The ice-fishing tradition

February 2009

Our northern Minnesota lakes, with the bays, hills, and islands, were formed by the force of a mile-thick sheet of ice that advanced from central Canada. When these glaciers melted away 10,000  years ago, Mother Nature then infused the pools of water with all manner of plants and animals. In the thousands of years since the glacial retreat, the people who visit or live in this lake-country have sought to harvest the bounty of fish that glide beneath the waves. With woven nets, bone hooks, and wooden spears, the tradition of fishing was born. Every season brought new advances – shinier gadgets and more sophisticated techniques in pursuit of the finned query. From this commonality of pursuit came the stories and traditions that bonded this group of people into the clan called “fishermen”. 

            My home overlooks a narrow peninsula and a small island that separate the quiet backwater bay from the main body of our lake. We call this divide, “The Point”. The land is covered with white and red pines that have stood silently over the water for hundreds of years. A few of the ancient treetops have been snapped off by fierce winds. One of the giants has been toppled flat to the ground, the roots pulled from the soil but still clutching to a rounded boulder. A sizable nest made of sticks and branches sits high in a crown and provides a home for a pair of bald eagles. They invariably return by the end of February and will spend the entire summer fishing! “The Point” is bordered with sand beaches while scattered cattails and reed beds reach out to the edge of an abrupt “drop-off”.

            A favorite summertime activity is to sit out on the deck, cold drink in hand, and watch the boats troll patterns above the submerged tangle of “cabbage” while searching for northerns and walleyes. Winter ice brings a cluster of spearing houses along with the coming and going of snowmobiles and 4-wheelers. No matter the season, our daily view down the “fetch” of the lake could be on one of the glossy postcards purchased by tourists and mailed to friends back in the “Cities”.

            When folks ask me about fishing, my stock answer has traditionally been, “I’m gonna fish when I get old…everyone should save something for retirement!” Well, I’ve recently retired and Santa left an ice fishing shelter – complete with weatherproof canvas and aluminum slide-tubes mounted on a rugged polyethylene sled. The impressive, bright packaging described it as “SLEEK” and “MUSCULAR” and with noticeably smaller print, “Needs Assembly!”

            The sky was clear the last week in December and a slight breeze drifted in from the west as I unpacked the box in the driveway. The “2-Man Shelter Assembly Instructions” entailed only two pages including ten photographs and required only four tools. I am not Mr. Goodwrench, but I was sure that I would be fishing within the hour! We would have fresh fillets for the evening meal.

                        The instructions begin with “…check to make sure you have all the required parts.” 

            I sorted and organized the “little parts” into groups next to the black sled. A sense of uneasiness settled over me when I noticed the items “6 ea 1/4 x 1-3/4 cap screws” were missing but I thought maybe these were generic instructions that could also be used for the other shelter models manufactured by this same company. I decided to press on. 

            Everything went well, with every part finding its place until step #13.  

             “Spread the shelter canvas alongside the shelter, placing the longer portion featuring the zippered door and the word “FRONT” to the bracketed end of the sled base.”

            It was easy enough to lay out the tent and locate the “FRONT” – it was labeled with large, yellow letters. But following these directions would place the door at the side of the sled! I glanced at the bright picture on the outside of the original container and saw that entry was definitely not on the side. This made no sense! Should I pivot the canvas? Turn it upside down? Step #13 finished with talk of U-shaped tubes and spring loaded pins…nothing more about moving or positioning the canvas. Step #14 was no help. I must have missed a step! I reread from the beginning, repositioned the canvas, and puzzled again over step #13. I retrieved the directions once when a sudden gust of wind blew the directions halfway to the lake. I made a mental note to myself: Remember to always place a tool on top of the paper. More repositioning! 

            I finally did what any real man would do; I lifted the canvas above my head, stepped into the plastic sled and relied upon common sense to fasten the “U-shaped slide pipes” to the “Velcro straps spaced along the inside of the tent”. Snap and unsnap, fasten and unfasten, all in a red-tinted semidarkness and with the weight of the canvas balanced on my head. Adjust and readjust. Eventually the shape of a fish shelter emerged. Elation! A closer inspection revealed that it was put together BACKWARDS! ARGH! I tore it down and started over! 

             In comparison, the second assembly went quickly and I never did find a place for those missing “little parts”. 

            The wind was gusting from the west as my 4- wheeler and black plastic fishing sled descended down the hill and onto the ice. Loose crystals of snow led the way across the crescent shaped drifts that stretched toward “The Point”. I selected a likely location about 15 feet out from the reed beds and with my new ice chisel, chipped a 3×3 foot hole through about eight inches of ice. After numerous stop and rest periods, the ice block broke free and silently bobbed up and down in the hole. The easiest way to dispose of this floating chunk was to simply push it down into the water and slip it under the ice out of sight even though I wondered if that would alert the fish to the danger lurking above. My confidence told me, “No Matter! Today I will have fish!”

            I moved the sled parallel to the hole, grabbed the aluminum tubes that held the canvas, and pulled the tent into an upright position. The increasingly strong wind instantly turned the fabric into a colorful sail. The sled jerked from my grasp. My stiff, cold fingers inside the damp leather “chopper” mittens were no match for the power of the wind. The sled began to move quickly across the ice, tacking toward the far shore. After an exhilarating sprint, I captured the wayward “clipper”, pulled it back, and tied its tether rope to the back of the 4-wheeler. This anchor seemed to solve the sailing-away problem. I quickly banked snow around the border of the canvas walls, unzipped the tent door and moved the rest of the fishing gear inside. I immediately realized I had neglected to bring a chair and there was no fishing line attached to the plastic decoy. Since the 4-wheeler was holding the fish house in place, there was no other choice – I would have to walk back to my house. My exposed face felt a more powerful bite as I leaned into the west wind. With my head down and my eyes watering, I followed the tire tracks back home, quickly located the missing gear, and retraced the path back out to my fishing site.           

            Finally I was fishing, but since my rubber-soled boots were resting on the wet ice, I had this uneasy feeling that a wrong move could result in my slipping off the chair and sliding “downhill” into the sizeable hole in the ice. The thought was unsettling but thrilling – thrilling as in “I could die out here!” I opened the thermos and poured a steaming cup of coffee. This settled my nerves and I was soon caught in the routine of the fishing tradition …the rhythm of the protective canvas fabric snapping against the wind…staring down into the shimmering green water…pulling the bright red and white decoy in half circles… mesmerizing… mystical… hypnotizing. Spearing was everything described in the stories told by the older fishermen who came before me – but it was more. I was part of something more than myself. I was part of nature. I was within the cycle of life, a player in that ritual of survival. I was able to peek at the great ideas of man… predator and prey…evolution…survival of the fittest. I could see all the way back to creation. I saw the glaciers shaping the land. I was primeval man. My mind came alive with ideas!

            I fished enthusiastically for about 30 minutes when an especially strong gust of wind blasted into the side of the shelter. The force lifted the canvas from the ice. The weighted-down border of the fabric walls literally exploded out of the snow; the shanty lifted, floated near eye-level, and strained like a “spring-time” kite against its tie to the 4-wheeled anchor. As I perched on my stool, my view of the lake was now unobstructed in three directions. 

            It was good to return home. Faint columns of steam gently rose above my coffee as I watched the far shore fade in and out of focus behind flurries of fresh snow. Flakes built and rebuilt dunes across the tracks of my expedition. The weather channel said that the wind was gusting to 45 mph outside. Inside, sheltered behind the panes of glass, the pleasant aroma of onions and roast beef ebbed from the kitchen. I fought to keep my eyes open.

            Now when folks ask me if I fish, my answer is “NO … but I could if I wanted to!” For me, it is enough to know and understand the challenges, to appreciate the history and to have once participated. I am a “fisherman”.