At best, the weather is invigoratingly cold; at worst, it's like being on one of the more precarious approaches to Everest.
Any hope for relief that you might expect from the sun is dashed when that life-giving orb burns through less and less atmosphere to bore more and more directly onto your optic nerve. Frostbite is a very real concern, the fear of which drives you to layer, layer, and layer. No desirable piece of skin should ever be left bare to the ravages of the wind. Thoughts of a bathroom break are nipped in the bud, so to speak, by the utter lack of trees, the bitter wind, padded gloves, and the delightfully thick/warm combination of two layers of long underwear, jeans AND the kind of flight pants usually reserved for the crews of B-52s cruising tens of thousands of miles at tens of thousands of feet of altitude.
So why risk life and limb in pursuit of a meal that can be found frozen (and already breaded) in aisle 6 of the corner store? You do it for the fish, both the catching and the eating. With the possible exception of fishing beaver ponds and catching rising brookies with a lightweight fly rod and dry flies, catching fish through the ice provides an unrivaled sense of immediate thrill.
There is the technical challenge presented by the environment: Gore-Tex and Lifa may be wonderful mall wear, but if they don't perform on the ice, you'll be doing jumping jacks in front of strangers in an effort to dislodge the blood that has retreated to your torso to save organs. Even the fish themselves taste better if caught through the ice; anyone who has ever tasted them can attest to this (and probably believes that it is because they are immediately put 'on ice'). They are mostly bluegills, perch, and crappies, caught on a short pole the length of a forearm. Modified with an uber-sensitive piece of spring steel affixed to its end, it can detect the subtle nibbles by which panfish announce their presence.
Looking back on a youth spent in the Midwest fishing 12 months a year (the ice-bound part sometimes occupying a solid 4-5 months) I believe that there is something more to ice fishing than icy madness. As with most things done in the outdoors, there is an aesthetic beauty to it: the rising sun, the tinkling sound of tiny ice shards freeing themselves from your auger and being swept away by the wind, and the way the snow creaks or crunches underfoot.
It is also the only sport I know that involves three different forms of the same element; you breathe out clouds of water vapor, sit on the ice, and pull fish from the water. The ice itself is a never-silent companion, filling the air around you and the surface beneath you with spooky special effect-like groans as it contracts and expands. Invisible pressure builds until there is an unnerving crack that grows both in speed and volume as it works its way across the lake and, inevitably, your heart missing a beat, travels between your legs in its search for the distant shore.
Ice fishing is fun. Because spending 5 months of the year NOT fishing is inconceivable. Because you have a legitmate reason to buy and wear winter boots with names like Sub-Arctic and comfort ratings down to 40 below. Because you will be able to mesmerize your friends with stories of being so cold that your hands refused to turn the key in the ignition. Because it's infinitely better than spending the winter hibernating in front of a TV. And, mostly, because of the meditative qualities of immersing yourself in the cold -- reveling in your body's ability to create heat and survive, marveling at your skill in turning an almost imperceptible nibble into a surprised bluegill flopping on the ice.
Ice Fishing
