On Ice


The 2nd Week in January.

In Minnesota, unlike southern states like Vermont, it is possible for an immigrant from another state to gain "native" status before death. Although I don't own a snowmobile, I own stock in one of "our" companies (acronym SNO). I do fish, although I don't own a boat. We have rehabbed a cabin originally built in 1913, which permits us to go the most common weekend destination for a Minnesotan"the lake". The fact that we own a highly productive swamp means I am capable of sensing a wood tick almost the instant it starts its trek up my leg. I'm also blessed with a one hour recovery time from a mosquito bite, which makes it seem as though I'm almost immune, something which impresses the natives. I haven't "got my deer," as they say up here, but Earl (my neighbor) and I did dress a fresh roadkill in my garage last fall, hung it in my garage for a few days, and we all (including Augen, the malamute) thoroughly enjoyed the bambi spaghetti sauce. Augen became totally enamored of the garage and took to "guarding" the big door in order to protect "his" kill. Readers of these pages (See BYO Winter 1994) are aware that, due mostly to my experience with the products of the British auto industry, I know how to prep and maintain a car for extended cold weather running.

Nevertheless, in an effort to attain true "nativeness", every year Henry and I and often, but not always, some other friends, go ice fishing around the second week in January. We have been doing this for about five, maybe six years. For the last three years we haven't caught much of anything, except a hangover, although this year Henry caught a good size crappie. Over the years we have fished the Mecca of Ice fishing, Mille Lacs lake, a 26 mile diameter lake 90 miles north of the twins which transforms itself into an ice village from December until the end of February. Because the lakes in Minnesota freeze with almost probability 1 by December 1 and don't thaw until April, it pays to invest in ice fishing equipment which would otherwise be "uneconomic" in say Madison, which can go until January before freezing over. So, for those of you who have ice fished in Madison, the Minnesota variant is significantly more capital intensive.

The first difference is the ice house. Most ice fishers in Wisconsin just sit out there in the cold, while a Minnesotan facing four solid months of fishing, every year will invest in an ice house. (One way to definitely let people know your not native is to refer to an ice house as an "ice shack." When Noah Adams did this in his radio show, before realizing that he'd never attain nativeness and returned to NPR in D.C., the entire audience groaned and began whispering ".. he said ice shack, ice shack!...). The typical ice house, say a four "holer" is built from a floor of two 4 by 8 sheets of plywood, a door, two rather crudely done windows, a couple of old chairs, maybe a table, a coat rack and a propane heater. Minnesotans are pretty good about insulating their houses, in some cases too good, and every year one or two people die from carbon monoxide inhalation. Nevertheless, they warm up reltaviely quickly. Nicer ones include some sort of lighting, maybe a 12 volt battery or coleman lantern.

The ice house is moved onto the ice with a late 70s 4 by 4 pickup, which because Ford assembles most of its pickups in St. Paul, are almost always, yellow or green, Fords. To get to and from the ice house, which on Mille lacs could be 3 or four miles from shore, Minnesotans take their truck or a snowmobile or ATV. Drilling holes in four feet of ice is no problem with your $200 ice auger, often made by the Japanese company "Echo", which seems to be the preferred brand of ice auger for serious fisherpeople. (Just why the Japanese are good at making ice augers is a mystery). On a warm day in early January, say high of 5 or zero, the house can get quite warm and one can fish in a sweatshirt and overalls. If your boots are wet (or frozen) just set them in front of the heater and they'll thaw and dry in about an hour or so. Last year Henry and I (you remember the truck story) fished on a very cold day: high of -17, nevertheless, the house was comfortable, no fish though.

The most memorable trip, for me was in 1993. Henry, Zeek and I went to "the cabin". I had never been to the cabin in winter. I don't think the cabin was expecting us either. It was to be the coldest day of the winter, high of -12, low -35. The cabin is 176 miles north and west from our house, north and west of the "mecca" by 60 and 20 miles, respectively, 15 miles south of Walker , MN on Leech lake, famous for its late winter "eelpout festival." Our cabin was built in 1913 and looked every bit of it. It was one of the first cabins on the lake and was the second cabin built on the peninsula, known as "Boone point", after Boone Iowa, from where the owners originated. As one of the earliest cabins on the lake, building codes did not apply, particularly the code which required 75 feet between shore and structure. I measured the distance from shore with the better part of a 25' tape measure. In the front room in the morning it sounds like you're on the lake. Between 1963 and 1987 it lay uninhabited, by humans. Porcupine seemed to be the highest order occupants, who having chewed a hole in the back of the cabin, found entry relatively simple. Chipmunks (ground squirrels), mice, bats etc. all found life quite comfortable, as the piles and piles of pine cone remains attested.

By Fall 1992, windows, floor, roof, roofing, plumbing, fireplace door, electricity, hot water, some paneling and insulation had been installed. Yet to come was the back door, the rest of the paneling in the loft and more insulation, all of which are now done. After our 1992 trip to Mille Lacs, with no success and lots of money for renting a small cabin plus ice house for three days I persuaded Henry that next year we'll go to my cabin, rent an ice house and live on the cheap. Besides, I had never seen the cabin in deep winter and was intrigued to find out how it would perform in the severe cold. After all I had insulated the ceiling, reworked the fireplace, which stood in the middle of the cabin, with a nice glass door which could restrict airflow and obtain some efficiency. The fireplace was vented through a class C chimney which provided additional heat until it made the transition to the outside, in which case the chimney turned into double wall, insulated class A chimney.

Early Friday afternoon Henry and Zeek arrive. No sled, no shovel. Where did they think we were going? The casino! How we going to get things into the cabin? We pack up my only good sled, two shovels, and north woods girl Becky remembers a gallon jug of water. Henry and Zeek look at her and put it in the back of the truck. Becky retrieves it and puts it in the cab. They discuss the situation and Becky informs them that we'll need it to prime the hand pump--our only source of water. They are convinced. Henry driving, Zeek up front and Augen and I in the backseat,with jug of water, take off for the cabin. My cross country skis are along for good measure,as well as a battery charger and tools. Beer is in the back, fighting the temperature gradient. It is about zero for the high where we are, where we are going is actually the only zone 2 gardening area in the lower 48. Zone 2 gets down to -50 F. Three hours later we arrive, we have some daylight left. The last 1/2 mile of the road is unplowed.We all get out. Survey the situation. Most of the way is downhill, Minnesota snow is like powder, especially up here, not too much trouble to get through it. We get halfway. Zeek and I start digging a place to park, Henry puts the vehicle at the first of the five cabins, aunt Elloise's. (The oldest of three daughters). Ours is the fourth, about 150 yards away. I load a case of beer, some groceries onto the sled and head toward the cabin. Augen follows. Zeek and Henry are still getting their bearings but follow presently.

Once inside Henry makes a fire, I assemble the pump and get some water, amazing that hand pumps work at -20 but nothing else does. By late afternoon we are ready to go and find the ice house. We load into the truck and, with my good friend from Illinois driving in Minnesota powder, get stuck. Zeek and I get out and push and stand on the tailgate, with some effect. Henry however, is still driving like he's in Chicago. We don't make it very far. We switch and with Henry's extra weight and my lighter foot we make it out easily. The ice house is standard, situated in a cluster in what is known as the "back bay". We fish and drink beer. By midnight we return to the cabin. No residual heat whatsoever. We load in armload after armload of wood. Becky had made us some chillie which, we did have electricity, went down real nice, especially with the 15 degree capitol special (Lagers and pilsners will freeze at about 12 degrtees F).

With -35 temperature imminent, we found ourselves busy feeding the fireplace. In spite of our best efforts, due to the leaky back door, snow accumulated in the kitchen. The beer was getting dangerously close to frozen. Zeek and I went into the loft and soon shed layer after layer. 250 pound Henry, did not trust my carpentry up there and remained on the first floor, feeding the voracious fireplace. We soon realized that a fan was the ticket and that with one we would be able to equilibrate the temperature of the structure. Zeek and Henry set about to find one from the other cabins, for which we had keys. They returned with an ancient, un OSHA approved fan that did something, but was not much in the face of the temperature gradient we were fighting. Henry kept feeding, Zeek and I kept taking off layers until we were shirtless. I went to sleep with the image of the stovepipe glowing a faint orange. 1/3 of a cord of wood later: We stayed warm. I don't think Henry did.

We woke. Zeek and I were warm, Henry was crabby. We soon made coffee and headed out to town for breakfast. It was 10:30 and it was -15 . Snowmobilers were out in force. We headed for the relative warmth of the ice house, for a full day of fishing. Ignoring the fact that no fish were biting, our biggest problem was frozen beer. I soon discovered that the reason my feet were cold was that my liners were frozen. A half hour in front of the propane heater no problem. After a couple of hours I walked across the bay to the cabin. Without leaves, sitting on the peninsula, it appeared quite vulnerable. It was the 80th anniversary of its construction and there it stood. Augen was inside sleeping, content in the 0 degree inside temperature. I took a few pictures then returned to the ice house. We fished and drank. No fish, but dead beers.

By sunset we were cold and, for no apparent reason headed back to the cabin. Henry made another fire, Zeek fried up some venison steaks and I went outside to get some water for the morning coffee and evening dishes. The steaks were good. Real good. Venison can taste dry all by itself, maybe it was the fact that we were cold, maybe we were cold and hungry, maybe we were cold, hungry and tipsy, anyway the food tasted real REAL good. After dinner, ever the perfect guest, Zeek, chef extrordanaire decided to clean up. First on his list was the snow drift in the kitchen. We soon had that under control, but the fact that, although we were able to heat the upper level, no way could we get overcome the fact that heat rises. The floor had tracked in snow all over it , an annoyance that affected the perfect guest.

After sweeping up he shook the throw rug near the fireplace, which of course contained snow. Upon contacting the tempered glass of a very hot fireplace door, snow will cause it to shatter. Based on only one observation, one might question the generality of this statement, but if you had heard and seen how thoroughly the door shattered, you would have little doubt about its accuracy.

We lost all hope. No way could we keep the beer from freezing now. We had no choice, the fireplace could not be used without the door--too much smoke. We were done. 9:00 Saturday night, little more than 24 hours after arriving, we packed up. After some difficulty we made it out to the road, Henry driving, Zeek and I drank all the way home. The door would wait until spring. The chimney still bears the bluish scars of the heat treatment it received that night. No way will Henry or Zeek ever return to the cabin in winter. Anyone want to go fishing next January?



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