– Random Writings: Column by Rebecca Lindquist – - The one that got away

– Random Writings: Column by Rebecca Lindquist –

The permanent ice shanties should all be removed, but I still shudder, every time I drive past a pond or lake, and see diehard anglers, attempting to land one last whopper, surrounded by areas of open water. It brings back memories of the few times I have been ice fishing.

My first encounter, with this particular sport, was when I was a sophomore in high school. Dad, my brother, Tim, and I, had gone to town for a few items. Driving home, Dad decided to make a small detour to a nearby lake. It was a very cold January morning, but the sun was shining brightly against a vivid blue sky.

I was surprised by the amount of trawlers scattered across the frozen water. Dad had always loved fishing and the bustling activity piqued his interest, so much so, that I was wholly unprepared, when he drove our solid Ford 4x4 truck, with topper, weighing anywhere between 4,000 to 5,500 pounds, right out onto the ice.

A little heads-up might have been nice. I had never even walked out on a frozen lake, let alone been strapped inside a massive instrument of death that could plunge into the icy fathomless depths, at any given moment.

Dad reassured me it was perfectly safe to drive on. The cracking and groaning sounds, as we drove farther and farther out, tended to nullify that claim. He also said that if we happened to break through the ice, we could get out through his window. That’s why he had it open.

Nice try, Dad.

First of all, the window was open, because he smoked cigarettes and needed some place to flick the ashes. Secondly, I was an abundant teenager, with a fondness for copious amounts of food (like I could possibly fit through the window). Lastly, and the most pertinent detail, what good was an open window, when I couldn’t swim???

It was such an unnerving experience, I ached for a couple days after, from clenching my muscles so tightly, until we were back safely on solid ground. My second experience probably doesn’t even count.

I accompanied Dad and Tim, and because I was too chicken to venture out onto the ice, I sat on a pail, about 10 feet from shore. I don’t think there was even enough water to support a floating fish. Shockingly, I didn’t catch anything that day.

My final ice fishing foray was with my usual partners of mischievous adventure. The ice was thin in places and you could see water pooled on top in many spots. Dad had drilled a hole out in the middle of the lake and Tim decided to strike out in a different direction.

As he’s walking along, his footsteps became more and more pronounced, the farther he walked. Fortunately, when he realized he was on extremely thin ice, he decided to retrace his steps and came to fish near me. I was casting from the bank toward open water.

All of the sudden, the tip of his pole started bending. The fish was a spirited fighter and, after several attempts, Tim managed to reel it in. Just before he got it to shore, the line snapped. If I hadn’t been there to witness it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it!

Tim threw his pole down and literally dove after the fish, grabbing it with his bare hands. He had caught a huge musky. It had to have measured at least 4 feet. Tim is over 6 feet tall and it was all he could do to hold onto it.

It was a miracle he didn’t plunge through the ice, because there was open water, right where he jumped to grab his trophy. Tim’s smile was ear to ear, as he ran the stringer through the fish’s gills twice, to make sure it was secure, before placing it back in the water, until we were ready to leave. Dad heard our excited shouts and started coming toward us.

At that moment, the musky gave one powerful lunge, snapping the stringer and disappearing forever in the murky depths. Tim and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief. It was a mixture of regret and also awe, of witnessing such raw power.

That was the last time I ever ventured out on frozen waters, but I still can vividly recall the excitement Tim displayed, landing the one that got away.