Atop The Ice

Writer Arrives in Northern Michigan, Tries Ice Fishing

Feb. 5, 2016

We plunged over the shoreline hill and into the crystalline fog; the surefooted Ski- Doo quickly gripped the ice below. The fog made it hard to see, but Annette was driving and knew the way.

Like my first time on a horse, I held white-knuckled to the snowmobile’s passenger handle, not knowing what to expect – but I liked it. The wind slapped my face; the ice in the air snapped me awake; I marveled that I was actually here.

The assignment this day: ice fishing for the first time. Annette was my guide.

It would be a beautiful day. Above the fog, the sky was nearly cloudless and turquoise blue. To the east, faint yellows began to show, hints of the sun.

To folks like Annette Lewis who have practiced the art for years, ice fishing may seem routine, but to me, from the South, ice fishing has remained a mystery – until today.

Annette steered the Ski-Doo west, then nosed it more south and then east. We crossed multiple snowmobile tracks along the way, a patchwork of tread paths woven like fabric. At first I thought Annette was lost, perhaps confused by the fog.

Anticipating the question, she shouted over the engine, "I’m checking to see if anyone else is out here!" Sure enough, squat shanties softly appeared and then disappeared as we roared by. Soon she made a beeline to her shanty, constructed by her husband Don, a home builder. It’s Annette’s pride and joy. I would soon learn it’s her sanctuary, too.

The Ski-Doo puttered to a stop in front of the hut. Annette immediately began the routine: unlock the door, grab the shovel, move snow away from the entrance, but fill snow in around the shanty’s seams Photography keep the ice below it from thawing.

Then, bring out the propane tank that fuels the shanty’s small heater, fire it up and pull back the trap door on the floor.

Let me describe the dark green shanty – a marvel. Its dimension is 6 feet square. You can stand inside, so its peak is about 7 feet. The black roof slopes slightly; a silver, capped chimney pops through.

The door is perhaps 2 feet wide and features a porthole toward the top and a circle vent at the bottom. In addition to the porthole, there are two small windows, one on either side.

Outside and below each window is a long 2 by 4 piece of lumber bracketed to the shanty, extending beyond the shanty’s front and back by about a foot and a half. These are the handles used to lift the shanty aboard and off a sled, which is dragged by snowmobile to the favored spot on the ice.

Inside, the trim is polished pine with multiple shelves, hooks, pegs and other devices in place to organize equipment and accessories. High on the west wall is a carbon monoxide detector.

There are benches the length of the shanty on either side of the hole. Annette always brings towels for the benches, to block the cold. It is cold this morning – 13 degrees.

As for the hole, it’s 2 feet wide by 3 feet long. Don and friends cut through the foot-thick ice using a chain saw. The hole seems dark; you’re not sure of the depth below. Annette breaks through the thin layer of ice that firmed up overnight, then grabs a bucket to scoop the ice chunks clear.

So far, Annette has left the narrow door open. The sun, now rising just above the horizon, shoots through.

"You ready to start?" Annette asks. "Sure!" I replied.

She grabbed the door handle and swung it shut. The hut quickly turned dark, like she’d thrown a switch.

The hole, once dark, now glowed a soft green powered by the daylight filtering through the ice. It was quietly beautiful. The water was pristinely clear; you could see every detail of the sandy bottom 6 feet below.

And there, sliding back and forth, up and down, their eyes wide and mouths open, were the fish.

I’M A NEWBIE

The lesson begins. You expect to be handed a fishing pole, but it’s obvious that a traditional pole would poke the eye of the person across from you. And yes, Annette has some very short poles available, but the preferred method uses a thin, flat piece of wood, maybe a foot long, with Vs notched into each end. The fishing line is wrapped the length of the wood piece, between the notches.

I grab one and unwrap the line, careful not to snag myself on the hook. Annette then instructs me to shove the wood piece under me, so I’m sitting on it.

I think this precaution is to prepare for landing "the big one" – a fish so mighty it would rip the line from my hands. Mainly, though, it keeps the device out of the way.

Annette grabs the line, then attaches a minnow to the hook. The hook goes through the minnow’s eye socket. The goal is to not kill the minnow; you want it to swim for you below, to lure the fish.

Sure enough, when lowered, the minnow does its duty, swimming in circles. Within seconds, perch begin to investigate. They approach the minnow, perhaps even nibble a bit. It takes some practice, though, to know when a nibble becomes a bite.

When the fish bite, it’s important to jerk your hand up to land the hook. And that’s what I did – with some regularity.

Everyone has her or his own technique, says Annette, who’s been fishing this way for 10 years, and some do seem to fish better than others.

Ken, a friend of Annette and Don’s, is considered the Pied Piper of the perch, pike and other species that wander the lake, Annette says.

And it’s true. Just when the fish seem to be avoiding Annette’s shanty, Ken stops by to suggest I try out one of his shanties. I hop on his snowmobile and off we go.

Unlike Annette’s, this shanty was bare bones basic: a heater, a hole and two benches – but lots of fish. I caught them by the minute, it seemed.

Though a shanty seems to favor isolation, in fact, visitors seem frequent.

The quiet is broken gradually. You hear the hum of an approaching snowmobile, the clomp of boots on ice, then the door pops open, letting in the sharp sun. It takes a second for the eyes to adjust.

The visitor leans through the door and everyone catches up on the latest.

"How are they bitin’? Any luck? Me, not so much."

Annette values the quiet, but it’s clear she appreciates the occasional neighborly hellos. Folks also tend to help the other by trading favors. Annette asked Ken if he’d clean my fish; I’d never done it. He agreed without hesitation. I’m not sure what was owed in return.

Back in Annette’s shanty, she and I talked about what it was like to live year round by the lake, and what the locals think of the summer visitors.

Not surprisingly, the visitors are welcome, in no small part because of the dollars they bring, but Annette says everyone relaxes a lot more when out-of-towners head back home.

We broke for lunch at Art’s Tavern. Annette bought fried smelt to share. Countless local residents stopped by our booth to bid Annette hello. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else in and around Glen Arbor, Annette says.

A lot of people might not like that closeness, but here, at Art’s, it seems a very good thing.

LOOKING BACK

Last week, Annette emailed me. "Ken stopped by today with fresh honey"¦lots of trading going on in and around those shanties of his!" she wrote.

But the news wasn’t just about the barter economy.

"Ken had moved his shanty closer to the Narrows," she added, "and I heard that he and his fishing partners caught like crazy! Those are the really exciting days. We’ve been lucky enough to have them a few times ourselves."

Then she shared word of another ice fishing season passed.

"We took our shanty off the ice Monday. No fish and the weather is to change."

She sent me a photo of the hut on a trailer, being hauled away.

"Time to filet," she said. "Makes me tired thinking about it."

Doug Weaver, business manager and partner at Mission Point Press, a Traverse City book publisher, moved to Traverse City in 2014.