Essay On Ice Fishing
Fishing on a Frozen Lake I believe that ice fishing is the best type of fishing to build, strengthen, and polish a relationship between a father and his son. Fishing from a boat, shore, or on a river offers opportunities to get to know each other and spend quality time near each other. However, there is something very powerful about being so cold, your nose freezes with each inhale and exhale, that creates a picture-perfect setting to engage in deep and meaningful discussions. Henry David Thoreau once said, “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” People tell me all the time that fishing is so boring and a complete waste of time. “I could think of a million things more fun or productive
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than fishing”, they say. I just laugh inside; one of those, “you just don’t get it” kind of laughs. They don’t understand that fishing is just an excuse, a reason to get away, and an opening to break down barriers that don’t get addressed in the chaos of everyday life.
Fishing from a shore encourages seclusion and lack of dialog between a boy and his dad. When I was a young boy of five or six, my dad took me to a local reservoir to go fishing. As we pulled into the dusty, unpaved parking lot lined with disgusting green porta potties, we walked to the steep side of the reservoir to the water’s edge. We climbed over and around what seems like mountain size rocks to a little boy. After my dad set up my fishing pole with a shiny new hook and a wiggly worm, he said “Ryan, I’m going to stand over there so we don’t get our lines tangled.” I watched my dad walk away, stumbling over the rock-strewn slope and walking a hundred yards or so. At first, I felt excited and proud that he felt I could handle being by myself to fish, but as the seconds drew into minutes and the minutes into hours, I felt alone and isolated. I know that this was not the intent of my dad; in fact, it was the opposite of his reason for taking me fishing. Still, the separation is a necessity of fishing from the shore.
When you are sitting on eighteen inches of solid ice trying to keep your body from going numb, talking becomes a natural way to keep your lips from freezing into fleshy popsicles.
While I was on my mission, my dad started to go ice fishing with the priesthood from my home ward. You could say he caught the fever, and when I got home, he wanted to share it with me. I was as skeptical as so many others, but finally I gave in. A few weeks later, we were standing on the side of another reservoir. A deep fog had settled over the lake and as you breathed it in, everything, from your nose to your lungs, burned from the ice crystals it contained. When we got to a good spot, I was surprised to see my dad drill two holes in the ice only feet from each other. We both baited our hooks and dropped our lines into the deep blue water that waited at the bottom of the hole. For a few minutes we sat there in complete silence. The sound of the silence was almost deafening; there was absolutely nothing around us. Then, my dad said, “So Ryan, how are things going?” It was such a simple question that turned into deep conversation, laughter, and a chance for my dad and I to build a relationship we never had before. This is why I believe that ice fish brings fathers and sons
together.
than fishing”, they say. I just laugh inside; one of those, “you just don’t get it” kind of laughs. They don’t understand that fishing is just an excuse, a reason to get away, and an opening to break down barriers that don’t get addressed in the chaos of everyday life.
Fishing from a shore encourages seclusion and lack of dialog between a boy and his dad. When I was a young boy of five or six, my dad took me to a local reservoir to go fishing. As we pulled into the dusty, unpaved parking lot lined with disgusting green porta potties, we walked to the steep side of the reservoir to the water’s edge. We climbed over and around what seems like mountain size rocks to a little boy. After my dad set up my fishing pole with a shiny new hook and a wiggly worm, he said “Ryan, I’m going to stand over there so we don’t get our lines tangled.” I watched my dad walk away, stumbling over the rock-strewn slope and walking a hundred yards or so. At first, I felt excited and proud that he felt I could handle being by myself to fish, but as the seconds drew into minutes and the minutes into hours, I felt alone and isolated. I know that this was not the intent of my dad; in fact, it was the opposite of his reason for taking me fishing. Still, the separation is a necessity of fishing from the shore.
When you are sitting on eighteen inches of solid ice trying to keep your body from going numb, talking becomes a natural way to keep your lips from freezing into fleshy popsicles.
While I was on my mission, my dad started to go ice fishing with the priesthood from my home ward. You could say he caught the fever, and when I got home, he wanted to share it with me. I was as skeptical as so many others, but finally I gave in. A few weeks later, we were standing on the side of another reservoir. A deep fog had settled over the lake and as you breathed it in, everything, from your nose to your lungs, burned from the ice crystals it contained. When we got to a good spot, I was surprised to see my dad drill two holes in the ice only feet from each other. We both baited our hooks and dropped our lines into the deep blue water that waited at the bottom of the hole. For a few minutes we sat there in complete silence. The sound of the silence was almost deafening; there was absolutely nothing around us. Then, my dad said, “So Ryan, how are things going?” It was such a simple question that turned into deep conversation, laughter, and a chance for my dad and I to build a relationship we never had before. This is why I believe that ice fish brings fathers and sons
together.