From the windows of the little restaurant where we stopped for breakfast, several specks of lantern light shown on the lake’s surface. Our enthusiasm for getting out on the ice for the first time had resulted in an early arrival, and only then was the gray show of dawn appearing in the east.

We finished our food and headed for the parking area next to where we’d chosen to go out and fish.

It was good to struggle into the boots and snowmobile suit. It was good to feel the balanced weight of the auger and the bucket full of rods and tackle. And it was good to be filing out on the ice through new fallen snow toward the distant early arrivals, already cutting holes and setting tip ups. Nothing else is as invigorating as that first winter hike out on the ice, finally thick enough to be safely walked on.

We chose a spot for no reason other than that it felt right and began to cut our own holes. Six inches of ice confirmed our decision to be there. It was for the fish to justify the expenditure of time if fellowship wasn’t quite enough.

We started to fish.

A pale sun showed itself through light clouds like a green peach as we experimented with different depths and different colored teardrop lures, suspended on our light lines. We spoke of other times as we waited for telltale twitches of bobbers. We watched a gathering army of anglers as they arrived, as they cut their holes, as they waited.

We laughed at a threesome that lugged a heavy gasoline powered auger far out on the ice, struggled ten minutes to get it started and another ten to cut three holes. We spent less than a minute making six holes with our hand augers.

But with each new group of fishermen the rate of success was the same, few or no fish. And of the very few taken most were small.

With quips and early conversation topics exhausted, we decided to try a different and less heavily fished body of water. The place chosen was on our way home and a good lunch stop was nearby.

By two in the afternoon we were trudging out on our second icy surface, one where only a dozen scattered fishermen were trying their luck. And this time it was easy to see the occasional pan fish being hoisted out of the water and flopping on the ice.

We chose our spot and dug our holes, and had almost immediate action. My first fish of the season was a spunky eight-inch bluegill that made me a bit cautious as he tugged on my one-pound line. But there was a good spring action in my little rod and I remembered enough of the wintertime technique. Soon a half dozen more gills had joined the first. A supper of tasty fillets had already been assured.

As the afternoon progressed, the action quickened as well, and then slowed, quickened and slowed again.

Those waters contained numerous hammer handle northern pike, and we reasoned that the struggling pan fish we hooked often attracted pike to the vicinity of our fishing holes. In fact, each of my fishing companions did battle with a northern that day, though neither was landed.

And toward late afternoon, a nice perch and several crappies of over ten inches were added to our catch, promoting it to the bragging category.

We made our way off the ice soon after that, with chilly fingers and toes but with heavy buckets and good memories.

It was our first outing of the winter, but it wouldn’t be the last!

For me at least, ice angling is contagious!