I can see all the way to the bottom

It had been awhile since I had gone ice fishing. And truth be told, I wasn’t truly “fishing” when I stepped into the portable fish house last weekend: My motive was to get some pictures–see how well I could record the surreal circumstance of standing in the dark and looking down into the brighter lake below.

I was at my family’s cabin on a lake up north, where the water is clear enough that, with the “reversed” lighting, a person can see all the way to the bottom.

My son and brother, both avid anglers, spent hours on the lake–even pulled the folded-up portable structure on a sled on foot rather than driving out. They were being frugal, since walking from the shoreline near the cabin was a shorter distance than driving the vehicle around the winding road to the access.

The ice was 19 inches deep, and so clear only the scrapes left by the augur made it obvious where ice stopped and water began. The guys had used one of their new pieces of equipment, a powered ice saw which allowed them to cut a line between drilled holes, then remove the giant square of ice and have an opening large enough for spearfishing–but they weren’t spearfishing, they only wanted a more open view as they dangled their lines.

It paid off. 

In the 20 to 30 minutes I was there, I watched as fish approached their suspended bait, swam languidly around it for a few moments, and then grabbed it. There was one moment that was like a “snowflake” of fish. Six or so sunfish were in a circle looking at the bait, their heads facing inward, their tails pointing outward in a surprisingly symmetrical shape.

One moment there would be only the two fish lines, then numerous fish in various shapes and sizes would arrive.

Being able to watch as the fish approached added a whole new level of excitement. There they would be, apparently making a leisurely assessment of the lure. It was fun to know just what the right moment was to jiggle the line and encourage Mr. Fish to take the hook.

The anglers among you have long since figured out the principal disadvantage to fishing in a single large hole–while the first angler would reel in the zig-zagging fish, the second angler had to get his line out of the way with all possible haste.

As I mentioned, I wasn’t fishing: perhaps if I had been, I would have found that part irritating. The guys didn’t seem bothered, though. The fishing was good enough, they each got their fair share of excitement.

Me, I got a few pictures I was pleased with. The fish showed up best, of course, when they were closer to the surface. With only lake water for a background, the pictures also don’t really make it clear whether the fish were large or small.

While out on the ice, I got a few photos of personal landmarks.  At one place along the shore is a rock at least eight feet wide and six feet tall. I once watched a group of six teenage boys climb on top of it and stand in a line, I think just because they could. For all the decades we’ve gone to this cabin–it used to belong to another family member who would generously allow us to use it–we have referred to it simply as “the rock,” since it’s a prominent element of the shoreline. It’s a great destination for a kayak race, and there is an inviting stretch of shallow water with a sandy bottom nearby–ideal for entertaining young children.

Thanks to my walk on the lake, I have a picture of the rock covered in snow. There is also a particularly majestic white pine tree which stands on a point. One of my summer photos features an eagle perched commandingly on one of its branches. Now I have a picture of that tree made mysterious by a misty snowfall.

It was a good weekend to be there–our timing may have been perfect, too. Since the narrow, winding road to the cabin already had nearly five inches of snow on it, and since the area was due to get six inches more this past weekend, it’s possible we may not be wise to try going back until there’ve been quite a few warm days.