At least once a winter I go ice fishing to remind myself why I don’t go ice fishing a couple dozen times a winter. Nothing against shacks and waxies, teardrops and tip-ups, or cold beer on a cold lake. It’s just that I prefer my fishing days on soft water when I can hear the plop of the bobber.
That once-a-winter came up on the last day of February, initiated with the text, “You wanna go fishing today?” That would be my brother-in-law’s thumbs typing. I replied in haste, “Yeh!”
Why not? The day promised thawing temperatures, blue sky, and a chickadee breeze, not a hawkish wind that is the bane of the shackless. There we were the next day, on a white canvas dotted with shanties of retreat and heat, gloveless in our pursuit of hooking on waxies to hook up bluegills.
With the sun, the calm, and temperature above freezing, my only other requirements were safe ice—I was assured 30 inches was safe—and someone to power drill holes through those 30 inches; my hand auger has become garage art. Bro-in-law has a gas auger to spit, lickety-split, ice from holes 10 inches across.
Then I settled in, or I should say settled on, for I sat on the mandatory 5-gallon pail turned upside down. Later, the pail would be used to carry 5 gallons of fish. I hoped. For the time being it was my front row seat to watch a tiny bobber for anything resembling a nibble. I stared at the hole, assuming the ice fishing pose.
Anticipation went down the hole and nothing came up the hole for the first hour. Yet, I was entertained by the lake’s Saturday-in-the-park atmosphere among the ice anglers with nothing much on their mind but enjoying the expansive getaway. Music wafted across the whiteness. We loaded and lowered our waxes to the Doobie Brothers’ “Only A Fool Believes,” followed by Three Dog Night’s “Mama Told Me Not to Come.” Not exactly tunes to build fishing confidence.
Whatever confidence we brought to the lake began to wane. No amount of angling finagling could bring the fish to light. So out came my brother-in-law’s drone. And beer. A drone went up, a beer went down.
“You hear that jet?” bro-in-law asked, as if testing my hearing, which indeed could use some testing. Yes, I heard it, and I saw its contrail bubbling behind. He played with his phone. Suspense heightened to the crystal blue sky before he said confidently, “Vancouver to Toronto.”
I inquired about the app, the app I now want to track flight routes of passing jets. Why I don’t know. Then something happened that brought our attention back to lake level—the fish turned on. Ah, crystal blue persuasion.
For an hour we caught bluegills, though many of them were shirt-pocket size. I was hungry for fish, however, so even the borderline catches made the cut. On cue, a real fisherman came by to check our meager catches and let us know he had 15 pounds of fish in his freezer at home. Well, la-di-da came to mind but not to my lips.
He went on to inform me that my bobber was not sensitive enough to catch bluegills. I wanted to say that I didn’t want sensitive bluegills, just the uncomplicated ones that take big gulps. He must have noticed me biting my tongue, assuring me that it wasn’t a good catching day for anyone. So that ended well; misery loves company.
Then the fish quit biting. Just like that. No big deal, for the day was mild and pleasing, the lake a whole different vista than the dirty, melting snowbanks at home. A small jet went over. “Iron Mountain to Minneapolis.” And then the sky was peaceful again, as was the lake, except for vehicles going to shacks. One or two people would disappear into the mystery of the shanty, sometimes with a dog.
If I go ice fishing only once this winter, this was the day, a good day—one beer, nine bluegills, one new app to explore, and zero cold fingers.
Note: For more essays like this, my book, “Soul of the Outdoors,” is available by contacting me at davegreschner@icloud.com or 715-651-1638. The book is also available through online book sellers, and at Wisconsin bookstores in Rice Lake (Old Bookshop), Eau Claire (Dotters), Menomonie (Dragon Tale), Hudson (Chapter2Books), Spooner (Northwinds), Three Lakes (Mind Chimes), Cable (Redbery Books),and Bayfield (Honest Dog), and in Duluth, Minn., at The Bookstore at Fitger’s.