Thick ice floats
The headlines from a news site this afternoon carried a story that sounded like a plot for a cheap TV movie. Or worse, like proof of a global warming conspiracy. At one point, as many as 155 avid ice fishermen were adrift on a large ice pan, waiting for rescue from the Coast Guard. Except, unlike fiction, they weren’t off the coast of Antarctica; instead, they were only kilometers from downtown Toledo, OH.
My experience with ice fishing is minimal. I remember friends of my father, armed with augers and beer, drilling and splashing an opening on the ice of Georgian Bay. We dropped lines and waited. End of story. The ice was thick enough to bear our weight and we were never in imminent danger. Boredom doesn’t count. Those who fish through holes are a hardy sort, willing to accept that big fish won’t fit through small holes.
The TV footage showed rescue teams equipped with helicopters, ice boats, flotation gear and the full strength of CNN in support. By suppertime all had been rescued from their winter playground. After all, 60 cm of ice was enough until the pan broke free. One person died from hypothermia, which reinforces my plans to avoid “polar bear” socials in future. Just another day in rural America, except for the immediacy conferred by the news networks.
Locally, we’re in Carnaval, and we have a local sport where people try to cross the ice pans in the river lugging canoes. Elsewhere, we have seal hunters that play similar games on floating ice. Maybe we should send them south, to offer training sessions to fishermen.
