Here on the lake, there are only a handful of people who stay through the winter. We call ourselves “year-rounders”. It is hard to hold that title without being a bit pompous about it. It is one thing to be here for the summer: those three perfect months when the water is warm, the days are long, and friends are plentiful. It is another thing to live on the lake in January.

Year-rounders may try to observe the good points of the lake in the long winter months. We have no neighbors, the noisy jet-skis are all in storage, and we get to watch the flames in the wood stove. Though, in the cold months around the Winter Solstice, the wind is bitter, the view is colorless, and the lake is a frozen tundra.


It is slightly surprising then - when we look out our front window on the frozen ice-scape that is now our front yard – and see our new neighbors. They are an odd breed. Mostly they keep to themselves. Though they seem to be lacking in productive purpose, they are relentless. We watch their little huts sitting on the ice like a cluster of kid’s clubhouses. We imagine them huddling over the holes they have drilled in the ice and drinking beer. There doesn’t seem to be any garbage accumulating anywhere, so we can only imagine that they chuck their empties down the ice hole. First thing in the morning we hear their gas-powered ice augers drilling. Some stand guard over one hole from within their bob house. Some drill a series of holes across the ice and stake out homemade contraptions. When a fish bites under the ice, an orange flag snaps up and it’s owner comes running across the ice with unaccustomed haste.


These are the ice fishermen. They keep to themselves mostly. I spent a morning shoveling off a skating rink on the ice in front of our house. I did this partly so we could skate, but also to mark our territory. As the ice gets thicker, the ice houses spread out appearing closer and closer to our house. Perhaps the fishermen would even start drilling holes in “our” ice. So, I shoveled a huge area to stake a claim on a little bit of ice that we could call ours. I spent hours on the ice with a shovel. The fishermen, who were not more than a hundred yards from me, watched, but continued to keep council with their own. I imagine their resentments towards me – a new year rounder. Dave and I have claimed prime ice real estate by occupying the Shack. Our house abuts the only lake access for the fishermen: the boat launch. In past year, these men may have staked an ice claim directly in front of the shack. Likely they would march up the concrete stairs that lead to our house and gloat to their buddies about the facilities (our outhouse.) Perhaps they even came inside the shack through the broken door and used it like a bob house on the hill, watching their little orange flags from inside where the wind did not blow so hard.

If that was the case, it is no wonder that they might resent us. When we got here in June, our summer neighbor, Shawn, gave us our first bit of advice: “Just don’t put a lock on your outhouse! The ice fishermen will just break it off and use it anyway.” So, we followed his advice and did not lock the outhouse. We wonder if some time we might pull open the door to find a surprised fisherman on the pot reading Field and Stream. It has not happened yet, but the ice has only just frozen.

Determined to break down the barrier between us and the fishermen, on Friday, I marched into their midst. There were a dozen of them and they glanced at me as I approached, and then turned away as though if they didn’t acknowledge me, I wouldn’t exist: a year-rounder. Then one man stepped out of the crowd and called out with a thick Yankee accent, “Hi there! Cold day, isn’t it?”

First contact.

I replied, “Yeah, it’s freezing cold!” Then ventured a question, “How thick is the ice you are drilling over here?”

He grunted and replied, “Five or six inches. It is even up to seven in some spots.”
He even hefted up a core chunk to show me.

I observed, “It’s a inch or so thinner in front of my house – I think because of our stream.” Note: I am claiming a little territory here with my possessive nouns. “It is only five inches thick and you are driving ATVs on it?” I asked.

He shook his head, “I’m certainly not! Those guys are.” He pointed at some younger looking ice fishermen a few bob houses down with an ATV parked next to their bob house on wheels. I theorize a sort of rift between the older and younger sects of ice fishermen. Perhaps my conversationalist-ice-fisherman thought that those impulsive youngin’s might have to fall through the ice a few times before they would be seasoned veterans.

I continued, “Have you been catching anything?”

He laughed and pointed to a fish lying on the ice next to a folding chair. It was about eight inches long. “A kid just pulled that one out. The trout are biting today.”

“Wow.” I observed. “Well good luck!”

“Thanks!” he replied.

Despite our previous assumptions, it seems that we can talk to the ice fishermen. The only thing I have thought of to ask them about is how thick the ice is and if they have caught anything. I asked another guy the same two questions this morning when I went out to take these pictures.

My hope is that was can co-exist with these cold-weather-lake-dwellers. I have made first contact. We will see how this new lake population evolves as the winter progresses.