Headstones mark the graves of summer. Once signs of virility and fertility, these lifeless organic pegs now stand as stationary tumbleweeds. Some are broken, others disfigured. The lowliest are buried in snowdrifts or disrespected by the tracks of snow machines. Who cares? They’re just leftover vegetation from the season that was, skeletal remains.

Oh contraire, disputes ice-fishing icon Brian “Bro” Brosdahl, who gets downright spiritual when it comes to vegetation, particularly emergent specimens, hardstem bulrush—Scirpus acutus.

Prolific throughout North America, hardstem bulrush—known locally as reeds or rushes—inhabit more lakes, rivers, and reservoirs than not. Terribly tolerant, hardstem forms dense shoreline colonies where older, darker, and taller stems live as a nucleus with younger satellite plants on the perimeter, buying more real estate every year.

Anglers know hardstem stands as springtime romper-rooms for prespawn crappies, bluegills, and perch. These pragmatists also realize that emergent vegetation is a nursery for stringing eggs and soon thereafter providing gated sanctuary for fry.

Bro recognizes the importance of rushes even after death. For in winter, both early and late in the season, they provide preferred habitat that often goes ignored by the mob. “About every track you see on the lake leads away from them,” says Bro about hardstem patches playing the role of launch sites for ice fishing explorations. “How many boat landings are trimmed with bulrushes that never get fished through the ice? Almost all the ones I see.”

To change this perception, he says, one must relate the visible portion of the rushes to an iceberg in the Atlantic. “Lucky if 10 percent of the real story stands above the ice. Down below it can be very dynamic, even right below a couple of scraggly stalks. Don’t let the surface fool you.”

Time for a real-life example, this one dealing with ice fishing straight out of the chute in late November, early December. Autumn is no friend to aquatic vegetation. Cold kills. Depending on the lake and the ferocity of the fall that was, emergent vegetation may be the best, perhaps only cover left standing.

Bro makes his first foray into the hardstems on account of the perch. “You hit the right bed and it’s like breaking open a piñata—fish everywhere,” he says. “The key being the right bed. Lakes have good weedbeds and bad weedbeds. There are even good stretches and bad stretches of the same bed.”

The Best Beds

Untold hours of trial and error have culminated into a checklist of sorts. Again, using first-ice perch fishing as a baseline, Bro prequalifies bulrush beds.

Rare are the times when bigger isn’t better as it relates to structure and cover. This is no exception. “My first candidate is going to be the largest bulrush bed on the lake,” he says. “Big ones simply have the capacity to harbor more fish. That, and diversity—more of the features that attract fish.”

Physical feature number one is depth. Bro won’t waste away the day on the hyper-shallows. “Pass on those beds in less than three feet of water. They’re usually comatose in winter. I focus on depths of 3 to 6 feet.”

Depth is a provider. It opens the gateway to hiding and feeding opportunities. Deep stalks descend into a labyrinth of structure. Deep beds are also prone to cohabitate with submerged vegetation, like coontail, cabbage, and milfoil. And that leads to another of Bro’s talking points: weed complexity. “A bed can’t have too much character. Different species of weeds. Different thicknesses. Even different levels of relative health, feeble next to the flourishing. It all provides natural edges and options for fish.”

Specifically, a weedy hodgepodge—thick and the thin—are built to specs for perch. “Perch move through areas, whereas bluegills and crappies usually take up residence for awhile.” Bro reconnects this behavior to weed diversity. “Perch move along those edges, spots where submerged vegetation ends. They have space to operate and visual advantage for peering into the neighbor’s yard.”

And ogle they do. “Those fish are panning for food,” he says. “Targets range from baby crayfish to darters to young-of-the-year perch.”

Young means tastier, reports Bro. His claim is substantiated as well, although not with delicacy or diplomacy. “The evidence is in the barf. Every other perch you catch hurls up an orange crayfish smoothie.” We get the picture.

Speaking of pictures, Bro has watched said foraging sessions in real-time, too. “On a clear day, in fairly clear water, you can look down a hole and watch perch hunt, peck, and annihilate baby crayfish. And there’s no better big screen than a spearing hole to watch Mother Nature at work.” Related tip: Bro says to pay attention to where the dark houses establish. “Those guys are lake veterans. They’re savvy. They usually set up over clear spots that are adjacent to premium vegetation. Pike spots are perch spots.”

Those same weededges and micro-clearings expose baitfish, including thumbnail sized perch, bluegills, and crappies. All of which consider an English garden of mixed hardstems and submerged varieties a sanctuary. Perch offer a different translation, though. “To perch, those thick spots act more like a refrigerator, keeping everything chilled and readily available. Sometimes, the door opens and they grab a few snacks,” Bro says.

Thick on thin of the same brand of weeds is another positive sign. He explains: “Even without accompanying submerged weeds, a spot where thin, sparse rushes meet a thicker wall creates a natural edge. Perch patrol the outside. Things they eat use the inside.”

What makes a stand of emergent weeds vibrant goes deeper than depth and doesn’t end with organic matter. Bro has an eye for other features as well. “I’m after character. Not a city block of the same looking stuff. That’s dull and probably void of fish.” Such weed borne dynamos include rock, gravel, and timber. “Anything that breaks up the landscape is worth checking. If it forms an edge, fish it.”

Take away cover and structure and you’re left with a hole. That hole has edges as well. “Don’t pass up on any clear spots,” Bro suggests. “The center can be a circus of life and you know there’s good eating around the edge.”

Clearings have many causes. Bottom content might change to something too silted for hardstem to flourish. Could be the opposite—too rocky. Or optimally, it’s a natural depression. Bro goes for the low. “Dimples are nirvana. They offer all sorts of advantages—more fertility with the capacity to grow other species of weeds; darker, stealthier water at the bottom; and definitely more foodstuffs.”