The trouble with ice fishing.

There is a second story to our trip up North. You see, Carpenter and I have an understanding that, while he is ice fishing , I am to be soaking, quite happily, in the HOT TUB back at the hotel.

Unfortunately, the hot tub was closed due to renovations, funny how they neglected to tell me that when I booked the room. The pool, was freezing, too, and there are not that many shops in the town to look through, so with a lot of begging, and persuasion, by Carpenter and the kids, I ended up here; Squatting over a hole in the ice, jigging a rod, baiting my hook with maggots, and freezing my butt off for some fish at 7:30 in the morning. I hate ice fishing.

I can handle fishing in the summer time, while in a boat. I don't even mind the squirmy worms. There have been days when I have even out-fished Carpenter. And soaking up a few sunny rays , always has it's benefits. But freezing in the cold , and handling maggots beyond the plastic bag they come in, is not worth the fish you catch. Or as in my situation, don't!

The majority of people out on the ice were men, older men, with skin thick and wrinkled like leather, from years of spending time outside. They sat on buckets,shooting the breeze about ice fishing, hunting, and of course dirty jokes about their wives. But the lure of catching their limit within 45 minutes, is probably more than some guys can handle. Or maybe it's the lure of being away from their wives, that makes them rise early and sit on the ice.

Even when we lived up North , and Carpenter went, I would not. I worked at the local drugstore in their hunting and fishing department. (in a small town like this one, it is important to be diverse)In the mornings after the local radio would announce the ice fishing forecast, there would be a rush of die hard ice fishermen lining up to buy the maggots, meal worms and krill that we sold. Add that to a ruby -eyed wiggler, and a glow hook, and they were set.

There was one old fellow that came in, faithfully every couple of days, to replenish his bait for he went fishing every day. He had a bushy beard, kind eyes, and he walked with a gnarled old cane that he had made himself. He would flirt with me shamelessly, as he would pick through and find the "perfect" bag of maggots. One morning, on February 14, no less, He came in with a gift for me. A sentimental Valentines card, and his morning catch wrapped in a big black garbage bag. I gracefully accepted this fishy Valentines gift, trying desperately not to choke on the pungent fishy smell, as my coworkers laughed. Oh if I could have re gifted it!

Now you know why I am not a fan of ice fishing. Last weekend was a weak moment for me. I told Carpenter he'd better take a picture, because it would be a long time before I did this again, and as for giving in this time- He owes me.