Welcome to Week CXLII of ‘Fishing Parkland Shorelines’. Like most of us I am a novice fisherman, loving to fish, but far from an expert. In the following weeks I’ll attempt to give those anglers who love to fish but just don’t have access to a boat, a look at some of the options in the Yorkton area where you can fish from shore, and hopefully catch some fish.
There is of course a bond between fishermen. Get two strangers standing on the shore fishing beside each other and it’s almost guaranteed they will start kibitzing about their shared love of big pike and wily walleye.
There is also a bond which comes from a shared hometown and high school. In this case I think town is an important distinction. Two people from larger communities (cities), will have less a common background than a smaller community where the likelihood of common friends and common haunts are far more likely.
You could easily live in Regina and not share schools, teachers, stores frequented with someone else in the city.
That is not the case when a community such as Tisdale is your hometown.
The somewhat famous for a time Tisdale, based on its now obsolete tag line “home of rape and honey”, hovers with a population of around 3,000, slightly higher than when I emigrated south to Yorkton a bit more than a quarter of century ago, but significantly bigger. And because of its ‘cosy’ side, people pretty much know everyone else, at least in passing.
There is not a great lot to distinguish Tisdale from a Nipawin, Rosetown, or Assiniboia, although as a former resident I might point out English explorer Henry Kelsey passed through the area in 1690 during his exploration of the Carrot River.
The post office of Tisdale, provisional District of Saskatchewan, North West Territories was created February 1, 1904. The community was originally known as ‘Doghide’ after the Doghide River that flows through the town, but with the arrival of the railway the community was renamed ‘Tisdale’ in honour of F.W. Tisdale, an employee of the CN Railway.
Yes folks you might be seeing the historical basis for Corner Gas’ town of Dog River, considering Brent Butt is likely Tisdale’s most famed son.
Western Canada’s biggest gun shoot out took place just east of Tisdale in 1920. The historic gunfight involved a posse of Provincial Police and four outlaws. It is a story I did a piece or two on in my earliest days as a journalist, managing to sell it a place or two, so that I suppose is my big tie to Tisdale’s past.
In 2005, Tisdale celebrated its 100th birthday with a homecoming celebration in conjunction with Saskatchewan’s centennial. The town also underwent beautification projects, including the construction of a new town square.
So by now you are wondering what this all has to do with fishing.
Enter stage right one Brett Franklin, now of Yorkton, but, and you have likely guessed this by now, also from Tisdale.
Brett is younger than yours truly, which I find increasingly is the case with everyone.
The years between our ages has not stopped Brett and I from talking when we meet at hockey games or Chamber of Commerce events, since we have that common bond in Tisdale.
And as we have talked about the Tisdale we remember, we came to find we both like to fish too.
So a few weeks ago Brett suggests we make a trek to his ice hut on Lake of the Prairies sometime. We talked a few times via Facebook, great communication vehicle, and never seemed to have the same free day until this past Sunday.
Sure the forecast was for ‘cold’, not the typical cold of a Feb. 1, but one threatening minus-30, but that is why people build ice shacks and install wood burning stoves.
Brett arrives at my place at 8 a.m., on a sub-frosty Sunday morn, and I drag out to his truck loaded with extra parkas, boots, mitts and balaclavas on the oft chance we get stuck somewhere. I grew up before everyone came to believe a cellphone is sufficient winter safety gear to have with you on a trip.
And off we go.
We stop at Lost Meadows Resort and grab some live minnows, only to have proprietor Loen Manastyrski tell us fishing has been slow. Little did we realize just how prophetic his words were going to be.
Of course you can tell a fisherman a lake has winter-killed and the natural optimism of this passion will have him believe he will find the one hole where a few big fish survived. And it was that belief which carried Brett and I forward Sunday.
Brett gets out the auger and drills some holes. The ice is thick. A few more inches and he will need an extension.
And then he gets a fire going. It’s cold, but thankfully once the fire smokes up you can see it headed straight up off the stove pipe. It is near dead calm, which keeps the day from being unbearable cold.
We settle down to fish.
Brett tells me how he likes to get out in the shack on occasion to get away from the busy world, a place to relax where even the ever-present cellphone is likely not to have reception. It is a haven against tech he says.
Then he unpacks an underwater camera to get a look at what fish might be under the ice shack.
Yes folks I do see the irony in his using the high tech gadget, but as an aid to catching fish it is acceptable in my books.
The water is murky. While he gets his wiggling minnow on screen, mine a few feet away never makes an appearance.
It was my first experience with a camera, and within a minute, or two, of it hitting the ice hole, a carp swims through.
But fish in the area were apparently camera shy.
We soon dig out a crib board. Brett roars to an early lead, but I overtake him. I am six from wining, and count first. I have a motley two pair, score four, and he bounds to the win.
I mention how it’s neat I can mention getting “Growlies at Crowlies’ and he knows what I meant. In our day Crowlies was a corner gas station and convenience store in Tisdale, and that was their motto.
Located at the intersection of Highways 3 and 35 which according to Wikipedia has traffic volumes of 11,200 vehicles per day the store has changed hands and is now “the location of the largest 7-Eleven in Canada (by floor space).” Interesting factoid indeed.
We eat chips. We cook some kolbassa. We munch on crackers, cheese, dill pickles. We reminisce.
I learn Brett bought the hut in North Battleford where they are built by young offenders. A portion of the price going to a fund to reimburse victims of the offenders. It is a program that sounds like a great one.
We find out we have a common interest in backgammon. I am sure he is more experienced than I, but I do hope we get to play the game on occasion since I need to learn how to use the doubling cube which I have the impression is integral to the heart of the game.
I find out he raises guppies, which I once had, and am considering getting a tank for again. If I do I’ll be calling Brett for a few starters for the tank. At least those will be captive fish to catch.
And in all that somewhere, my rod tips. I give it a lift to set the hook.
The walleye turns and enters camera range stage left, hits Brett’s hook, and as evidenced by the accompanying photo, he lands it.
It was downhill from there though.
You know fishing is slow when your partner is staring at a small TV screen and extolling verbally his bait to swim and dance.
By 2:00, we have decided fish TV minus fish is probably no better than watching the Super Bowl, and head home. (To be honest I opted for a nap then gaming with buds over National League Football).
So my second day in a fishing shack in 2015 was no more successful, fishing wise, at least than the first. That said I connected with a fellow Tisdaleon, and hopefully that will turn into another fishing trip, or occasional backgammon, or maybe I’ll introduce him to disc golf in the spring.
Whatever comes down the river, it was still a great way to spend a cold winter’s day.
