Long ago when I was a little boy I would follow my dad around a lot. He had many good friends who would “HAVE COFFEE,” nearly every day. The subject matter would vary widely, politics, …
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Long ago when I was a little boy I would follow my dad around a lot. He had many good friends who would “HAVE COFFEE,” nearly every day. The subject matter would vary widely, politics, price of wheat, market for beef, cost of hay and cattle feed… Mostly though the talk was heavily towards guns and hunting and seasonally would switch to fishing.
Everyone would tell of their secret spot and talk about the big one they caught last weekend. Of course, everyone was sworn to secrecy on the whereabouts of the latest big catch. The 22 pound northern pike from Lindstrom’s dam, the 4 pound rainbow trout from Pinnow’s dam, the 5 pound bass that came from Sportsman’s dam.
I remember these because all those fish made the front page of the local paper.
Bear in mind, this is Southeast Montana. All these reservoirs were a dirt dam across and draw or a ravine to hold water for the livestock that grazed in that pasture. So usually quite small. Most of them you could actually hit the other side with a good cast.
One winter day I remember a conversation started about jug fishing. One of the buddys was telling of ice fishing with milk jugs. Of course, this was interesting for a little guy who listened to every word about fishing.
One of the more bold guys in the group, we’ll call him Claude, starts describing how its done. For a youngster of maybe 7, Claude is a tall thin man, always happy with a big smile and even bigger laugh. A full on belly laugh was the norm for Claude. As I remember he was an oilfield guy who seemed like he might have come from Texas or Oklahoma. I remember an accent that could fit that.
Vague memory seems like this “JUG FISHING,” was some sort of an adaptation to northern ice fishing from southern catfishing. He describes drilling holes in the ice, setting the bait just so far off the bottom and suspended with a bobber on the water in the hole. One end of the line with a swivel and a hook the other end, maybe 30-40 feet, is tied to a milk jug. The bait was usually a 4-6 inch smelt, frozen so it would hold together. The hook was a trebble hook pushed through the smelt from the bottom so the eye of the hook would stick the top of the bait and then get hooked on the swivel at the end of the line. We would let the bait fall to the bottom, then pick it up about 6 inches and suspend it from the bobber on the line in the ice hole.
Oh yes! Of course, we had milk jugs and hooks by the following weekend and of course we were out on Sportsman’s damn. Brand new hand crank ice auger and an eagerness to have fun in the negative temperatures.
There was never enough holes and never in the right place so most of the day was spent drilling holes in the ice.
Ok this is Southeast Montana in January. The auger would drill to 4 feet or so. Believe it or not there were a few spots where we didn’t break through to water. So, very thick ice.
Lots of holes in the ice. As I remember Claude was in with another buddy in a pickup. My dad a buddy and me in dad’s old buckskin yellow Blazer. We put out several jugs and baited them to perfection with just the right amount of distance to the bottom.
It’s really cold and the normal gale force wind for the prairie in Montana. Baits set, jugs upright on the ice a few feet from their respective hole. We get in the vehicles and get our frozen fingers on the defrosters to thaw them out. Then comes the waiting and anticipation. Ok Who’s hole is gonna go first who will catch the biggest, the most. You know that locker room style banter when guys are doing guy things together... Talk even goes to which is better hot coffee from the big grey Stanley thermos or hot tea. My vote of course is hot chocolate.
We parked on the ice near the jugs. I’m sitting on the hard fiberglass console between the bucket seats just soaking up the manliness of men battling freezing cold to catch a fish. I’m as proud as can be to be one of the men.
UNTIL!
One of the jugs starts skipping across the ice headed for the hole. Picture this, Keystone Cops trying to catch a chicken on an ice skating rink. Slipping, sliding, falling, even face first towards the jug now tightly standing upside down in the hole.
That booming laugh of Claude and everyone laughing at the hilarious attempt to recover some dignity by hand lining a nice beautiful northern pike through the ice and holding up the trophy of a lifetime.
There really was a wonderful life in America before cell phones. However, that video would have for sure gone viral.