×

They have ice fishing in their veins

Karen Wils photo Terry Brower and Bob Wils with some nice “eyes.”

ESCANABA — The weak January sunrise makes its wimpy appearance over Little Bay de Noc.

The thermometer reads eight degrees, and that’s not counting the wind chill.

It is a harsh time, but a happy time for those who have ice fishing in their blood.

There’s something wonderfully addicting about freezing your butt on a bucket while catching fish through a hole in the ice.

Ice fishing is often a hereditary sport. It runs in families. Grandpa and Grandma might have a little cozy ice shanty on the lake by the old homestead. Sometimes it may have been a romantic getaway, and sometimes it was a place to bring all the kids to catch some supper.

Before the days of snowmobiles, side-by-sides, fish finders and GPS, my grandfather Stasewich was on the ice.

He emigrated here from Russia, so the cold and the ice were second nature to him.

“Stubborn and tough,” I recall my mom and uncle telling about him. “Fished right out on the ice; never owned a shack,” I remember them saying.

My grandfather lived in north Escanaba in the shadow of the giant wooden ore dock. To go ice fishing, he needed only to walk out his back door, grab his sled and fishing gear and head over the train tracks to the Bay Shore.

A nice walleye to fry or a pike to make into fish soup were greatly appreciated with a dozen mouths around the table to feed.

I wonder how many cold January sunrises my grandfather watched as he fished? Did the frozen Lake Michigan ice feel like Russian ice? Did the ice crack, pop and moan like it does today?

My dad grew up in Gladstone one block away from the Bay. In the 1940s and 1950s, that’s what people did for entertainment on the weekends — they ice fished.

They called it “the walleye fishing capital of the world” back then. Ice shacks spread out from Gladstone towards Stonington like a thriving village of nomads.

My dad was a good fisherman and a great carpenter. He built sturdy, lightweight fish shacks complete with windows, runners and wood stoves for heat.

We often heard the story about an uncle who would not listen to Dad and made his shack of heavy wood and “big enough to become a dance hall,” as my Dad called it.

Dad’s funniest ice shack mishap story was about after he returned home from the army with a special radio he made while in service. In the early 1950s, radios were large and required a good sized shelf to sit on in the fish shack.

Dad loved listening to Paul Harvey on the radio and that’s just what he was doing when he decided he needed to go outside and block up (raise) the shack a little. “Splash, gurgle, gurgle” came the sad sound of “Paul Harvey,” the radio tubes and all going down to the bottom of the Bay.

In the 1970s perch were plentiful in Little Bay de Noc. My brother Mark would catch enough for many fish frys. My uncle Bob knew every pressure crack and sand bar, and he could catch a whitefish with the button off of his shirt every once in a while.

The ice fishing has changed a lot over the years. From ore boats, bubbler systems, and warmer winters to all-terrain vehicles, electronic fish finders and plastic portable shacks, the sport is almost a new breed.

But, the wonderful old things like suspense, thrill, patience and skill are still out there. My son and his friend Terry (also a distant cousin) have stalked some lovely walleyes on the Little Bay. It only goes to prove that that fishing gene is alive and well!

Remember to be safe out there. If you can’t watch the cold sunrise from the Bay, watch “Grumpy Old Men” or another ice fishing video.

——

Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles.

NEWSLETTER

Today's breaking news and more in your inbox

I'm interested in (please check all that apply)
Are you a paying subscriber to the newspaper? *
   

COMMENTS

[vivafbcomment]

Starting at $4.62/week.

Subscribe Today