by Clint Thomsen

GUEST COLUMNIST

Some years ago, while strolling along Finland's Baltic coastline, I spotted a lone fisherman sitting out on the ice. Curious about the scene and being familiar with the friendly nature of Finns, I stepped out onto the ice and walked toward the old man. He sat on a woven basket next to what looked like an elongated fire poker, which he had used as an auger to pierce a small hole in the ice. In his ungloved hands, he held a thick stick with fishing line tied around one end. At the end of the line was a homemade jig baited with a minnow.

From the condition of the man's clothing and gear, I concluded he was fishing less for pleasure and more for survival. His crude fishing pole reminded me of the pretend fishing poles that dads make for kids to keep them away from their expensive rods. "I can't believe this guy thinks he's going to catch something with this," I remember thinking as I turned around and walked away. No sooner had I reached the shore than I looked back to see the man pull a sizeable fish through his little hole. I later learned that this seemingly unsophisticated approach to fishing was actually a delicate art called the "jigging stick" -- an art this Finnish angler had obviously mastered.

I was impressed, but not enough to try ice fishing myself. But after politely turning down offers for years, my friend Ben finally convinced me to try my luck on the frozen surface of Grantsville Reservoir. Ben has plucked fish from frozen lakes for 10 years now, but has been a die-hard fisherman since he picked up a spinning rod at age 3. When he's not wading rivers with a fly rod or casting at Hyrum Dam, he's home tying his own flies. "I think it is programmed into my DNA," he says about his favorite hobby. Listening to him discuss lures, flies, and fish species the excited way my boys talk about Disney World, I think he's probably right.

We loaded our gear into Ben's Subaru Outback early Saturday morning and embarked on a quest for wax worms and spikes (maggots), which make good ice fishing bait. Lamenting the apparent countywide dearth of the squirmy invertebrates, Ben pondered the ins and outs of possibly raising his own some day. Fortunately -- as any serious fisherman would -- he had some night crawlers for backup.

A dozen or so groups of fisherman peppered the ice as we pulled around to the southwest shore of the square-shaped reservoir. Strong winds whisked loose drifts across the frozen surface, and it was tough not to envy the lucky icefishers sitting comfortably inside specialized high-end shelters and cutting holes with power augers. As young husbands and fathers unable to justify such expenses, Ben and I walked onto the ice old-school style, with tackle boxes, a hand auger, and some rope in case of emergency.

The ice that morning was 8 to 10 inches thick. Large re-frozen cracks meandered through petrified waves, and deep popping sounds occasionally joined the wind in an ominous symphony. We drilled two holes in the ice and rigged our lines with night crawlers, which froze only seconds after putting them on the hooks. Ben used an ice fishing rod while I used my regular spinning rod. We dropped our lines down to the lake floor, then cranked up one or two feet. The water was so clear that I could see my bait drop for at least the first 10 feet. Before long, the group to our left pulled out a good-sized trout using powerbait, so we reeled in and switched to the green stuff. Soon I started getting bites and Ben landed a 13-inch rainbow.

"That's a male." Ben pulled his hook and laid the pink-banded fish on the ice. "You can tell because he's a little bit darker and his lower jaw has that hook shape."

After failing to capitalize on several good bites, the advantages of the shorter, more sensitive ice fishing rod became evident. The fish were biting soft and I was having trouble setting the hook from the tail end of a five-foot spinning rod. We theorized that the fish were circling the lake in schools because hit activity seemed to move sequentially around the lake from one group to the next. We fished a few hours more -- laughing and solving the world's problems until our feet were frozen and the wind had whipped our faces raw.

Henry David Thoreau wrote, "Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." While the thrill of the chase plays a definite role, there's something about rigging a line and reading the water that is both cleansing and invigorating. While researching the jigging-stick method employed by my Finnish acquaintance, I read that high-tech gear is rarely used by local anglers there, as the object of the pastime is solitary reflection, not quick efficiency. I like the Finns' approach. Regardless of the catch, fishing is always a rewarding experience.

Clint Thomsen is a Stansbury Park resident who grew up climbing mountains, wandering desert paths and exploring Utah's wilds. He may be contacted via his Web site at www.bonnevillemariner.com.

TRIP TIPS

Use extreme caution whenever venturing out onto frozen bodies of water. The Utah Division of Wildlife Resources (www.wildlife.utah.gov) recommends four inches of clear, solid ice for safe fishing. Contact them for specific guidelines on sleds and motorized vehicles. Never walk onto snow-covered ice. Drill test holes in shallow water near shores, and only move out from the shore once you're certain the ice is safe. Always carry a rope in case of emergency.