Ice-Fishing

Many years ago when the children were small and I was lucky enough to get a sitter, my husband and I spent a night on Mille Lacs Lake in the low ebb of January. I had heard the stories of fun and delights of the fish house, (not much said about catching fish), so being a "I'll try it once" sort, I was anxious to try my hand at this great sport.

Late in the day we drove onto the ice with some crackling from under, but nothing alarming. We settled into the four-bunk house, the wick lamps lit and the holes cleared of loose ice, eating ham sandwiches with a beer wash, (when in Rome--). I noted the water in the holes slushing up and down, "Someone is driving on the ice.” Okay. The lines were set and the cribbage board brought out. Better not to discuss the "rest room" arrangements. I took off my outer coat(s) and having tired of all this luxury, I settled into a lower bunk. This is where the fun stops and the terror begins. All night at diverse intervals a muffled roar would start at a distant shore and crack, crash and bam! toward the ice-house. Each time the crashes would seemingly come right through the ice under us. "It's colder, the lake is freezing deeper.” Okay.

I will never forget that frightful night with little sleep. If we caught fish, I don't recall. Having never again placed myself in these circumstances of a frigid Minnesota January, I don't know if the experience was typical. Now I am a "been there, did it" advocate to this "great" sport!