Drive by any lake or pond this time of year and you’re likely to find a hamlet of ice shacks spotting the pristine white surface of the water. Bustling from shanty to shanty, people swap stories, venison and overall good times.
Last weekend I had the chance to head back home (Bangor) and throw some traps in a local pond. Though I’m not exactly a diehard outdoorsman, I find something distinctly appealing about huddling around an auger hole, waiting patiently while a comrade waits for sign of a bite.
Ice fishing is often maligned – and I’m not sure why – for its reputation as “just an excuse to drink beer.”
While I’m sure there are plenty of adult beverages consumed on any given lake on any given weekend, ice-fishing is much more wholesome than that.
Anyone who lives in Maine knows how hard it can be to drag yourself out of the house on a cold and blustery winter day. And when skiing, snowshoeing and other activities will leave you to the elements, ice-fishing is a perfect middle-ground.
Not only does fishing get you out of the house, it takes you to some of the most beautiful and serene places in the state. And rest assured, you won’t be alone. Fellow fisherman are often the most gregarious people you’ll meet.
Whether they’re stopping by to see how fish are biting or to offer you some corn chowder, fellow fisherman always have something to offer. Often in the form of small nuggets of information or gossip, what you can glean on the ice is often as valuable as anything you’d learn elsewhere.
Just this weekend I learned the spawning patterns of white perch, how to keep a particularly aggressive smelt from tripping your trap (you bite its tail off) and how to put tracks on your four-wheeler.
Admittedly, none of this information will impact my life in a traditional way. I’ll never be able to tell a future employer that I’m an official smelt-tamer or ATV mechanic. But someday, when I’m on the ice with my children, I can gross them out with the not-so-believable story about my buddy nibbling on the tail of a bait-fish.
Standing on the wind-swept and desolate landscape of a lake seems like a barren image. But with tendrils of smoke billowing out of the ice shacks and the smell of food emanating from everywhere, the lake, even in the depth of winter, is alive. Set against an all-white background, the lake is a veritable tapestry of the Maine I love.