Ice-fishing trip comes up empty

We were on our way to the annual ice-fishing event held every President’s Day weekend. Participants come from as far away as Tucson, Ariz., but most are from the Las Vegas area. The event includes a day of prefishing on Saturday — actually it’s more like three hours or so — and finishes with a tournament on Monday morning.

That, too, lasts about three hours.

Sandwiched in between are nonstop card games.

Most people, even those who fish Panguitch on a regular basis, have never heard of this event because it’s a pretty exclusive affair that historically has been limited to the men in Chris’ extended family on his wife’s side. This was my first year.

The tournament champion takes home the Holy Ladle. During the tournament, however, the trophy is used to scoop out holes drilled in the ice so anglers can easily retrieve their catch.

A half hour after leaving Panguitch, I found myself clinging desperately to the back end of a snowmobile as it sped across the snow toward a well-lit cabin tucked against the base of a tree-covered slope. The fact that I was sitting backward on a speeding snowmobile while clutching a duffle bag and cooler did little to make me think that I would arrive safely at the cabin. Watching the duffle bag and cooler bounce across the snow didn’t help.

Since the driver was also one of the tournament contestants, I chalked the experience up to fear — fear that I might win the tournament and take charge of the Holy Ladle.

After a late night — well, early morning — of playing cards and trash-talking, we were up and on the hard water no later than 10 a.m. Some anglers might consider that late, but we figured since fish can’t tell time, we should be OK.

That must have offended the big rainbow trout for which Panguitch has a well-deserved reputation because our group pulled in only one fish by lunch. It was a beautiful, plump, hook-jawed rainbow that measured 20 inches and took Ryan Jenkins’ red, white and blue PowerBait. But that fish was caught early in the day, long before word got around that we were late arrivals. Once that happened, the fish refused to bite. Trout can be so picky at times.

The wind and personal preference kept us all cabin bound and doing little more than playing cards and talking trash until Monday morning. This time we really did get up early, well kind of early, and were on the water shortly after 9 a.m.

Knowing the tournament wouldn’t officially begin until all eight of us drilled our holes in the ice, I found a game warden to swap war stories with and did my best to hold up the tournament and throw the others off their fishing game. But recognizing my ploy, they voted to drill a hole for me and started fishing before I could get there.

“The nerve of some people,” I mused. “Here I was trying to gather some fishing intelligence from the local fish cop, knowledge I would have undoubtedly shared with anyone who asked, and they had the audacity to start without me.”

Perhaps they were concerned the information I would have shared with them wouldn’t be totally accurate. After all, the Holy Ladle was at stake.

At noon the tournament was over, but despite our best efforts not a fish had been caught. Chris would take the Holy Ladle home for another year despite not having caught a fish. I suppose there is nothing left to do now but make a return trip and try again to wrest the ladle from Chris’ hands.

In the meantime, I’ll have to look up that game warden and push him a little harder for the inside scoop.

Doug Nielsen is an award-winning freelance writer and a conservation educator for the Nevada Department of Wildlife. He can be reached at doug@takinitoutside.com.