Over the river and through the woods

to Grandmother's house we go.

Actually, this was taken on a hill overlooking Alpha

December 30 2020 - Wednesday EARLY morning

20 degrees/snow/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Wasn't it just a few days ago that I was bragging about how well I've been sleeping? 

It appears I spoke too soon. 

Waking at 1:30 this morning, I lay staring at the ceiling for half an hour, my mind racing, before finally getting out of bed and coming downstairs. Hopefully, drowsiness will come my way fairly soon. I'd like to enjoy a few more hours of sleep before beginning the day for real.

Tuesday morning began cold. At one point the thermometer briefly registered -15 before turning around and heading upwards.

I noticed the opening in the pond is growing smaller and smaller. Recirculating over 5,000 gallons of warmer water from the bottom each hour, the surface rarely freezes completely over.

My walk to Pentoga Village was a good one. Sargie and I later drove to Iron Mountain to run a few errands. 

It was early afternoon. Back home, Sargie initiated her new Bissel vacuum/scrubber and said she liked the way it washed both the rugs and laminate floors. The color of the water it sucked from the living room rug in front of the wood stove was proof that it really works.

I loaded my fishing gear onto the Tundra and took off for the lake. Leaving the Clam shelter at home, I was able to begin fishing less than ten minutes after leaving.

My young buddy, Joe, walked out onto the ice and we had a good visit. 

I must have drilled ten to fifteen holes all around the lake in search of fish, not those that were merely bitting, but physically looking for any sign of anything swimming beneath the ice. The sonar insisted on flatlining no matter where I was fishing.

Beginning in eight feet of water, I drilled holes at intervals going out from shore towards the middle in several places. 

Still, any sign of fish activity evaded me.

It was getting dark and frustrated, I decided to come back home. Driving from the opposite side of the lake, on an impulse, I suddenly stopped the snowmobile in the middle and drilled a hole in twenty five to thirty feet of water, far from shore.

I dropped my bait, a wax worm, jigged a bit, and soon, it was surrounded by fish, the first of the ice fishing season. I eventually caught several "eaters" before darkness ended my day. 

Following the headlight, the snowmobile ride home was pleasant. For a few minutes, I allowed myself to pretend I was back in the arctic, making my own trail during the darkest winter months, when I rode hundreds of miles from one Inupiaq village to the next in the name of education. 

Meanwhile, I'm getting sleepy which means it's time to climb between the sheets in hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep. After that will come my early morning walk, cleaning several new inches of snow from the drive, our daily trip to town, and maybe, just maybe, a successful fishing trip onto the ice.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...