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Eric Atherton: Making memories -- in Iowa, of all places

Hendrick and avett.jpg
Todd Block of Pleasant Hill, Iowa, gives a hole-drilling lesson to his sons Hendrick, 5, and Avett, 3, on Jan. 6. The unusually cold weather has Iowa ice anglers out in droves this winter.

I've never had much luck with so called "cast-and-blast" trips where I'm supposed to both fish and hunt. When I try to work two pursuits into one trip, I typically do neither very well.

But last weekend, I couldn't resist the opportunity. Iowa's pheasant season was still open, and the recent cold snap had finally produced fishable ice in the state to our south. So on Saturday I pointed the pickup toward Des Moines, where my nephew Todd lives 100 yards from a pond that hadn't frozen over for the past three years.

Ten minutes after I got out of the truck, I was inside a 3-man shelter with Todd and my brother-in-law, Randy. And about two minutes after that, I pulled in the first of many 8-inch sunfish we would catch that day.

Of course, I didn't actually get to reel in many of those fish. Joining us were Todd's two sons, Hendrick, 5, and Avett, 3. When one of us set the hook, we'd hand the rod to an eager boy. To their credit, I don't think one fish got away from them.

You couldn't ask for a better introduction to ice fishing for kids. And, while it's fun to catch fish, it's even more fun to sit at a kitchen counter next to a chatty 3-year-old as he devours sunfish he pulled through the ice three hours earlier.

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Rooster tales

The next morning, Todd and I pointed the pickups north toward Webster City and Brushy Creek Reservoir, where we met up with Randy for a morning of chasing roosters on the public land that surrounds the big lake.

It was a perfect day -- 17 degrees, three inches of snow, little wind -- but we encountered very few hunters. Birds, however, were in good supply.

Todd, who is dogless at the moment, nearly stepped on a tight-holding rooster about 30 minutes into our hunt. He knocked it down with one shot, but the bird hit the ground running and found a good hiding spot. It was a full five minutes before Randy's shorthairs, Gus and Chance, finally pinned it down.

Randy handed the very-much-alive bird to Todd and said, "I'll let you wring its neck." Todd did so, then stuffed it into his vest.

I and my Lab, Roxie, then drifted away to check out a brushy fence row that looked promising. We were about 150 yards from Todd and Randy when Roxie pointed. I stepped in and a rooster flushed from the heavy cover.

The first shot from my 12-gauge sent the bird spinning, and I watched as it seemed to fall in slow motion, with Roxie almost directly underneath it as it came down.

Then the unexpected happened. The bird's still-beating wings seemed to catch air, and Roxie leaped up to try to grab it as it hovered a few feet off the ground. Then, with Roxie in hot pursuit, the rooster gained momentum and flew toward Todd and Randy.

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Unable to shoot for fear of hitting Roxie, I yelled "Shoot that bird!" toward Todd, but the rooster rose and vanished into the sun, with no more shots being fired.

Then, chaos erupted around me. A half-dozen birds flushed in rapid succession, including a rooster that got up 30 yards away. I took a Hail-Mary poke at it and missed, totally frustrated with how things had played out.

Then Todd shouted, "How many birds you got down?"

"None!" I hollered back.

"What?" he hollered in a very confused voice.

A few seconds later, I understood his confusion. Roxie suddenly appeared in front of me with a rooster in her mouth.

Huh?

Todd had to explain to me what had happened.

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"I heard you shoot, and saw the bird going down," he said. "Then I saw another rooster coming toward me. All of sudden, it just died in mid-air. I had no idea what happened, but then I saw Roxie come in and grab it. I thought you'd shot two birds!"

A pellet must have hit the bird in the heart or lungs, and it still had enough life to fly 100 yards before it ran out of steam.

After we got that incident talked out, Randy said, "You missed a classic Todd moment. That bird he shot? Just before you shot yours, it came back to life, got out of his vest and tried to run away!"

We spent a couple minutes standing there, talking about the comical memories we'd just made, then decided that we should check out more of the fence row.

Todd took about three steps in that direction and nearly stepped on another rooster that had been hiding mere feet away throughout our whole conversation.

It was so close to us that I waited, fully expecting Todd to knock the bird down, but finally I mounted my gun and folded the bird.

"Another classic Todd moment," Todd said as Roxie fetched the bird. "I had my gun broke open and couldn't get it shut!"

More fishing

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With three birds in the bag, it was time for the third leg of our journey -- an ice fishing venture on Brushy Creek Reservoir. Upwards of 100 vehicles clogged the first boat ramp we checked out, and eventually we opted for a less-congested spot.

Having never drilled a hole on Brushy Creek, our strategy was to follow other anglers and hope they'd lead us to the crappies, walleye and jumbo perch we were seeking.

It didn't work. We quickly realized that it's much easier to find fish in a 10-acre pond than on a 358-acre reservoir filled with flooded timber. We drilled 15 or 20 holes, marked a few fish and caught nothing.

Finally, I went a bit off the beaten path, drilled a hole right next to a dead tree and dropped a waxworm-tipped jig to the bottom. Almost instantly, my rod tip went straight down, and I set the hook.

"Randy, this isn't a sunfish," I said as I reeled, praying that the fish wouldn't wrap around a tree limb.

At last, a large mouth appeared at the bottom of the hole.

"That's a big perch," Randy said as he helped pull it through the ice.

Indeed, it measured 11 inches and was incredibly fat -- easily the biggest perch I've caught in my life.

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But that was the highlight of our Brushy Creek fishing adventure. We caught a few decent sunfish, but the much-desired school of perch or walleyes never materialized.

Capping off the trip, Todd had an interesting encounter with another angler who arrived an hour after us. After discussing how the fish were biting, the newcomer asked with a grin, "So, are you the a--hole from Minnesota?"

"No, but I can introduce you to him if you'd like!" Todd said.

I guess you're asking for a reception like that when you park a truck with 10,000-Lakes plates at one of Iowa's few ice-fishing destinations.

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