Quinte Fishing

{Dr. Piton logs onto the computer to find his identity has returned. How about that...}

I wish to report that the preposterous myth is true. We did indeed go "5 fer 7", all in the 8 to 12 lb range, with the exception of one 18.9-incher measured the traditional way to the fork in his tail.

We arrived mid-morning, and rode the ferry eastward from the Picton side. While on board, one of the operators knocked on our van window, and told us that the ramp on the east side of the ferry was frozen solid. What the ......? The good news was that three other boats and trailers had crossed that morning, and none had returned, so he assumed [correctly] that they had put in at the park in Adolphustown.

Despite there not being a scrap of ice anywhere near the ferry, the boat ramp was solidly iced. Not a hope. However we had earlier spotted from the ferry an intrepid duo loading their green car-topper from the beach here. Feeling a bit trepidacious, we headed for our last possible option.

We continued on another mile and a half or so to the town of Adolphustown, and turned right to enter the park, which used to be a St. Lawrence Parks Commission park - not sure what it is now. The place was closed for the winter, but not gated, and the boat ramp is actually quite superb! Much less steep than at Picton, and facing south towards what sunshine there might be. In the parking area there were three vehicles with empty boat trailers - an excellent sign. Whew!

We launched and then crunched our way southward through perhaps a half-inch of ice, following the path cut by the three boats ahead of us. We had to do the ice-breaker bit for about a quarter-mile until we reached the open water, whence we were able to cruise full speed down towards the ferry.

We set up with the complete smorgassbord - side planer, downrigger, and deep divers on flatlines. We were marking a few fish here and there, but nothing even remotely resembling the scads of fish we marked on our Killer Day of December 3rd when we caught 20. The weather was amazingly mild, actually warm in the sunshine.

Things started off slowly, until a huge walleye nearly ripped the rod out of my dad's hands and woke us both up. [Those familiar with his usual fishing technique might be surprised to learn the rod actually was in his hands!] At any rate, he was flatlining his #9 Silver Shad Rap - the one he got his 15 pound BFW on. First blood! My dad kissed his lure, and no - the teethmarks aren't his.

Next off was the clown-coloured Husky Jerk deep diver - fish on! Ho-hum, another 12-pounder.

Things slowed down a bit, so we started mixing up the lures and trying different stuff. The deep diving Fire Tiger Husky Jerk that kicked ass last time didn't get us a hit.

"Have we tried the Picton Special yet?" asked my dad, meaning the yellowy-chartreuse jointed Fastrac with the pink diamonds on its side, the most unlikely looking walleye lure of all time, yet with the motht teethmarkth of any lure in the bokth. [Gadth, I'm lithping again. Hide me from Michael Jackthon letht he get any ideath.] Instead I grabbed the Fastrac with the G-finish, or rather the Fastrac that used to have the greyish-silver G-finish before it got all bit off, and threw that onto the downrigger. Every time we'd mark a few fish, I'd change the depth of the ball, all to no avail.

Meanwhile the side planer went off, wobbling drunkenly through the water. Somehow the #9 silver Shad Rap got put onto that, and we heaved in another hawg.

The first couple fish were on the north-east side maybe a half-mile down from the ferry, but we started picking them up a bit later on the south-west side in front of the yellow house, just down from the ferry. As we pulled in towards shore - there's quite the steep dropoff here - it looked as though I had gone too shallow since the cannonball on the downrigger was bouncing along the bottom. The depth was about 65' but the cannonball was at 35'. What the .....? I dove for the rod - fish on!

"Well, how about that," I remarked. "We've caught one fish on each of the four rods."

By now it was getting late, and the skim ice was beginning to form on this now deeply-shaded shoreline. We had to put our rod tips under the water to prevent the Fireline from collecting big gobs of ice down its length. The side-planer - all covered in ice - managed to nab the fifth, though my dad and I both lost hits when we had the rods in our hands. My dad's fish was on a good ten seconds before it mysteriously let go.

It started to get dark, and the fish shut down. Why is this? In times past, it was just the opposite - we'd kill 'em after dark. The whole fishery is changing, I'll tell ya. Times were we'd catch 'em all evening long in Picton Harbour, but no longer. Anyway, we headed back and luckily found the ramp in the dark, first try. Good thing. We had to crunch through slightly thicker ice, but it wasn't too bad. It was impossible to see in the dark where the other boats had gone before us.

So there ya have it! Right now The Weather Network Picton Forecast is calling for cooler temps during the week, but mild again next weekend. I'll be caving in Kentucky [not Virginia, though it might be frightening!] so won't be able to get out. Then again, maybe we should head for the Niagara Bar instead. It sounded like Neil had a kick-ass day!

Cheers, beers, and brassieres,

Pete



Epilogue: Here's something to consider. My dad and I had fun - we had an "OK" day - not stellar, but certainly worth the drive to enjoy what might be our last kick at the cat. But just how spoiled are we, if we think that five fish weighing darn near 50 pounds is merely "OK"?!

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Self-unemployed and available for fishin' mid-week most days.