Recent
winters without sustained cold weather have at times limited ice-fishing at the
Lake. But in earlier decades the Lake was a major ice-fishing destination –
and the Lake’s governing body had to invoke regulations due to debris left on
the ice. Don Shiner, a well-known Pennyslvania angling writer, wrote an
account of ice-fishing at the Lake in 1957:
Few lakes in America match the popularity of Harvey’s Lake in Winter. The
largest natural body ofwater within Pennsylvania’s
borders, it spans 660 acresand is nestled in the hills of
the anthracite region in Wy-oming Valley. The cold 150-foot
depths hold lunker laketrout.
Five years ago the lake was
stocked with rainbowsand brooks. Now it provides some
of the best trout fish-ing in the state. Bass fisherman
take over in mid-Summerwith husky small-mouth scrappers
caught in the pebbly-bottom coves. Walleye trolling
becomes the fad duringAutumn.
In Winter, when most lakes are
glad to rest, Harvey’sLake is transformed into a
popular ice-fishing spot.The highways circles the
shoreline, where cottages,amusement centers, miniature gold
courses, roller coasters,popcorn and hot-dog stands, snack
bars, night clubs, boatliveries and swimming beaches are
built shoulder-to-shoulderalong the water’s edge. It’s a
far cry from a “wilderness” lake.
Come in Droves
When the cold Canadian blasts
push down over Penn-sylvania in late November,
cottages and snack stands fold up for the Winter. As ice forms
across the lake and snow blankets the countryside, the
population thins to ghost-townproportions. But when the ice
grows thick enough to holdthe weight of a man, ice
fishermen come to the lake in droves.Husky, pickerel, marked like old
lace curtains are caught on tip-ups baited with
minnows. Big colorful yellowperch are taken by jigging a
flashy spoon. As word spreadsthrough the valley that nice
catches are being made, the biglake becomes full of hustle and
bustle.
I wanted another day of ice
fishing, but I was freshout of pickerel bait. I had used
up my supply of minnows caught in Autumn and stored in the
river.
Suddenly, I remembered the
crickets scamperingin the cellar. A pair had
crawled into the basement of myhome during the Summer where they
chirped almost everymorning. By Autumn I had a full
chorus of chirpers craw-ling over the concrete floor.
I spent an hour catching them,
and I canned 14 –plenty of bait. Chucking the
gear into the car, I sped overthe icy highway toward Harvey’s lake.
Many Cars at Outlet
There would be other fisherman on
the lake, perhapsa couple in each cove. By
driving around the nine-mile shoreline I could learn which
parties were catching the mostfish and stake my ice hole
there. I hit the lake at the southerntip at the little village of Outlet. On the lake side of the roada solid sting of cars was parked.
A quarter mile down the lake I
eased the car into an opening beside a wharf, then
legged it across the ice follow-ing a fresh sled trail through
the snow. The ice hummed withactivity. Some anglers were
chopping holes, while others were jigging, tending tip-ups, or
gathering in little groups, swapping yarns or discussing the
prospects of this Winter’sfishing. I walked from one to
another, talked with them, watched their methods of fishing
as they took pickerel and perch.
Ice fishermen are apt to feel
that fish are hitting betterin the next cove. I felt this
way, so drove a mile down the road and stopped again at another
spot filled with fishermen.
Spent Too Much Time
Time raced so quickly that the
sun was far down onthe western horizon, casting long
shadows across the ice. It was almost too late in the day to
start chopping holes. Somefishermen had already pulled up
and gone home with nice strings. I had wasted most of
the day rovin’ instead of fishin’.Had I stayed with the first group
or any of the others, I wouldhave caught fish – a fact I
always try to remember.In the short time before sundown,
I put the crickets to work. The next few minutes I
punched holes through the thick ice. Placing a cricket on
a hook fastened behind a smallsilver spoon, I dropped the
outfit through the window and intothe dark water, letting it
flutter toward the bottom. Jigging ita couple of inches above the
gravel, I felt a solid rap. I hadnot expected a bite so quickly,
and the short rod was almostpulled from my hands. I hauled
in a perch that lacked a quarter inch from being a foot in
length. Five more followed in as many minutes
before the school moved toward another hole.
Harvey’s Lake seldom lets a
fisherman down. Spring,Summer, or Autumn, there are
usually some fish astir. Butangling in Winter has a
fascination all its own – no matter where, fish or no fish.
Copyright 2006-2008 F. Charles Petrillo
