My father was a quiet man, not one for long explanations or lectures. But just spending time with him taught me important life lessons. One of his classrooms was a frozen fishing lake.

Ice fishing is a lesson in patience. As a middle child eager to spend time with my father, who loved to ice fish, I impatiently awaited the ice to thicken and the weekend when Dad had time off. Once those two things happened, my older sister, younger brother and I would help Dad pack the Rambler station wagon with ice skates, a shovel, fishing gear, drinks, lunches, the toboggan (so long that part of it had to stick out the back window), and finally, ourselves. The amount of gear varied depending on whether we were heading to a nearby lake or traveling to Shawano, Wisconsin, where my grandfather would join us.

Shawano Lake was so large that anglers would drive out onto it. As Dad steered toward the middle of the lake, we’d sometimes hear one of those terrifying “booooming” sounds from below, making it seem like the ice was cracking. The first time I heard it, I cried out, sure we were about to plunge into freezing water. 

Dad wouldn’t have explained that the sound was reassuring, caused by water freezing and expanding, pushing against the old ice, making it more solid. Instead, he’d simply say, “You’ll live.”

Once we reached what Dad hoped would be the “hot spot,” we’d drill holes. He had an old auger that never worked well, so he’d end up using a spud instead. Next, we’d bait tip-ups with minnows. If Grandpa had joined us and brought his ice shanty, we’d set it up. Inside the cozy fish house, we’d drill more holes to jig for bluegills, pumpkinseeds or crappies. We’d thread waxies on hooks and jerk our poles occasionally to attract hungry fish. Grandpa would start the smelly kerosene heater if we got cold, and we’d peer through the scratched plexiglass windows, hoping to be the first to spot a tip-up. Patience... patience...

When we complained about boredom, Dad would shovel off a patch of ice for us to ice skate. It was a rare winter when the ice was smooth, so the frozen lake was great practice for a second life lesson: learning how to navigate life’s bumps.

We’d glide, only to hit a bump or have a skate blade fall into a crack. We’d fall, get up and try again. Fall, get up, try again.

We’d further our education about life’s bumps when we’d convince Dad to take us on a toboggan ride. He’d tie a rope to the station wagon’s bumper and search for smooth ice, but we had to prepare for the ruts, too.

After all that excitement, we’d grab our hot chocolate and lunch. We’d sit on upside-down pails or right on the snow, letting the sun reflect off it to warm us. My siblings and I would tease one another or chat, all while keeping an eye on the tip-ups, hoping to be the first to shout, “Tip-up!”

We’d be on double alert if Grandpa was along, as he liked to trick us and shout, “Tip-up!” when there wasn’t one.

If the flag was raised, everyone would run to the hole. 

“It’s your turn,” Dad might tell me. 

I’d slowly remove the tip-up and set it on the ice. After peeling off my gloves, I’d pick up the line and “feel for a fish.” Would I be lucky enough to hook a walleye, northern or musky? Wait for the tug...wait...now!

I’d jerk the line back, and that glorious thrill of knowing a fish was on the line would rush through me. Hand over hand, I’d pull, and if my luck held, I’d get to pull it from the hole, seeing Dad’s grin as the fish flopped on the ice. Those moments are memories I’ll always cherish.

Ice fishing has gifted me many treasured memories. Once, Dad and I were out on a shallow lake when the fishing was slow. He put down his jig pole and invited me to lie on the ice to look down the hole. After I did, he took off his coat and covered my head with it, blocking out the light. Suddenly, the underwater world came to life. I saw a sandy bottom and aquatic plants waving in the gentle current. Then, there it was—a bluegill, its fins undulating as it swam by.

Three wintry lessons I learned while ice fishing with my dad:

1. Learn to wait. 

2. Navigate the bumps. 

3. Treasure the wondrous
moments.

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