If this is what global warming looks like, I’ll take it.
I’ve just returned from an annual ice-fishing trip that I’ve taken
now for 13 years with the same group of college buddies. In other
years, we’ve rented sleeper houses at Lake of the Woods, Mille
Lacs, Upper Red, and Cass.
This year, we bucked tradition and went to Alexandria. My family’s
got a cabin there and invested in a 14-foot by 8-foot fish house
over the summer. So the plan was to enjoy the comfy confines of the
cabin for sleeping and eating dinner, and then sitting in the fish
house the rest of the day (yes, we’re getting old, and comfort
suddenly is important).
For a variety of reasons – a 7-week-old baby, primarily – the fish
house hasn’t yet been on the ice.
Our plan was to drag it onto the ice for a couple of days this
weekend. Then some of the guys read about ATVs and trucks going
through the ice. They were a little hesitant, and our little group,
it seemed, had a decision to make.
And then Saturday was in the high 30s or low 40s. Ditto for Sunday.
And there was no reason for an enclosed house. We sat on the ice in
sweatshirts and bib overalls and watched our bobbers. We talked
smart and threw the football. We listened to music and wondered who
would catch the weekend’s biggest fish.
In the end, the fishing was slow. But luckily, we planned ahead and
brought some thick steaks and a pile of twice-baked potatoes. Yes,
it may be an ice-fishing trip, but we’re smart enough to know that
even if the fish are biting somewhere, it’s rarely beneath our