![]() I, on the other hand, am wearing red mittens, a thick jacket, baggy insulated pants and red rubber boots sheathed in what appear to be the felt liners from a pair of Sorels. It must be fairly warm because, although his feet are encased in bunny boots, he has removed his thick jacket and is wearing only thin gloves as he hammers away. Dad is pounding at the lake surface with a long-handled ice chipper. The oldest photo I have of my father and me ice fishing comes from March 1962, the month I turned 4. More importantly, I learned to dress myself warmly. If I looked pitiful enough, or pushed out a quiet tear, he might even dig out a snack for me from his fishing pack.īut I must admit: Despite the cold, Dad did instill in me a love for ice fishing - at not quite the same intensity of his own mania, but an affection nevertheless. Then came the comforting: rubbing my ghastly extremities, cranking up the heat in the car and jamming fresh wool socks over my feet and hands for insulation as I thawed. I was guilty of concealing the extent of my misery. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" Once we had trudged back to the car and he had removed my boots and mittens to reveal something like Raynaud's syndrome, he'd become almost apologetic. Thawing outĭad was typically apologetic, after the fact. Consequently, although I began each trip with enthusiasm, they often ended in despair. But benumbed, grossly whitened fingers and toes hampered my ability to fully revel in the experience. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy ice fishing. ![]() So beneath my flimsy coverings, my dainty digits iced up. Because whining interfered with fishing, whining was not appreciated.Admitting that I could no longer feel my hands and feet was tantamount to whining.Red rubber boots, even those lined with lamb's wool, and tiny mittens enclosed in plastic shells provide poor insulation against the cold emanating from frozen lakes and frigid air. I was rarely dressed adequately for the conditions, especially when such exposure lasted several hours.My suffering usually resulted from three factors: Updated: SeptemPublished: January 10, 2016ĭILLINGHAM - Shivering over a hole in the ice on windy lower Aleknagik Lake, I recalled that when I was young, my father had been so eager to share his love for ice fishing that he was willing to make me miserable to help me enjoy (appreciate?) the experience.Īctually, Dad didn't intend to make me miserable, but he was prepared to allow suffering if it meant he could fish a little longer. ![]()
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