Oh, where do I even begin? HHH, his four brothers, and various cousins and friends have an annual tradition. Every year, the days between Christmas and New Year’s are reserved for ice fishing. Now, when HHH says “ice fishing,” he might as well be saying, “I’m going to brave the frozen tundra for fun with my bros.” Because that’s what it is, folks—a weekend getaway from the holiday chaos and retirement, which, includes me and the dogs.
Before Christmas last year, I asked him what he needed for this “fishing excursion.” Simple: a parka that could double as a tent, boots that could withstand a blizzard, a thermal flask, a bucket of snacks, and of course, his trusty fishing rod. I made sure Christmas 2023 was packed with a few extras for the outing including an Ice Fishing Tent and a fish-finder thing-a-ma-jig. With sadness, all these things stayed in their boxes, as there was no ice last year. Hence, no ice fishing.
Through news reports, 2024 ice is a bit better.
Yesterday, he was up before the sun, giddy with delight. (If you didn’t know, ice fishing brings out a very particular kind of joy in men—a mix of smug satisfaction and childlike wonder.) He hurried around the house grabbing last-minute belongings, not forgetting anything.
HHH is an expert at packing. Having experienced this adventure for 40 years, he knew exactly what things to put in the back of the truck. Along with the gear, he fixed himself two delicious ham sandwiches and packed a suitcase full of clothes.
After dropping him off at The Mayor’s house, I returned to Winterpast—ready to enjoy some peace and quiet of my own. I’ll admit, I’m amused by the thought of five brothers and friends on the ice. The thought of “Grumpy Old Men” came to mind.
Fast forward to late in the afternoon. HHH texted me a picture of him holding the biggest bloody trout I’ve ever seen. He later called with an update. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Wow! That’s one heck of a trophy fish! How are things going.”
HHH: “Well, it’s been tough. The fish weren’t biting today.” He then fessed up that trophy fish belonged to an angler across the way. It WAS a beauty. Heck, I’d like a picture holding that 23″ beauty (although I would have rinsed it off first).
Me: “Really? You’re out there freezing your toes off, and no fish?”
Mark: “Nope, but the ice got pretty thin when we left. We had to wade a little. A friend had water up to his chest. He’s in the shower now, trying to warm up.”
After hearing a few more “updates” throughout the day, I could tell he was bonding with the other guys over a shared love of being in the cold for no reason at all, except to say they did it. (You know, because that’s what real men do—suffer for the thrill of it in chest level ice cold water.)
With a quick turnaround, HHH will be back home to celebrate New Year’s Eve at Winterpast. As he was leaving, I promised to have dinner waiting for him. Not being a fan of fish, I really hope they don’t catch many, or better yet, catch hundreds only to let them go to be caught another day.
I’m sure he’ll have plenty to share about freezing winds and “intense survival challenges”. I hope the wolves stay far from the clam shell and the ice doesn’t melt anymore than it already has. The main goal is that everyone will return in one piece, while what happens at the icy lake stays at the icy lake.
The best part of his trips will always be the bonding time between men-folk. Our fellas need guy time. Far too many men spend hour after hour on the couch without any chance to escape. I hope he returns home tired, disheveled, and ready to put away the clamshell and fish finder for another year.
Next year? I’ll be ready to drop him off at The Mayor’s house again. Because this time, I just might plan a winter adventure of my own. Hmmmmm. A day at the spa sounds much more grand than one on a frozen lake. We’ll just see about that.
More tomorrow.