Atop the ice - Part 1

LITTLE GLEN LAKE, Mich. -- We plunged over the shoreline hill and into the crystalline fog; the surefooted Ski-Doo quickly found the ice below. The fog made it hard to see, but Annette was driving and knew the way.

Like my first time on a horse, I held white-knuckled to the snowmobile’s passenger handle not knowing what to expect. But I liked it. The wind slapped my face, the ice in the air snapped me awake and I marveled that I was actually here. 

The assignment this day: Ice fishing. Annette was my guide.

It was pre-dawn. The fog was in fact a series of thin layers covering the lake and shoreline, climbing like stairs into the surrounding trees. But it was thick enough at ice level to muffle the “braaap” of the Ski-Doo’s engine.

It would be a beautiful day. Above the fog, the sky was nearly cloudless and turquoise blue. To the east, faint yellows began to show – hints of the sun. 

To folks like Annette Lewis who have practiced the art for years, ice fishing may seem routine. But to someone like me from the south who visits here in warmer seasons – only once before in February – ice fishing has remained a mystery.

Until today. 

Annette steered the Ski-Doo west, then nosed it more south and then east. We crossed multiple snowmobile tracks along the way … a patchwork of tread paths woven like fabric.

At first I thought Annette was lost, perhaps confused by the fog.

Anticipating the question, she shouted over the engine: “I’m checking to see if anyone else is out here!”

Sure enough, squat shanties softly appeared and then disappeared as we roared by. None seemed active – though to the novice, it’s difficult to know when a shanty is occupied and when not.

Soon she made a beeline to her shanty, which had been built by her husband Don, a home builder.  It’s Annette’s pride and joy. I would soon learn it’s her sanctuary, too.

The Ski-Doo puttered to a stop in front of the hut. Annette immediately began the routine: unlock the door, grab the shovel, move snow away from the entrance but fill snow in around the shanty’s seams to keep the ice below it from thawing. 

Then … bring out the propane tank that fuels the shanty’s small heater, fire it up and pull back the trap door on the floor.

Before describing that hole, let me describe the dark-green shanty – a marvel.

Its dimension is 6 feet square. You can stand inside, so its peak is about 7 feet. The black roof slopes slightly; a silver, capped chimney pops through it.

The door is perhaps 2 feet wide and features a porthole toward the top and a circle vent at the bottom. In addition to the porthole, there are two small windows, one on either side.

Outside and below each window is a long 2 x 4 piece of lumber bracketed to the shanty, extending beyond the shanty’s front and back by about a foot and a half. These are the handles used to lift the shanty aboard and off a sled, which at the start of the season is dragged by snowmobile to the favored spot on the ice.

Inside, the trim is polished pine with multiple shelves, hooks, pegs and other devices in place to organize equipment and accessories. High on the west wall: a carbon monoxide detector.

There are benches the length of the shanty on either side of the hole. Annette always brings towels to put on the benches to block the cold. It is cold this morning … 13 degrees. The heater hasn’t done much yet to change that. 

As for the hole … it’s 2 feet wide by 3 feet long. Don and friends created it by cutting through the foot-thick ice using a chain saw. The hole seems dark; you’re not sure of the depth below. Annette breaks through the thin layer of ice that firmed up over night, then grabs a bucket to scoop the ice chunks clear.

So far, Annette has left the narrow door open. The sun, now rising just above the horizon, shoots through.

“You ready to start?” Annette asks.

“Sure!” I replied.

She grabbed the door handle and swung it shut. The hut quickly turned dark, like she’d thrown a switch.  

The hole, once dark, now glowed a soft green powered by the daylight filtering through the ice.

It was quietly beautiful. The water was pristinely clear … you could see every detail of the sandy bottom 10 feet below.

And there, sliding back and forth, up and down, their eyes wide and mouths open, were ... the fish.

Next:  The power of minnows, the catch, and checking in on your neighbors.

To see photos of Part 1, click here.