
Winter will begin to lose its grasp later this month, and for fishermen, that’s a can’t-miss transition.
It’s cold in the Northeast, but it won’t be forever. Each year is always a little different and in recent years us New Englanders have gotten used to milder winters. If there’s ice fishing to be done, it doesn’t last. Real, deep snow hasn’t been a lasting factor in what feels like a decade. High temperatures in the 40s haven’t been rare, with a smattering of days in the 50’s.
Whether it’s a mild winter, or a colder one like we seem to be experiencing this year, there is still going to be a transition period. Winter drifts toward spring in waves, the temperature rising suddenly then dropping again for a few days, then rising again. Rains come and begin to swell the rivers that have been clear and modest in flow for months, mucking up the water and coaxing skunk cabbages to the surface. Eventually trees start to get that maroon-ish color they get when the buds are getting ready to pop. Some of these changes may make themselves known as early as mid-February, most become very clear as the calendar turns over to March.
Signs of Change
This can be a magical time. It conjures certain smells and memories for me, and I can’t help but feel a little more bright eyed and bushy tailed, as much as I love winter, I enjoy getting to watch it get snuffed out as the days grow longer and brighter. Sometimes, the fish themselves are the first sign that this transition is coming. Perhaps I’ll be floating a river on a cold, grey mid-February day, with grimy snow piles melting in the parking lots and the river giving off a mostly lifeless feel.
Big trout are the target this time of year, and it’s a good time to run into some of the largest specimens. Out of nowhere, a fish latches onto the streamer I’ve been lobbing to the bank. It should be a brown trout, but it’s not… the first smallmouth bass of the open water season peeled itself off the bottom to eat a big meal. It’s as if the fish knows what’s coming and is as giddy as I am, so much so that it has thrown caution to the wind in water that hasn’t yet crested 40 degrees. He may be a loner, and not even all that big, but he is a sign of things to come and that isn’t something to take in stride.
There will be more obvious signs too: the edges of small ponds that I’d walked on just days before begin to melt as the ground absorbs radiant heat from the sun, though the middle remains frozen. This was always something I stayed vigilant for when I was a young, biking and hiking restricted angler. It meant it was time to start looking for pickerel. It turned out that these thin margins of open water on the pond’s edge were more than enough to work with, and that even casting onto the ice was beneficial. The fish would find a lure or fly skittered across it by sound or silhouette. The strikes usually came the instant the lure entered the water at the edge of the ice, and were explosive.
Some, especially greedy pickerel, would try to get the fly right through skim ice. The sound and image of a chain pickerel popping through the thin ice, sending little bits skittering around as it attempted to eat a fly tied to look like a small mammal is deeply embedded in my memory. It was a precursor to good ice out pike fishing, but it was more than that too. That fishing was always just so fun in its own right and I don’t know why I don’t do it much anymore.

Last Ice
Of course there were those years when lakes and ponds really got a chance to freeze well, building up a foot or even more. The warmer weather came and the ice stubbornly stuck around for weeks. So did those of us trying to eek as much out of the waning ice fishing season as we possibly could. We kept at it through days so warm we could get away with a sweater and jeans while little pools of water formed on the ice, causing passers-by to question our collective sanity. But that ice was still safe, at 4 or 5 inches thick, and under it there were fish to be jigged up or caught with tip ups.
Ice fishermen are gluttons for punishment in some ways, but after a long winter of setting up gear in howling wind and temperatures so cold that icicles form in our facial hair, getting to watch our flags with coffee in hand, no gloves needed, and less than half a dozen layers of clothing on is quite a good feeling. It does come with a twinge of sadness though, because we know we’re standing on a sinking ship… and soon it will be gone. Those final days of safe ice can be oh so sweet, too. The pike are often moving shallower and getting more active as they can tell that spawning time isn’t far off. The perch are often stacking up like cordwood. Those are glorious days, as few of them as there typically are.
Ice-Out
When the ice does go, some things are still moving really slow. In some the lakes and ponds, common carp move their way to south-facing flats and shorelines that catch the sun and warm quickly to begin feeding. They’ve mostly lingered in deep spots and near springs all winter, not doing a whole lot of anything. As the water warms a bit, their metabolism speeds up. It’s a slow process though, and it shows. A carp tailing in the shallows in late February looks like a slow motion version of a carp feeding in May. Considering they’re already a slow fish, that’s really saying something.
As sluggish as they are, these late winter carp will take a fly. So I make the first forays of the year to my favorite carp ponds. I may only catch one or two. They don’t fight as well as they would in the summer and they may not be all that big, but they’re the first of a new year. They are a sign that the bass and panfish won’t be far behind and that it isn’t that long before the walleye spawning run starts. Every first of the year is a sign that another first isn’t far away, so each one brings a smile to my face.

Savor the Transition
It’s easy to root for winter to be over. It’s long, dark and cold in New England. Seasonal depression is real and hits some of us hard. Everything feels dead and grey, and even when there is real snow, it gets turned to grimy mush on the edges of roads and parking lots. Our boats sit unused and winterized, much of our fishing gear lives in a garage or closet for a few months, and every time we go outside the air literally hurts. It’s so easy to want that to end.
But, when the end starts to break thought, don’t rush the transition. Whether it’s that lingering safe ice, the freshwater species starting to get more active, the first migratory redwing blackbirds showing up, or skunk cabbage cracking through the swampy leaf litter, there are so many little moments to linger on and enjoy. So don’t rush it. The transition is the sweetest part of the deal. We get to watch everything wake up.
Things here change and change fast. One week the creeks are running 36 degrees with shelf ice on the edges and two weeks later they’re 45, bugs are emerging and the trout are looking up for meals. The woods go from quiet and grey to a hive of activity with songbirds migrating back, frogs calling, and mammals coming out of hibernation in just a month’s time. And as our own years progress, each transition is a smaller and smaller percentage of our whole time. So don’t rush it! Enjoy each first smallmouth bass of the year, each first calling redwing blackbird in the cattails, and every last day on the ice. When winter is almost over, the rest of it isn’t that bad anyway.