ice fishing in a few years, make that many, many years - do they do that in California?
Layer, layer, layer! In winter I have no vanity, when I am cold I dress in the warmest clothes possible. When in Maine that usually means whatever my parents have for castoffs in their mudroom (hence the lovely photo of me in the rabbit fur bomber hat): oversized boots, flannel shirt, quilted LL Bean vest, down jacket and a mismatched mitten and scarf ensemble knitted by my grandmother.
Braving the below freezing temperatures, my sister in law and I wedged in the caboose behind the snowmobile (my brother at the helm) and headed across the lake to the ice shack. By the time we got to the appointed 'fishing spot' my entire upper body was stiff from clenching and anticipating the bumpy, snowy ice - visions of The Madahorn dancing in my head. The trauma of the caboose ride quickly disappears as I exit our ride, the sun is shining and the ice shack is warm and cozy. I spent most of my time on the ice with my brother, checking the traps and putting new bait on the hooks. We had a quick and simple lunch of homemade sandwiches and brandy (keeps you warm, as my dad would say), I remembered why I like this time of year in such a cold climate. The air is fresh and clean, the sun thaws you just enough to keep you from freezing; and being outdoors is where I like to be.
After a long day of false flags (the wind was brisk enough to unhitch the flags from the traps) and no fish, we headed back across the frozen lake to warm ourselves in front of an inviting fire.
A perfect day.
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| Here I am |
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| Our housing and transportation |
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| Even the dog loves to ice fish |
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| The snowy, frozen lake |
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| Having a bit of fun ice sliding |
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| My brother and his wife - enjoying togetherness! |
