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Pikes' pique 'Assassins' had hoped to put northerns on ice; the opposite held true
STAGECOACH RESERVOIR — The communique from PikeMeister was intriguing, the more so because he had assembled every form of northern pike bait known to man, short of live ducklings.
He also owned a quasi-serviceable internal combustion ice auger and a portable sonar unit. Nobody wants to sweat too much drilling into the lair of a creature officially labeled fish non grata.
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," PikeMeister said, "is to whack and stack northern pike with maximum prejudice, according to the dictates of the state."
Since this was before the New Year, that meant we would be allowed 10 northerns apiece — a total of 40 for four professional pike assassins. Presumably, if we could accomplish that, it might be possible for someone in 2001 to catch a limit of no limit.
Inquiring minds wanted to know.
Last fall, the Colorado Wildlife Commission pulled out almost all the stops on killing northern pike. Horrified that the heinous predators were forming chow lines behind trout stocking trucks and reproducing like pine beetles, commissioners dropped pike limits almost everywhere.
Stagecoach Reservoir near Steamboat Springs is one of the many pikedoms where State Enemy No. 1 is being targeted. And since the ice thickness there was reasonably conducive to human survival, it seemed a logical choice.
"This shouldn't be too much trouble," PikeMeister chortled as he lowered a live, 6-inch, slithering water dog through a hole in the ice and set the trigger on a tip-up.
The team employed more weaponry. In addition to ugly amphibians, dozens of smelt and suckers were arranged like appetizers in plastic meat trays, ripe for dangling underwater. PikeMeister also was outfitted with the latest in fishing spoons, airplane jigs and tooth-proof leaders.
He also had some meal worms, though for what, he would not say.
The task force went to work in an area of Stagecoach Reservoir that intelligence sources assured us was bristling with evil predators. Hours later, we weren't so sure.
The sonar fish beeper was silent. When the assassins weren't wandering the ice, they snoozed in a subzero breeze.
"So let's try way out there off that point," someone suggested.
"Nah," said the boss, who hadn't yet given much thought to the rubber fish. "It's too far, and my sled's too heavy."
The rubber fish is a prop I carry to honor ice fishers and ice-fishing destinations that bear less fruit than expected. PikeMeister and his team fear having their identities revealed in pictures taken with it. Since I take the pictures, I am spared that humiliation.
But the rubber fish was all we had to show for a day's work when Stagecoach Park ranger Mike Wall paid us a visit.
"Last year, some guys caught pike through the ice way out there off that point," he said. Our expedition leader stared at his heavy sled, at the point of land far away, and at the smiling rubber fish. He winced but held fast.
That explains the meal worms.
Desperation led to a change of plans. Down went a -ounce orange ice jig tipped with a meal worm. Up came a burly 19-inch rainbow trout. Meanwhile, the water dogs were dying of old age.
Our guest, Tony Kalkis — he is completely unrelated to anyone with delusions about northern pike — agreed to have his picture taken with the fine trout. The others breathed a sigh of relief.
The experiment would seem to indicate that Colorado anglers aren't going to be any more effective at culling pike than Colorado hunters are at trimming coyotes. If unlimited limits don't work, maybe it's time for a committee of the state legislature to order some aerial pike bombing.
After the near-skunking, a friend commented on the poor luck Colorado anglers have had trying to catch pike, particularly from under the ice. He said he knows another team of pike assassins that travels to Elevenmile Reservoir once a year, specifically to catch pike.
"Ten guys stand around on the ice, and they catch maybe one or two little pikelets," he said. "I don't understand it. "Up in Minnesota, they catch pike through the ice all the time."
Technically, PikeMeister might have accomplished his mission after all, according to the new standards adopted for 2001. If there is no limit on pike and he caught no pike, he caught his limit. But then, I never was good at math.
The last we saw of him was at the south boat ramp, shortly before we voted to rename him PikeMiser. His face was hidden under a hood.
"Remember," he said. "I was never here."
Contact Ed Dentry at (303) 892-5481 or sports@RockyMountainNews.com.
January 7, 2001
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