The Ice Fishing Spirit Blessed Us

I was visiting my father at the beginning of last winter. Since Mother died, Dad has moved up to his little cabin near Bemidji. We both went out on one snowmobile to the ice-fishing shack. Winter had just begun, and the ice on the lake was clear; not much snow had fallen.

We spent about four hours fishing and telling stories, with me telling him about my new life in the Twin Cities. He was glad to have left them for the north. We were connecting on that high level that happens while you ice fish. Most of you non-ice fishermen wouldn’t understand.

We did not see any stars; it was dark, cold, and time to leave. I started up the snow machine and headed off into the night. I took off in the wrong direction, and got turned around, but knew the lake well enough to know we would find our way.

I slowed down because something didn’t feel right; I was in the area of the lake that is spring fed under the ice. I stopped the snowmobile to get my directions. I noticed the ice cracking; I grabbed my father and pulled him off the sled, and the ice kept cracking. Splish, the snowmobile sank into the dark, gone. It happened so fast.

We stood there, holding onto each other, not knowing what was happening. We waited for the cold icy water to take us. A few seconds later, we opened our eyes, and we were standing on the most amazing ring of light. The machine’s lights were still on, the ice was clear and still holding us; we were standing on a light box made of ice, surrounded by the most incredible light. It was more than magic. We stayed as long as we could, feeling blessed. We finally walked off to find our way home to the warm little cabin. No words were spoken. We both knew that we just had been blessed by the ice-fishing spirits.