Docks. Lily pads. Slop. It’s all good. Whisper the word “Toad” or “Popper” to a bass fisherman and watch his eyes fixate on an imaginary blow-up in the pencil reeds. He might even reel-down in preparation for a phantom hookset. Not a blink. Not a breath. The moment of truth is but a second away.

Sorry, bass-heads—you’ve lost topwater exclusivity. There’ll be no submarine-like bursts through the ice; but in the winter under certain circumstances, predator fish press to the surface to feed.

Brian “Bro” Brosdahl calls them “risers,” predators that elevate to hit overhead forage. They’re drawn to locomotion just below the ice, careless critters. And he says it’s either their silhouette or light reflecting off their scales that garners unwanted attention from predators.

He cites an example where sunlight danced off his spoon, causing predatory perch to lose their cool. “It was on Leech Lake in early winter.

I was fishing a fairly shallow weedflat, 14 feet of water, on a super bright day. I could see the bottom clearly, a mixture of coontail and cabbage, with a little chara grass on the outside. This was in the pre-underwater-camera era, so I was truly sightfishing.

“On my first drop,” Bro says, “I noticed that the spoon threw an array of light that looked like a million minnows. Sort of a disco-ball thing, with all that light bouncing off the underside of the ice. And about that time, a jumbo perch—I mean a serious jumbo—rocketed off the bottom and hit the spoon right under the ice.”

That jumbo was followed by others—call them alpha perch; but after icing a half-dozen or so, the melee subsided. Bro saw fish enter the militarized zone but not shooting for the surface, so he dipped down, and a handful of fish rose to meet the bait—not hot enough to blast the surface, but the glittering spoon had brought them into the zone.

Soon Bro restarted, disco-balling at the surface once more. It worked. The aerial display summoned a fresh batch of perch, and the hittin’ and stickin’ was on. “I’ll be honest,” he says. “Unless I’m seeing fish on the Vexilar, 90 percent of my time is spent jigging high, way off bottom, above where most anglers expect the fish to be.”

How High

Bear in mind that what constitutes ”surface” or ”high” is relative to the body of water. On a jaunt last winter to a lake in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Bro sat over 60 feet of amazingly clear water. The walleyes, according to flasher readings, were passing 20 feet down and responding to his Lindy Rattl’r Spoon 10 feet down.

And on the same winter pilgrimage, this time on Lake Michigan’s Bays de Noc, he established a topwater pattern in 35 feet of water. According to the Vexilar, walleyes were screeching in and out of range at two to four feet from the bottom. He jigged hard from 10 to 15 feet down, lowering the spoon when red marks sailed upwards. Collisions, he said, occurred at about 20 feet.

Bro can and did catch fish nearer the bottom, where the walleyes originated; but he found that the fish willing to elevate were more aggressive biters.

Bro says the phenomenon of “splitting the distance” is common. “In a clear lake in 20 feet of water, it’s typical to meet the fish at 10 feet. Sometimes, if you make them swim too high, they walk,” he says. “So I drop down a tad when I see marks rising.”

Bro’s shower of light and spoon silhouettes summoned fish some 20 feet to investigate. So, either the fish were feeding on something less flavorful on the bottom, or they were lying low and feeding high. Consider the forage base on Lake Michigan: Towering plumes of alewives and smelt, as well as lake herring. I’m going with the latter.

The Great Lakes are naturals for topwater tactics, but it doesn’t end there. Small panfish—wheel-bearing-sized crappies and bluegills—often gather in clouds and drift off weeds and structure, presuming they’ve evaded predators. But they haven’t. Teensy perch make this mistake, too. They ball up and meander offshore, banking on safety in numbers. Better look out below.

The whole topwater thing isn’t reserved for distilled-looking waters, either. Bro can manufacture a nasty silhouette in “root beer” water. It takes a bigger bait to achieve comparable results, but it’s doable. He upgrades the profile of the lure in direct relation to water clarity. The darker it gets, the bigger he fishes. And that’s a fine premise to keep in your pocket no matter what you’re stalking, or where.

About Pike

Northern pike, even more than walleyes, capitalize on the first couple of feet beneath the surface. Stand in the middle of your living room and look up. Depending on the height of your ceiling, that cheesy popcorn texture up there is probably at eight or nine feet. That’s the underside of the ice. Now look down. That’s the bottom of the lake. So we’re talking about an eight or nine foot column of water.

Next, reach your hand in the air. Unless you’re of NBA stature, your hand is barely touching the ceiling or about a foot short of it. Your hand is a pike, or perhaps something they’re preparing to eat, like a sucker or sunfish. See how nicely your hand breaks against the white ceiling, like a fish might against the underside of the ice, assuming the lake isn’t cloaked with two feet of snow. Remember this next time you set tip-ups. In the real world, dead fish are available all winter long. Pike learn to check the underside of the ice for this food.

At first- and last-ice, in shallow areas skirted by wetlands, pike also scroll for hibernating and emerging frogs, respectively. Picture the shadow cast by a big frog lumbering below the ice. Also, during early-ice, in remaining vegetation on some northern lakes, “Whitefish and ciscoes find their way into the weeds, the deeper, thicker stuff,” Bro says. “Pike run right under the ice in pursuit. That’s prime time to set tip-ups over the tops of the weeds. Some rigged with dead bait, others with large, live suckers.”

Bro says that, in general, bigger fish tend to run closer to the ice, no matter the depth. That might mean two feet down in 20 or 20 feet down in 40, mirroring the behavior of walleyes. “There’s a lot of big food in the top half of the water column,” he says. “And big food translates into big fish. By fishing right beneath the surface you might not catch the most fish, but you’ll definitely catch the biggest.”

What About Walleyes

Bro is a man of spots: He values location over presentation. When it comes to making a statement beneath the ceiling, however, he chooses his utensils carefully.

In pursuit of walleyes, his first determinant is whether the environment is clear or streaked. His kill-shot in clear water is flash, the array cast by a metallic or holographic jigging spoon. Classic metal patterns, as well as recent releases with foil, are capable of spitting sparks. Hammered metal is a favorite of mine.

That’s the scene during daylight hours—it’s all about drawing fish with flare. But on the bookends of the day, even in clear water, Bro advances size as well as style. Out come the swimbaits, horizontal travelers like a Lindy Flyer with a whole minnow threaded face-first, or a naked Nils Master Jigging Shad or Rapala Jigging Shad Rap. To a walleye at twilight, each looks like a Hindenburg.

It’s a different deal in dark water, though, where there might not be enough sunlight penetration to make a spoon sparkle. There, he relies on profile, not glitter, and also considers lures with rattles, and super-scented minnows like small smelt.

Swimbaits, however, get top billing, the thicker the better. Salmo’s Chubby Darter is a prime pick for throwing bulky shadows. And you’re cheating yourself if there isn’t at least one line fitted with a live minnow, says Bro. He loves hanging a shiner or chub off a deadstick, keeping the offering within the first two feet of the surface. It’s a deadly device in colored and shallow water, 10 feet or less.

Any other factors to trigger a topwater bite? Bro buys into the whole moon-phase gig, his position supported by memory. He’s experienced more midday topwater action during and near the new moon, he says, while the full moon is better for morning and evening forays.

More About Pike

Bro’s presentations for pike are much the same, except he hedges toward large, hovering swimmers like the Chubby Darter, or a Flyer outfitted with a stinger hook and smelt or cisco. Speaking of dead stuff, setlines or tip-ups are standard in Bro’s piking arsenal. And he’ll be the first to chide anyone who feels he’s outgrown tip-ups, or is too sophisticated to carry flags. Surgeons still use scalpels, right?

So he totes a five-gallon bucket filled with a half dozen or so fully rigged Beaver Dam tip-ups, the classic boards, some of which he’s owned since puberty. Each is rigged uniquely, conscientiously crafted over LaBatt’s and Fuentes. The livebait versions are furnished with a single oversized hook—3/0 to 4/0—on a single 12-inch strand of wire.

The quick-strike specimens get pretty elaborate, each with fancy flickering blades (legal in Minnesota), engaging to the eye. Bro’s preferred method for presenting a smelt on a quick-strike is with Clam Corp’s Arctic Warrior. The tip-down apparatus flies a flag when tripped, while allowing the angler to battle with his rod and reel of choice.

Depending on the overall depth (expanding the column of water as depth increases), he generally fishes the deadbait rigs just beneath the ice, allowing the live minnow to behave like an exploratory diver. Typically, he runs live minnows between the surface and the halfway point in the water column—no need to go any deeper, he says.

So get over your predilections for what, when, and where to fish topwater. The surface is always the surface, summer or winter. Its exact role in regards to dining might vary from season to season, but if there’s enough light penetrating to cast a shadow or reflect off something bright, predators are bound to be paying attention.

*Noel Vick, Isanti, Minnesota, is a frequent contributor to In-Fisherman’s winter publications.