In a break from long-standing conventional wisdom, location no longer is the only consideration when it comes to real estate. But it may be when it comes to ice-fishing success.
Consider these events that evolved Saturday on the dance floor at Chatfield Reservoir, where Jeff Looney continued his quest to master the shifting riddle of pulling walleye through a little, round hole.
Like most successful ice fishermen, the Littleton resident is a pattern proponent. Locating a favored spot a few hundred yards off the dam, he drills three holes a short distance apart, then begins the more delicate process of persuading these finicky fish to bite.
In a lake that features a holiday buffet of natural bait, this is a problem. To solve it, Looney uses live minnows suspended a couple of feet off the bottom. He sometimes drills an adjacent hole from which he jigs a bright attractor spoon. Sort of switch-and-bait, as it were.
As day breaks amid 18-degree chill, he witnesses one of those anomalies that often occurs on ice. For no apparent reason, one of the three holes produces all of the bites. In fairly rapid succession, he hoists a 16-incher, then another, then a 17-incher — fairly typical of this heavily fished urban impoundment where a 18-inch size limit draws the line on what anglers actually catch.
In the process, this one spot, this magic hole, also yields several other bites, plus lots of electronic excitement on Looney’s Vexilar unit. The explanation, of course, is that this opening to the underworld is located — that word again — above some sort of bottom irregularity: a hump, a drop-off, someone’s lost tackle box.
Walleye are notoriously attracted to structure, particularly in winter.
“Once I find a spot I like, I drill four or five holes about 10 feet apart and start jigging,” Looney explains. “I like to draw from a broader area, then find some reason for the fish to be there.”
Looney, who lives brief minutes from the lake, knows Chatfield like the roof of his mouth. This is his fourth ice venture of the season; the previous three have been marked by considerable success, topped by a 23-incher made plump by a regular diet of shad.
That’s where the minnows come into play. With all that fresh fish flesh swimming around, Looney embraces a match-the-hatch philosophy that demands real protein on the hook.
“The tough part is finding live minnows,” he laments.
He ticks off a list of availability: Valley Country Tackle, Bill’s Live Bait, Discount Tackle, Gander Mountain. None of these dispensaries is anywhere close to his Littleton home. Location again.
Because of the dual difficulty of gathering bait and locating a fish that doesn’t move much, winter walleye fishing generally poses a puzzle for most anglers; those who solve it claim membership in a tight-knit fraternity whose membership only recently has begun to grow.
In the process of chasing walleye, Chatfield regulars also find a bounty of smallmouth bass, along the omnipresent rainbow trout. In winter, smallmouth become even more addicted to structure than walleye, often gathering in schools along the slightest bottom irregularity.
“They really stay put,” Looney says. “If you find a good smallie spot, you’d best keep it to yourself. Otherwise, someone can come in and wipe it out.”
While he doesn’t realize it at the time, yet another element of place has come into play. While Chatfield shimmers in cold calm, a windstorm rages just a few miles away. Looney, a proponent of an early bite, packs his sled shortly after 8 a.m. and is gone long before the gust arrives.
Despite the wind from recent days, the Chatfield sheet remains in good condition: hard, clear, ranging 5 to 6 inches thick.
“This is great, seeing ice like this. I love this place,” he exclaims.
It’s all in the location.
Charlie Meyers: 303-954-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com
