However, ice fishing is a quiet, zen-like experience and is most fitting for those who are at peace with themselves. We see ourselves as enlightened, the ones filled with the simple pleasures of knowing our place in life, of feeling the intensity in waiting and patience.
But in addition to being so obviously spiritual, it also boasts the shear excitement of the catch. Yesterday, Jim Treb and I ventured out to Spring Lake to spend a pleasant afternoon savoring the crisp and wintry air, all the while listening to the wild goose frolic in the unfrozen river and watch the Bald Eagle peruse the lowlands for a delicate meal of dead rotting fish or dismembered possum.
Then it happened, Jim threw a momentary glance to his tip-up to the east, and as he did, the flag flashed skyward, indicating, that at that very moment, there had been a clash of aquatic life. A giant Northern Pike had eaten his struggling minnow. Jim slowly, but cautiously set down his Miller lite, and stealthfully worked his way to the now moving tip-up. It was a tense moment. His first steps were well thought out and deliberately not placed in rapid succession for fear of alerting the bite of the mighty fish. The reel spun with a deliberate intention. Jim, now gloveless, reached into sub-zero water and grabbed the line. In a flash he struck the fish. The fight was on.
He for a moment struggled to hold as the water wolf ripped out the line through his numbing fingers. But like the fisherman he is, he held and slowly worked the angry and viscious fish to the ice hole much like the Yu'pik Eskimos. In a last gallant moment, Jim brought the fish up into the frigid air. His hands were close to frost bite but on his face there was a certain satisfaction knowing he had carried the day. He was a fisherman.
Never, ever tell me ice-fishing is not exciting and at the same time introspective and enlightening. He measured the fish at 25 inches and returned it to the Lake unharmed. It was too small.
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