This post is part of a project in the works; "An Ogemaw County Year". The blog and eventually the book will encompass nature noticing, research and facts over the course of a year with a watercolor painting for each entry. Originals and prints will be available via the website as they are completed and prepped and the book will be available upon completion.
There’s a sharp chill in the air as I zip my parka up to my chin and tighten my scarf. The snow crunches beneath my boots as I hike along the edge of Devoe Lake which is covered in solid ice and sitting below a hazy winter sun. In Ogemaw County, this secluded spot has a magical stillness in the winter, its icy expanse dotted occasionally by the silhouettes of dedicated ice fishers.
I pause along the shore, my breath clouding the air, to watch a lone fisher crouched over a freshly drilled hole. Beneath the surface, the pike—those sleek, torpedo-shaped hunters of the lake—move with a deliberate grace. These apex predators are perfectly adapted to their environment, even in winter. As the water temperature plummets, their metabolism slows, yet they remain active. Pike often stake out areas near submerged vegetation or drop-offs, lying in wait for prey. Opportunistic by nature, they’ll hunt perch, smaller pike, and any struggling fish—even scavenging if the opportunity arises. Their striking speed and sharp, needle-like teeth make them formidable hunters, even when the lake is locked under a thick layer of ice.
As I watch, an orange flag on the fisher’s tip-up suddenly snaps in motion, the movement sharp and urgent. The fisher reacts immediately, carefully pulling the line hand-over-hand. I hold my breath as the line tightens, revealing the resistance of a living, writhing presence below.
A few moments later, the long, mottled form of a pike breaks through the hole, thrashing in protest against the sudden change in environment. Its green-and-yellow body, patterned with creamy spots, gleams in the weak winter light. The fisher quickly admires the fish before gently releasing it back into the hole, allowing it to disappear into the dark, icy depths.
Pike are ancient fish, with fossils suggesting they’ve existed for millions of years. Their year begins with the thaw of spring ice when they migrate to shallow, weedy areas to spawn. Females can lay thousands of eggs, scattering them across vegetation where they incubate for about two weeks. The young, or "fry," grow quickly, feeding on plankton before graduating to insects and smaller fish. By summer, pike disperse into deeper waters, hunting and growing steadily throughout the warmer months.
As fall arrives and temperatures drop, pike prepare for winter. Their metabolism slows, and their activity diminishes, yet they remain formidable predators. They hover near underwater vegetation or along the edges of drop-offs, conserving energy and striking only when opportunities arise. Winter tests their endurance, but pike are well-equipped, their physiology finely tuned for survival in low oxygen and freezing conditions.
Devoe Lake, now quiet as the fisher returns to their seat, seems even more alive to me. The subtle creak of shifting ice is a reminder of the hidden, vibrant world below. Pike, their prey, the aquatic plants, and even the occasional scavenging bird—they’re all part of this intricate, interconnected web. It’s a humbling thought as I turn back toward the forest path, grateful for this glimpse into the enduring beauty of nature in winter.
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