Atop the ice, Part 2

LITTLE GLEN LAKE, Mich. – The minnows are the key.

We had met at 6:45 a.m. to grab bucketsful.  They swam by the thousands in underwater compartments inside a marina shed.

Annette and I carefully walked a narrow pier to reach them. It’s the first thing done when she sets out to ice fish. The buckets then go into the back of the truck, and it’s off to find the Ski-Doo atop the shore at Little Glen.

We’re in the shanty now, and the fishing lesson begins. You expect to be handed a fishing pole, but it’s also obvious that a traditional pole would poke the eye of the person across from you.

And yes, Annette has some short poles available. But the preferred method uses a thin, flat piece of wood, maybe a foot long, with “v’s” notched into each end. The fishing line is then wrapped the length of the wood piece, between the notches.

I grab one and unwrap the line, careful not to snag myself on the hook. Annette then instructs me to shove the wood piece under me, so that I’m sitting on it.

I figure this precaution is to prepare for landing “the big one” – a fish so big and mighty that it would rip the line from my hands. Mainly, though, in a space without much elbow room, it keeps the device out of the way.

Annette grabs the line, then attaches a minnow to the hook. The hook goes through the minnow’s eye socket. The goal is to not kill the minnow … you want it to swim for you below, to lure the fish.

And sure enough, when lowered, the minnow does its duty, swimming in circles.

Within seconds, perch begin to investigate. They approach the minnow; perhaps even nibble a bit. It takes some practice, though, to know when a nibble becomes a bite.

When the fish bite, it’s important to jerk your hand up, to land the hook. And that’s what I did … with some regularity, I might add. 

Okay, it’s not like I was a veteran on some Saturday-morning TV fishing program. But I was fishing, damn it, and catching some, too.

Everyone has her or his own technique, says Annette, who’s been fishing this way for 10 years. And some folks do seem to fish better than others.

Ken, a friend of Annette and Don’s, is considered the Pied Piper of the perch, pike and other species that wander the lake, Annette says.

And it’s true: Just when the fish seem to be avoiding Annette’s shanty, Ken stops by to suggest I try out one of his shanties. I hop on his snowmobile and off we go. (There we are, in the photo, approaching his shanty.) Unlike Annette’s, this shanty was bare-bones basic – a heater, a hole and two benches.

But lots of fish. I caught them by the minute, it seemed.

While fishing, Ken and I got acquainted. Retired now, he worked through some jobs in the telephone business. But his most striking memories seemed to be of when he served as a gunner in a Vietnam War helicopter.

It was after that tough experience, Ken said, that he vowed to live each day to its fullest … to celebrate what he had, to not take anything for granted, to give back. He’s on the local school board, for example.

No one knows why Ken is such a master at fishing – he denies knowing anything special. But he succeeds.

I have a theory. I suggest the fish go to Ken because he’s earned them. I’m sure Ken would say no.

Though the typical shanty seems a place where isolation reigns, in fact visitors seem frequent.

The quiet is broken gradually: You hear the hum of an approaching snowmobile, then the clomp of boots on ice. Then the door pops open, letting in the sharp sun. It takes a second for the eyes to adjust.

The visitor leans through the door, and everyone then catches up on the latest. "How are they bitin'?Any luck? Me, not so much."

Annette values the quiet. But it’s clear she appreciates the occasional neighborly hellos. Folks also tend to help the other by trading favors.  Annette asked Ken if he’d clean my fish … I’d never done it. He agreed without hesitation. Not sure what was owed in return.

She and I talked about what it was like to live year-round by the lake, and what the locals think of the summer visitors.

Not surprisingly, the visitors are welcome, in no small part because of the dollars they bring. But Annette says everyone relaxes a lot more when out-of-towners head back home.

We paused mid-day to go have lunch at Art’s Tavern. Annette bought fried smelt to share. Countless local residents, it seemed, stopped by our booth to bid Annette hello. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else in and around Glen Arbor, Annette says.

A lot of people might not like that constant closeness. But here, at Art’s, it seems a very good thing.

* * *

Last week, Annette emailed me.

“Ken stopped by today with fresh honey … lots of trading going on in and around those shanties of his!" she wrote.

But the news wasn't just about the barter economy.

"Ken had moved his shanty closer to the Narrows," she added, "and I heard that he and his fishing partners caught like crazy!

"Those are the really exciting days – we’ve been lucky enough to have them a few times ourselves."

Then she shared word of another season now past:

"We took our shanty off the ice Monday. No fish, and the weather was to change."

She sent me a photo of the hut on a trailer, being hauled away.

“Time to filet," she said. 

"Makes me tired thinking about it!”

To see all of the photos from the fishing trip, click here.