Afield: Sight-fishing in April makes for a bright sunnie day

NISSWA, MINN. — Weatherwise, April has been full of ups and downs, mostly downs. The few sunny days were crammed between major winter storms that pounded parts of Minnesota, beseeching the question, "What global warming?"

On one of those rare bright and warm April days a week or so ago, Dave Sapletal of Brainerd and I spent the afternoon atop the ice of a local lake, jig sticks in hand. Our intent was to secure a meal of panfish -- bluegills and sunfish, or as most anglers call them, "sunnies."

"I caught some real nice ones right here a few days ago," Dave said as he pointed to a group of holes in the ice. "There are lots of little ones, but by sight-fishing, we can weed through them."

Sight-fishing is a system Dave employs to sort through the small sunnies. He watches down the hole through the ice and pulls his bait away from all but the largest of interested fish -- a method of catch-and-release without the catch.

"Sometimes I keep enough fish for a meal, and sometimes I let them all go," he said.

Dave is retired -- from work, that is -- but as an ardent outdoorsman, he keeps extremely busy. Sure, he hunts and fishes a lot, but he also gives generously of his time to various conservation groups. At 60-something years old, Dave pursues his outdoor sports with the enthusiasm and vigor of a kid. This spring, he will chase wild turkeys in three states.

Under a clear sky and buffeted by a light southwest breeze, we situated our shelters over 10 feet of water. Dave used a typical ice fishing portable shelter -- a canvas and plastic sled affair. I employed a popup-style photography blind.

The shelters were used not as protection from the weather -- it was 60 degrees -- but to provide the darkness needed to view more clearly the piscatorial goings-on beneath the ice.

"The water is so clear, it's like watching fish in an aquarium," Dave said.

I lowered my bait, a tiny jig tipped with a waxworm, I watched it descend until it was just above a bit of weed growth near the lake bottom.

Almost immediately, several hungry sunnies appeared and stared at my jig. Then one opened its mouth, flared its gills and sucked in my bait.

"I got one already," I yelled to Dave, who was fishing about 20 feet away. "It's a little one."

Dave explained the larger sunnies are usually lighter-colored and that they have bigger shoulders, so when just such a fish appeared below, I positioned my jig in front of it. Again I watched as my bait disappeared into the fish's mouth.

"I got a nice one," I said as I hauled in the fish hand over hand. But it was a rock bass.

I caught a few more rock bass and several small sunnies before I was able to discern which fish gathered around my lure were big enough to keep. At times there were a half-dozen fish visible, and it was a challenge to pull the jig away from the smaller sunnies before they could inhale it. Sometimes the lesser panfish were so eager to grab the lure, they would follow it all the way up into the column of ice, and once or twice I thought a trailing fish might actually break the water's surface.

Within an hour or so, I had five hand-sized sunnies lying on the ice. Dave had fared even better. By then, the wind had really begun to blow, a prelude to one of those early April storms, and my makeshift shelter tipped at each gust. Oddly, the water began to turn murky, reducing our vision to a few feet below the ice.

Twice we moved, hoping to find clearer water. We continued to catch the occasional big sunnie, but since it was difficult to see our baits, the little sunnies were stealing our waxworms.

A person can sit bent over with his chest on his knees only so long. A chiropractor, lacking clients, might want to promote sight-fishing for panfish. Between us, we had about 20 nice sunnies, enough for a few good meals. Eventually, I stepped from my shelter.

Outside, ring-billed gulls squawked, and I listened as a flock of passing tundra swans urged each other along on their northward migration. Other anglers occasionally moved about, some driving pickups, other pulling sleds loaded with gear behind ATVs.

Earlier that day, I had chased wild turkeys with camera in hand. I had heard mourning doves coo and had watched flocks of robins pass overhead. Now it seemed a bit odd to be perched atop 30 inches of ice -- a rare combination of winter and spring all in one day.

Only in Minnesota? Perhaps.

Bill Marchel is a wildlife photographer and an outdoors columnist. He lives near Brainerd, Minn.