Nothing’s more archaic from a 30,000-foot view. Slabs of wood blotting the icescape, each timorously exposing a bent flag, the flag closer to surrender than a victory march. From the cab of an unredeemed “cash for clunkers” rust-bucket the lowly tip-ups are monitored—barely. Hell freezes over and the far one triggers—likely a false alarm. Crack another beer, keys safely out of the ignition. If a second one trips, something nearer the truck, it might be time to chip ‘em out—momma’s gonna be pickling in the morning.

At least that’s how the ice fishing nobility sees things. You know them; smarmy know-it-all ice anglers who typecast those who stoop to deploying antiquated tip-ups. So unsophisticated, those unshaven primates, they think.

I say let them eat cake, the snobs. The tip-up community slyly picks up crumb after hunk after slice right under their noses—because beneath that barbaric board with the tattered flag and box spring lies the technological equivalent to a diamond drill.

From across the room you might think the same about Pat Kalmerton, a rough-around-the-edges Sheboygan, Wisconsin fishing guide. You hear him before you see him. Kalmerton’s throaty sailor voice is distinct and infinitely audible. With looks to match, you catch sight of a full-bearded local with sun-squinted eyes and no girlish figure. (Rumor has it that Kalmerton’s lost both the weight and facial hair, though. Look out ladies.)

As a client, you feel confident. Guys like this know the fish on a first-name basis. But what might surprise you is Kalmerton’s technical side, his inner-engineer. And nowhere does this ingenuity come to life more than when running flags on the ice.

Silently on the opposite side of the same room sits Paul Nelson, a fishing savant. Unnoticed by the small crowd drinking-up Kalmerton’s tales of the lake, Nelson, also a black-belt guide, tools his trademarked tip-up rigs like a watchmaker. Kalmerton and Nelson share a passion for pike, and both guide professionally, but the similarities end there. They are not brothers from another mother, but fishing’s version of the Odd Couple. Yet at the end of their flag-fishing expeditions the results are the same—happy clients.

Rank ‘n File Flagging

Marathoners stretch and hydrate. Kalmerton rigs and sips a beverage. In each case proper preparation is paramount to breaking the tape. For Kalmerton, that means rigging up tip-up rigs on the eve of a fishing marathon, each device geared with particulars in mind.

“I put tip-up rigs in two categories,” he says. “There are ‘volume rigs’ and ‘big fish rigs.’ Which way I go depends on where I’m fishing and what I expect to catch.”

As much as every red-blooded angler wishes for limitless lunkers, we all know better, Kalmerton included. “Action is king, especially with clients. Big fish can happen, but I can’t count on that. So I usually rig for the masses.”

That means designing a system that’s suitable for multiple gamefish species; not prejudiced against size—those eating-sized fish—yet able to tame beasts when they happen along. Kalmerton builds exactly that, and it’s both foolproof and flexible.

To make sense of the Kalmerton system you need to first understand his theory on hooks, and hooking fish. Bigger isn’t better. “Some of my clients are shocked when they see the size of the hooks. They’re puny compared to what they think we should be using.”

Somehow, Kalmerton is able to manipulate the microscopic #14 treble hooks in his big hands. Practice, I suppose. Oh, and yes that was #14—no misprint. The certified Captain (for real) bases his choice on hypothesis tempered with thousands of catches of proof positive.

“My hooking percentage is I guess somewhere around 90 percent,” he says. Continuing with the educated guesswork, Kalmerton surmises that 75% of the 90% are hooked in the sweet spot—in the corner of the mouth, right where he wants them.

The diminutive hook reaps other benefits. When it does get swallowed, removal is elementary via a hook-remover or needle-nose pliers. Less harm is inflicted on the fish as well. “A hook that small can’t do as much damage as a large treble or big single hook.”

Subterfuge also plays a role. “The smaller the hook the less visible,” he says. He nicks the skin of the minnow inconspicuously behind the dorsal fin with a single barb. The bait is granted extended life as well, the hook not violating much meat or any vitals.

Pretty easy to straighten those wee hooks? Not. “Their strength is surprising. They don’t bend easily.” Kalmerton trusts gold Eagle Claw Lazer #374s. The #14 VMC O’Shaugnessy Treble (#9617) is another formidable hook. The Mustad Classic Treble also comes in a petite but hearty #14.

From the bottom up, commencing at the hook, Kalmerton slips on a single bead, color selection a result of experimentation. Bead makes a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. But adding a bead is his thing. Having confidence in your presentation is as important as tying a trustworthy knot.

We continue up the leader-line, a 6-foot section of 10-pound PowerPro in Moss Green. Kalmerton defends his selection: “Most pike don’t cut it—same for walleyes. If you do your job, the hook sticks in the corner of their mouth and breaking off isn’t a concern.”

The leader line is joined to the main line with a #8 ball-bearing swivel. No dinking with generic, unpredictable stuff, either. Spend the extra nickels on Spro or Sampo implements.

Kalmerton winds his tip-ups with 30-pound Frabill Tip Up Line. Other steadfast options include Cortland’s Braided Ice Line and Mason Braided Tip-Up Line.

All responses to strikes aren’t treated equal. Klamerton: “There’s no sense in letting a fish run for long considering the effectiveness of the hook. Slowly lift the tip-up out of the hole. Give the fish some slack. Let it tighten on its own, and set with your wrist. Don’t reach for the stars, just a solid tug.”

The smaller treble finds flesh instantly, not requiring the archetypal “run, stop, turn the bait around, and run” performance from the fish. With walleyes, however, appreciating that they don’t take the bait as deep initially, he lets fish pause once, and then gives them a jolt when they make their next move.

Why wait at all once the flag’s tripped? Kalmerton: “To penetrate flesh in the corner of its mouth, the fish needs to be swimming away. If it’s stationary, you can jerk the bait right up and out of its mouth. You don’t want to pull the line across the fish’s teeth, either. That happens more often when a fish is sitting still.”

His final pitch-point supporting the outwardly scrawny hooks relates to how a fish first takes the bait. “Most fish, especially pike, hit the thing from the side. They don’t feel the smaller hook.”

Then, in some cases, there’s the legality issue as it relates to fishing with a lone treble. “To make the rig legal, all it takes is adding a tiny blade,” he says. His “flicker blade” is thread on the leader line, stationed just above the hook. The plastic fin off a Swedish Pimple works. Hilde-brandt stamps out all sorts of suitable micro blades.