Editor’s Note: We sent staff writer Tyler Stanley out into the cold wilds of Windham to get the scoop on an alternative winter sport and he came back with this fish story…
Pettengil Pond is a little close to the Windham Super-Center Wal-Mart, but a peaceful alternative to the streets of Portland indeed. Tom, Mat, and I had arrived around 3 a.m. as being in a camp on the lake provided the means for a much earlier start than most days. However, like most Wednesday mornings, it was a little tough to roll out of bed. Our first trap was in around 8:30 a.m. I had boasted the night before that we would be on the ice much earlier, but that was just your typical “after the bar talk.”
It was Tom who got the first flag just before 9 a.m. As always with the first flag of the day, we ran to it with much anticipation. After a small struggle, Tom pulled up a decent sized large-mouth bass. As he pulled it out of the ground, he reminded us that he had caught the first fish of the day.
The fish had swallowed the hook leaving us with the choice of either cutting the line to throw him back, or keeping him for dinner. Bass are not the best tasting, and like most warm water fish in this state contain enough mercury to kill a small horse. With this in mind, Tom decided to throw him back to catch another day.
Within the hour we had set up the rest of our traps. (State law allows each person with a fishing licence five traps) I noticed through binoculars that Tom had a flag at his furthest trap. We both ran to it only to find that his bait had been taken by a devious fish that left nothing behind.
We made it back to the camp in time to still eat a warm meal. I put the binoculars aside after deciding that the fish could wait for us to finish eating. After breakfast we grabbed our equipment and headed across the small pond to sit in a cove close to our traps. Mat built a small fire which got proportionally larger as we consumed more beer.
Soon after, the most exciting moment of the day for me took place. I saw the flag go up and quickly shuffled out to my trap. When I looked down the hole I saw what every ice fisherman wants to see upon arrival to a flag.: a vigorously spinning reel indicating a fish down there with my little minnow in his mouth and hopefully the hook too. I pulled the trap out of the water as the reel continued to spin. I let the line run through my fingers for a few more seconds and then gave a slight jerk which set the hook in his mouth. With the hook firmly in his mouth I began to pull him in. He didn’t fight much at first but when his eyes saw the light of the hole he darted back towards the bottom and I let the line go with him. One cannot force a fish out the water. They’re strong enough to break the line and the only way to get a big one onto the ice for a light tackle man like myself is to wear him out. At first I thought he was a large bass but when I saw the brown spots on his side as I got him near the hole again I knew he was what everyone on that lake wanted to catch; a brown trout.
I brought him close to the hole again but he darted frantically back down towards the dark bottom. If I had forced him out of my small hole at that point I could have easily lost him because he would have been coming up sideways and the thin line would have broke on the ice. I needed to see his face before I could pull him out. The fish played me around the hole nearly ten times before I saw his dark eyes and was able to pull him straight out and onto the ice.
It was my first game fish of the year and at that moment all the hours of watching immobile flags paid off. The brown trout was 18 inches. I’ve caught bigger out of that lake in years past but have never had a fight like this one. This fish was worth keeping. Its pink meat provided us with a great meal enjoyed by many.
The rest of that Wednesday went by without any fish. We were soon joined by a few friends who heard my story probably more than they wanted to as we stood around the fire.
I moved a few traps around hoping for better luck but had none. The only action that afternoon was watching Glen nearly fall through the ice walking over a soft spot we had warned him about earlier. When the sun was down, Tom and I pulled up our traps knowing we had enjoyed yet another great day of ice fishing. I’ve enjoyed every ice fishing trip that I’ve been on, even those days when it seems the fish are laughing at me from below the lake. .Our stories will exaggerate further until we hit the ice again and create some more.