A s the Christmas season approaches, I think it’s important to focus on what really matters. As the Yuletide tsunami crashes over us, we tend to focus too much on material things when we should be concentrating on what is truly important at this time of the year.
That’s right… Ice fishing.
When I ponder the meaning of the season, I’m reminded of just how blessed I am. I have been fortunate to receive something that every man secretly wishes for yet knows he is destined not to have. Like the ripest fruit just out of reach on the highest branch, most men can only dream of what has been bestowed upon me.
I have a wife who likes to ice fish.
Actually, she loves to ice fish. Last Christmas, after all of the presents were opened and the wrapping paper burned into giant ashes in the fireplace, she snuggled up next to me on the couch and said, “Oops, I forgot to give you this one.” After a peck on the cheek, she slipped an envelope into my hand. In the little white envelope was a picture of a high-end, two-person, portable ice shanty. Initially, I was confused. I had been talking incessantly about getting back into ice fishing after 20 years of the Army sending me to places like Haiti and Panama. Places that have a lot of trouble growing ice.
I gave her a questioning look and was told it was out in the garage! I was so excited I didn’t even mention that I thought it was a little lazy of her not to wrap it. An hour later and I had the shanty assembled and was ready to get out on the ice. I had it half loaded into the back of the pickup for some fishin’ before my wife reminded me that we still had to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. And we still had Christmas dinner to eat. And the kids wanted to spend time with their dad. And we didn’t have any ice yet.
On that last one, I stopped loading the shanty and grumbled as I drug it back to my garage. My wife laughed and assured me that we’d eventually get good ice and get in an inaugural trip. True to her words, it wasn’t long until we had enough ice on the lakes to safely fish, and we were off.
We unloaded at Muskegon Lake’s Snug Harbor. The parking area was only a little more crowded than in the height of summer so luckily we only had to walk about a mile to get to the ice. My lightweight shanty, sliding on its integrated sled, gained approximately 7.6 pounds with every step I took. As we passed the poor, miserable, wretches sitting on their buckets I could only hold my nose a little high in the air as I pulled my five-star hotel of a shanty to the perfect spot.
The perfect spot coincidentally showed up just in front of my impending heart attack, and I dug into the sled for my spud. You heard me right. I used a spud. My feeling was that gas augers were overrated and lazy. If a man couldn’t get out on the ice and chop his hole with a sharpened piece of iron he probably didn’t deserve to be out there.
Of course, my attitudes were forged when I had the strength of a 16-year-old kid who earned his ice spud money shoveling heavy snow. As 45-year-old me started the process of chipping away ice to make a hole my views on gas augers became much more liberal. Like an Al Franken and Nancy Pelosi love child kind of liberal. By the time, I had a couple of jagged holes whittled out of the ice I was ready to trade my youngest child for a nice gas auger. Only the fact that I love my son (and he was in the Army) kept me from making the swap.
After avoiding another heart attack cutting holes my wife and I popped open the shanty and hunkered down to catch some fish. As we jigged our little rods and reels, I nudged her and asked with a grin if she wanted to make out in an ice shanty.
My wife batted her eyelashes and said, “Sure big guy, I always loved a guy who….Hey! I got a bite!” She elbowed me out of the way as she reeled in her first of many fat bluegills.
Eventually, I needed to get out of the shanty and stretch my legs. I got out of the padded, comfy seat, unzipped the insulated door and stepped out onto the ice. As I looked out contentedly at the other fisherman I could only appreciate the fact that it was a gorgeous winter day, the fish were biting, and I had a wife who loved to do what I did. As I sighed in happiness, I heard a muffled exclamation from my better half. “Another fish,” I thought as I slowly turned around…to see my new shanty, with its integrated sled, sliding across the ice at a fair 3-5 knot clip.
This Christmas I’m asking for a gas auger. And ice anchors. Merry Christmas everybody!
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