With the spring-like weather we've been having lately, it seems impossible, but about a week ago I received a call from Y-san, asking if I was free to go ice-fishing. I was in the middle of lunch, and had research I COULD work on, but ice-fishing sounded vastly more interesting, and research can wait--besides. . .it's all fieldwork!
I walked to Y-san's place near the center of town. He looked over my clothing. . .I was lacking nagagutsu, long rubber boots ubiquitous in many rural Japanese communities. I had also come wearing jeans. . .ski pants would be preferable, I was told by Y-san. We dropped back by my place so I could change and then headed down to a section of the Otaki river where the flowing water begins to be held back by Makio Dam.I parked my car in an area above the river. Looking down I saw several small figures encircled by a dark patch of slowly melting ice. The chunk of ice the men sat at the center of was not much larger than a baseball diamond, with open water on either end. Y-san and I scrambled down the river's high bank and stepped, with a bit of hesitation, onto the ice. The frozen river creaked and cracked as we moved our weight onto and over it. My stomached dropped a bit.
T-san, my good friend and Y-san's father, greeted us and got us geared up. Y-san used a drill to open a new hole in the ice, a bit away from the water pooling under the weight of 
the fishermen who had been there since morning. The line that T-san set up for me consisted of several hooks--perhaps three tied vertically, and three more that stretched out horizontally in a "T" shape at the bottom of the line. On each hook rode a small piece of pink something. . .I'm not sure what. Fishing for wakasagi ("lake smelt", Hypomesus olidus--accroding to the ALC dictionary) consists dropping one's line into a open hole in the ice, and waiting for a bit of motion (the fish biting). When the bite one pulls up on the line in a single smooth movement, and then continues to draw the line in, hand over hand. If one's lucky they will find a single small fish. . .luckier, two. . .really lucky, three. Wakasagi are tiny little things, about 10-30 centimeters. However, T-san assured me that they are the best tasting fish around. "Bread and fry them in some oil. . .", he said with a grin.Y-san and I sat and worked on our technique as T-san pointed out mistakes and offered advice. T-san also brought hot sake, which was difficult to keep hot for long, but the thought was nice. Before long I pulled my first wakasagi from the ice. I posed with T-san for a photo. . .refusing to let the size of my catch discourage the pride I was feeling.
Our skill improving, Y-san and I began to pull one fish after another--within 90 minutes we had caught about 30. We were both beginning to feel the cold, mostly shooting up from out feet. T-san invited me over to his house for a taste of our day's catch. I eagerly agreed. Y-san and I made our way off the ice, leaving the fishing to the real fishermen.And later at T-san's house. . .
. . .don't have words.
