Until I
moved to Alaska, the only thing I knew about ice fishing was a scene
in the movie, “Grumpy Old Men.” I never thought I would do it.
Who would? It seemed like the sort of thing women made their
husbands do to get them out of the house on long winter days.
Vendors are complicit by selling all sorts of paraphernalia so men
would feel that squatting on a frozen lake is more desirable than
sitting by the fire in a warm and cozy home.
But now,
I have not only been ice fishing (a grand total of two times), but I
actually enjoyed it and look forward to going again (as long as ithe
weather is sunny and still).
The
first time, I went with a group of ladies I've met by virtue of their
annual women-only weekend at a cabin in the vicinity. They had
mentioned this invitation before and I had hoped it would come to
pass, so when I saw them whiz past my property toward their lodging
the night before, I gathered together three layers of socks, two
layers of pants, three layers of tops, gloves with liners, and a cap
I could wear under my snow machine helmet.
The next
day, at noon, I heard them snow machining across the lake and toward
my cabin so I scurried into my clothes and followed them in my snow
machine. Our destination was not far, as the crow flies, but we took
a 45 minute route shaped like a giant “U” in order to stay on
flat trails rather than hazard crossing a creek with steep sides and
boulders perched in the middle of the frozen stream. We arrived at a
hammer shaped lake that I never would have found otherwise. Despite
no marked trail, three men and a woman were already set up,
monitoring several holes. They watched as we four women unloaded a
trailer of supplies.
