I decided to try ice fishing one winter—because, apparently, I enjoy the idea of sitting on a frozen lake, holding a rod, and hoping for the best. I arrived with all the gear: warm clothes, a thermos of hot cocoa, and, of course, a lot of optimism.
The hole I drilled? Tiny. The fish? Nonexistent. I spent the next few hours trying to stay warm, which, as it turns out, is harder than it looks when you’re sitting on a block of ice. Every time I moved, I feared I’d accidentally fall into the hole.
At one point, I swear I heard the ice creaking beneath me, and my imagination ran wild—was the ice cracking? Was this how I would go out? But I remained steadfast, pretending that this was the perfect “peaceful winter experience.”
In the end, I caught nothing except a newfound appreciation for heated shelters and dry socks.
What’s your craziest ice fishing story? Or should I say, “frozen” tale?