Last Ice

(fiction), Gary R Akin

The old man sighed as he glanced out the window at the slate gray sky. Winter was not going to release its grip just yet. But for over a week now the man had decided that barring wind this would be the day that he would venture out onto the ice and try to just one more time, before opportunity had passed, to bring home some tasty perch from the lake.

The needles of the pine tree, just outside the window barely quivered, the tattered tufts of paper like bark on the birch were motionless. No wind. But that sky didn’t look too good. Damn it! He scolded himself, “What’s the matter with you? Now you’re looking for excuses, AGAIN!” He’d already found reasons to talk himself out of fishing on three other occasions this winter. And now, again, he was having a hard time getting out the door. He’d already had two cups of coffee this morning as he watched The WeatherChannel waiting for the “Local on the 8’s” forecast. The doppler radar showed some snow activity to the west. But the temperatures were going to be in the mid twenties today with only scattered snow showers….

When he was a younger man, he lived for being outside. He’d always been a loner, never wanting to be held back by others who had neither the ambition or fortitude or resourcefulness to experience nature in all her many moods. Indeed some of his strongest memories were experienced when he had placed himself in conditions that most would find intolerable. There was that Fourth of July, a mile’s hike in on the West Branch, when lightning had ripped through the sky all around him. The air literally buzzed with electricity and the sky was a strange yellow just before it had blackened and the storm hit with a fury. Oh, how it rained that day! But the young man had taken refuge under a hemlock tree, perched on a rock with his back against the trunk, watching in fascination as the rain came down in sheets and trees bowed in deference to nature’s force. And after the storm had passed. The young man had taken trout! All the large fish had been awakened, rejuvenated by the oxygen pounded into the river and ready to feed on whatever the storm had churned up.

And there was that hunting trip up on Long Lake. It was the first week of November and the young man had three days off. Scattered showers were expected the first night followed by clearing skies. And off the young man had ventured. Ten miles in by boat for three days of deer hunting out of a tent. But the ‘showers’ had turned into a full blown ‘Nor’ easter’ and 18 inches of snow had fallen that first night. Trees cracked, ‘WidowMakers’ crashed down and the young man didn’t sleep much that night! But then the skies cleared and the next day the young man found himself virtually on another planet. He was miles from civilization and his world had been transformed. The sun was brilliant and EVERYTHING was white and clean and pure! And that night, at two in the morning, the young man had stood on the bank of a wilderness lake, observing in awe, a northern lights show fanned by nature’s hand….

What the… The old man jumped up. I must have dozed off again, he thought. What the hell time is it? He went to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee and check the clock on the coffeemaker. He’d been asleep awhile, the coffeemaker had turned off automatically after two hours. He filled his cup and placed it in the microwave to heat up. By the time the appliance had beeped to tell him his coffee was hot, the old man had already started pulling on his old insulated coveralls. He was angry with himself now. And the old man always took action when he was riled up. I am going fishing today! He laced his boots, grabbed his hat and gloves and retrieved his now hot and bitter coffee from the microwave. He took two steps toward the door and returned to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a single bottle of beer and tucked it into his coat pocket. With that the old man headed out the door to the truck. His fishing gear was already in the back protected under the cap, where it had been for over a month now, the old man was off.

The old man pulled into the parking area and killed the engine. The drive was barely long enough for the truck to warm up. His eyes scanned the lake for other fishermen. The ice was barren. This caused the old man to smile. He really didn’t want to be disturbed today. Oh, he really didn’t mind the ATV’s or snowmobiles. Actually, they looked like they could be rather fun. But he liked solitude, and since his days lately were limited due to his own lethargy, when he did get out he preferred not to be ‘bothered’. One trait the old man still possessed, was that once he DID get started he always followed through. And now that he was here, he was ready to enjoy his day. He slid his portable shanty from the back of the truck. This was a luxury he would never have afforded himself. A gift certificate from his sons for Christmas several years back and a moment of exuberance which held more possibility than probability had led to its purchase. In four years, it had been used just a few times.

The old man crossed the railroad tracks dragging his hut. He carefully inched down the bank to the lake’s edge. Now the shanty led, trying to drag him down the incline, but that was better than having it run up on his heels. He knew the ice was safe. A bitter cold spell, which did not help his disposition a couple of weeks ago, had ensured that. He knew exactly where he was headed. Five hundred yards out, directly north of Crab Island was a shoal. The perch would either be there or they wouldn’t. Past experience told him they probably would be. But he was not going to go searching if they weren’t. It was more important to him that he got out than whether he filled his bucket. He patiently trudged carefully across the ice dragging his gear. The footing was good thankfully, due to a bit of ‘old’ snow on the ice’s surface. But the old man wasn’t foolish. A slip out here could prove disastrous what with his age and the absence of anyone around to notice an old man down should he fall.

Finally the old man reached his destination. He looked to the south toward Crab Island, then north toward the old marina a mile away, and finally back toward his parked truck. Confident that his bearings were correct he grabbed his old auger from the sled. Though it was old, its blades were sharp so it didn’t take long to drill two holes through the eighteen inches of ice. The effort caused the old man to breathe heavily for a moment or two but that actually lifted the old man’s spirits. If felt GOOD to be here! He rested a moment taking in his surroundings. The cold air filled his lungs with energy. The snow covered Green Mountains to his east could just be discerned through a slightly hazy sky. A gull which had obviously watched the old man trudge out here silently floated over and softly settled about forty yards away, quietly studying the man possibly hoping for a handout. “Good morning”, greeted the old man, “If you’re still here in an hour or two, I may have something for you.” The gull showed no acknowledgement, it just watched emotionlessly.

The old man then unfolded his hut up and over his head, positioned his seat so he could comfortably fish the two holes and arranged his gear. He had two jigging rods already rigged and ready to go. He baited his first rod with the small grubs extracted from the small plastic canister and lowered his rig through the hole. He released the bail and his bait dropped about twenty feet till it reached the bottom. He gave his reel two turns, then twitched his rod a few times before placing it carefully balanced on the bucket and he repeated the process with his second rod. His rods were rigged earlier, at home, because the old man’s hands were beginning to bother him. It was nothing serious, but a life spent working hard and all his time in the elements left his hands stiff, and tying knots on small jigs when they were cold was too frustrating. The old man then settled into his routine, alternately working one rod for several minutes then setting it down and working the other. For twenty minutes he did not get a bite, but perch are a school fish, the man was unconcerned. He was relaxed and he was out. He reached into the coat pocket and retrieved his beer. Twisting off the cap he then gave it one good satisfying pull then placed it near his right boot within easy reach. As he rhythmically worked the rod he thought back to an earlier time….

As the young man fished he initially concentrated on trying to catch fish. He was taking them on a small Adams and it was easy. These were just released fish. After awhile he walked back to the bank and climbed on a rock, just taking it easy and enjoying the day. He watched the other fisherman catch and release a fish. Then another. And another. He studied the fisherman and realized that that guy was old! Now the young man couldn’t keep his eyes off the older man. He must’ve caught another ten or twelve fish and he released them all. The man must have been at least 70 years old! And then the old guy just eased back to the bank and slowly started to climb up toward his old truck. But that is when the old guy did something that really got the young man’s attention. The old guy paused on the bank, then bent over and picked up a discarded beer can and stuffed it into his vest! Then he picked up another and stuffed that in the back also and resumed his slow retreat to his truck. The young man watched the old guy slowly put his gear in the back, then climb into the cab. He heard the engine start and the truck backed up, turned, and shifted into forward and slowly it headed back toward town. The young man whispered, “Bless you Old Man, I hope I have your energy if I live that long”….

The old man hadn’t had a bite in a half an hour and his beer was half drained when he caught the first perch. It sort of surprised him when he felt the weight on the rod. The perch hadn’t ‘hit’, he was suddenly just on. As he was bringing it up, he noticed his other rod go down. Alright! Maybe I will have perch for supper, he thought. The first perch was brought through the hole and it was a nice slab fish. The old man set the rod down and quickly grabbed the other. That fish was still on and the man brought that one up through the ice. It too, was a decent sized fish. Over the next forty five minutes, the old man caught eleven more perch. Some were very nice sized and would make good fillets. But there were some small ones as there always are and the old man released them back into the hole. The old man finished his beer and had decided that it had been a good enough day. He still had some filleting to do when he got home so he’d better get going. He reeled in his first rod and while he was doing this he noticed the other one twitch. After placing the first rod back in the bucket, he grabbed the other, the fish was still on, but it was obviously a small one. The man was about to release it into the hole when he glanced out the window of the hut. Instead he tossed the perch into the bucket with the others. Then the man lifted the canopy of the hut up and over his head folding it up onto its sled. The man turned and faced the gull, which had been patiently waiting. He reached into the bucket and pulled out the small perch and tossed it toward the gull. The bird silently flew to the gift and grasped it with its foot. The old man watched as the gull lifted off and flew to the east about a hundred yards before again settling to the ice to enjoy its meal.

And with that the old man began the slow careful walk back toward his truck across the ice. As he did the ice walk shuffle back, he paused when he noticed something off to his right about fifty yards away. The old man changed direction and headed over to investigate. When he got there he noticed the old frozen over ice holes from another fisherman. He then bent over and picked up a couple of discarded beer cans and tossed them into the bucket with his perch in the sled. With that the old man resumed his trek across the ice to his truck. Twenty minutes later the engine turned over, came to life, and idled for about five minutes as the old man let it warm up. Eventually the truck was put into gear and slowly it crept down the road as the old man headed home.