudgeon drops a tungsten jig two feet down and a nice 15 inch splake cruises on by barely slowing down to look. The Curmudgeon is apparently chopped liver today for any trout other than a 9 inch splake that was far too skinny to fillet. A Bassomatic would have been needed.
Soon, the Curmudgeon is again hearing the tentative trout-below-alerting "Oooooo's!" the tentative "Aah, ahh's?" of the puppet master of the day who sets the hook with a loud "AHA!" Then it's fight, crank, peeling out drag, and repeat. Grab the gaff! But, now it's so dang dark in the Basecamp that the direction of the gaff hook's point is really hard to discern. So, in the hole, a lot of slashing and thrashing take off. The rainbow ends up out of the hole, but Dad failed to slide his big winter boot over the hole to prevent the gravity from sucking the trout to safety. The hook was out and gravity was just too much. The trout flopped around and then reached the event horizon of the ice-hole-turned-black-hole. Everything went to slow motion as even light stops moving in the gravity of a black hole and the trout disappeared.
"AAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!" was the collective yell.
What a screwy day. Dad - 2 (nice ones, too!) The Curmudgeon - Zip.
But, we also proved that test-tube trout go all over the place. There is no way they could be driven instinctively to an area that they MUST visit. They aren't from this lake. It's like they are renting a new apartment in a new neighborhood.
The Curmudgeon's advice for stocked stream trout: Pick any spot. Drill a hole. Fish. The only factor that you might consider is depth. If you like the simplicity of sight fishing, four to ten feet works well. Deeper water will require electronics.
Tomorrow, the Curmudgeon will attempt to improve his numbers and we are going to modify the gaff - or bring a .22. Haven't decided yet.
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