The Morgan Lake Phone Amnesty

Ice Fishing 101 lesson one. Do not drop your phone down the hole. I failed that quiz on January 3rd and have since decided that any ice fishing trip that does not involve sacrificing my phone to the lake gods is officially a massive success. By that standard, today was an absolute perfect day.

That said, we must all bow our heads briefly for Todd Reed’s phone, which is now apparently living its best life at the bottom of Lake Erie. Sorry buddy. Truly. I feel that pain in my soul. Because of my past trauma, I am now the proud owner of two phone floaty holder things. Yes two. Overkill? Maybe. Peace of mind? Absolutely. I used one today and felt like a responsible adult.

I’ve always believed ice fishing is better with falling or low barometric pressure. Cloud cover, light snow, no wind. That’s the good stuff. Fish seem more active, life feels right. Which is exactly why I waited until Sunday when the pressure was rising and high. Solid strategy. But there were reasons. First, Surgeon Jenn was joining me for her second ever ice fishing trip and I did not feel like catching and cleaning 100 hog bluegills. Second, we had a very important double birthday dinner in Grand Rapids at 3:30 pm and we absolutely could not be late…We were late anyway.

Hangry Brand Mike happens to live on what I believe is the greatest panfish ice fishing lake on earth and was kind enough to grant us access. This also happens to be my old lake and I know every rock, weed edge, and weird bottom transition in that place. It is extremely top secret. Which means I am now telling all of you. Morgan Lake in Brighton. There. I said it. Anyone who has talked fishing with me has heard me describe Morgan Lake as fishing in the Cabela’s tank. The fish are aggressive, plentiful, and slightly confused about how hooks work.

The crew was me and Jenn. Simple and efficient. The plan was to drill three fishing holes and one extra hole for the netting live well. We had a hard stop at noon, so this was going to be a tight two-hour mission. We started and ended in the same four holes in 29 feet of water in front of the old Tom Morgan house. That spot never disappoints.

We ran three 4mm tungsten jigs under slip bobbers, set one to two feet off bottom, tipped with Captain Chuck’s wax worms and spikes. From the moment the transducer went down, we had fish on the screen. Constantly. They were biting, but not aggressively by Morgan Lake standards. Still, steady enough to keep things interesting.

Final tally was 14 bluegills kept and cleaned. We threw back a pile and lost count. I’m guessing around 30 total fish caught in two hours. Jenn landed the hogs. I landed the dinks. As usual. It is not a contest and never has been, but if it were, she won. I will say this though. I am exceptionally good at detecting the dink bite. Sensitive touch. Elite skill. Possibly national team material. USA Ice Fishing, call me.

Everything worked exactly as it should. Maybe too well. Watching the Lowrance was like playing a video game on easy mode. It was 15 degrees outside, but the Mr. Buddy heater turned the shanty into a luxury suite. No gloves, no hats, no complaints. The Shimano rods and reels with two-pound test were silky smooth. Brand loyal and proud. My freshly stropped knives slid through fillets like butter.

And of course, the see one do one teach one thing was in full effect. Jenn picks up technical skills ridiculously fast. Like a robotic surgeon. Which makes sense because she is one. Great company, great lake, great trip, and most importantly, no phones lost today. That alone makes this one a win and my ice fishing mojo is officially back!