This time of year, we used to go ice fishing every weekend. If this sounds odd, life across America’s Northern Tier was – and still is – defined by old and reliable traditions, like ice fishing. The thing many do not appreciate is that old traditions continue for reasons. They teach us to be strong.
The reason we do much of what we do is not just nostalgia or habit – although those matter – but practicality, lessons learned, ways to reinforce what matters in a world quick to ditch what works.
Growing up, we would put bait fish in a bucket, typically small shiners or tommy cod, load the bucket on a toboggan, then hitch the toboggan to a snowmobile. Besides the bait bucket, we would pile traps, wood, reels, and line, and some firewood. We topped up the gas and headed for a frozen lake.
Out on the lake – something few appreciate unless you have done it – we reveled in the wind, which could bite like a shark, reason for bringing wood, topping up gas, and a pain in the uncaught bass. Winter wind was not friendly, not that summer, warm, wonderful, kind, but a kick in the behind.
When we got out there, lessons came at us. We learned that preparing was key, having warm gloves – and mittens better – lots of dry matches, tinder, and seasoned wood, since warmth was good.
We would chisel a dozen holes in the ice, midwinter, a foot thick or more, then hide behind our windbreak – in later years, the ice shack door. We waited for fish to bite, watching like hawks.
Ice fishing may seem slow, but it builds patience. It taught us to use time wisely, half looking for flags to pop, which signaled a hungry fish, the other half reading, cooking, and learning to wait.
On really cold days, when we wanted a perch or pickerel, dreamed of hauling up a landlocked salmon and bragging back on shore, we would wonder aloud, can I do anything more?
Here is where the lesson of “jigging” came in. If you have never jigged, it is a term of art, a North Woods trick, the sort Robert Frost might have written about.
On very cold days, we would watch for a flag to pop, and – as kids – pull the trap, tend the line, try to feel the fish await a sign. Fish would grab the bait, tug a bit, run the line, get lazy, leaving us unsatisfied, apparently no interest in getting caught and fried.
That is when we learned to suffer the wind, let it howl in our ears, fall and rise, get small and big, as we dropped to our knees, took off our gloves, grabbed the line, and started to jig.
“Jigging” is to hold the line loosely, gently tug and let go, give the fish something to look at, or, if hooked, think about, as you set the hook. It could make the day a success. Jigging is the act of patience on your frozen knees, hovering over a big black hole…in zero degrees.
Jigging patiently in sub-zero weather, fishing to make the day’s effort worthwhile, going that extra mile, was a habit we learned – no matter what we ate –and something we tried to cultivate.
All this reminds me of a Robert Frost poem, not one known to many. It is entitled “Good Bye and Keep Cold.” The relevant verses are these:
“This saying goodbye on the edge of the dark, And the cold to an orchard so young in the bark, Reminds me of all that can happen to harm, An orchard away at the end of the farm.”
“All winter, cut off by a hill from the house. I don’t want it girdled by rabbit and mouse, I don’t want it dreamily nibbled for browse. By deer, and I don’t want it budded by grouse…I don’t want it stirred by the heat of the sun.”
“We made it secure against being, I hope, by setting it out on a northerly slope. No orchard’s the worse for the wintriest storm, But one thing about it, it mustn’t get warm. How often already you’ve had to be told, Keep cold, young orchard. Goodbye and keep cold.”
At the end of a long day of ice fishing, we had learned lessons that keep, how to bait and set traps, chisel and make a windbreak, kneel and jig in high wind, keep our attitude, and end days with gratitude. So, to the orchard and frozen lake, goodbye and keep cold. But friends known long, stay strong.
Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, Maine attorney, ten-year naval intelligence officer (USNR), and 25-year businessman. He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (North Country Press, 2018), and “Cherish America: Stories of Courage, Character, and Kindness” (Tower Publishing, 2024). He is the National Spokesman for AMAC. Today, he is running to be Maine’s next Governor (please visit BobbyforMaine.com to learn more)!
Ice fishing makes me think of the movie, Grumpy Old Men. I think that movie was in Minnesota. The message of perseverance, and friendship came through. Now when I think of Minnesota, chaos and foolishness come to mind. Happy fishing to all.
I used to ice fish. After a while i gave my ice auger to my neighbor to use. Some years later, he asked if I wanted it back since he was moving to Florida. I said, ” Absolutely not! If I have it, I might be tempted to take up ice fishing again.”
RBC, I enjoyed fishing as a kid and do it now with my children and grandchildren. Never been ice fishing and I will leave that to you. Good article about patience.
Have a good weekend!
I knew this would be your article, RBC, just by the title! Good article, too. I remember people out ice fishing on Lake Erie – when I was little- first or 2nd grade little..The ice would be SOOO thick, and they’d be out near the breakwall and lighthouse with their little shacks; some with just a camp stool to sit on, all with their fishing holes hacked out of that thick ice, with a fishing line, or 3 or 4, down in that hole. I was never allowed to stick around long enough to see if, or what, they caught. I remember how cold it was, that cold North wind and the way the ice would slowly rise and fall- just a little, but enough to feel the movement, and hear the creaking! Good memories!
Sorry, but Winter Sports have always left me Cold!
I would love to try ice fishing. My Hubby is not so much game. I’m the caster in the family. He will clean it and eat it. So there’s that.
This article certainly takes me back to my younger years when living in Maine. The guys would all head up to Caribou Lake to ice fish. It could get down to 20 below 0. Luckily, we had a plastic igloo and a propane heater that would keep the inside a comfy 30 above. Fishing was usually good and the fellowship better.