Between a household bout of influenza, the chaos of holiday travel and the wrapping up of hunting seasons, I’ve been in a funk. One I find myself in every year when we settle into winter but seemingly hits worse each year as the reality of being trapped inside with a high-energy toddler and a lack of self-identity sets in until turkey hunting season in April and spring weather arrive.
Nevertheless, in addition to the less-than-enjoyable traditions of holiday sickness and travelling in blizzards that we seem to be holding tight too, it’s a must to ring in the new year on the ice.
This inaugural outing used to happen much earlier in the season but once we got bit by the upland game bird bug, we seemed to forego loading the pickup with the auger and ice sled until the very end.
In 2021 and 2022, that looked like a full day of chasing the perch and walleye bite on Rice Lake in Emmons County, with Finley running around on the ice in his booties.
In 2023, pregnant and just a few weeks away from welcoming Fischer into the world, bibs unzipped, we caught a few walleyes and a hefty perch at West Lake, and Finley joined me on breaks outside the house to stretch out.
In 2024, we ventured back to our Rice Lake honey hole and celebrated our first New Year’s with a baby in the sled. Fins still got to tag along and regrettably shared his sled full of blankets. But if I recall, we only fished for an hour or so and had one measly perch to show for it.
In 2025, it was Alkaline Lake and no fish for us. The weather was incredibly mild and we knew somebody wouldn’t last too long so we actually never set up the house, and if I’m being honest, I recall sitting in the truck with Fischer for most of the outing. Not one of our fonder New Year’s.
And to welcome 2026. We wavered on where to go but took the tip and gave Lake Audubon a try. I always feel a little irresponsible driving on the ice now that we’re parents, but it’s also incredibly luxurious to have everything you need right there at the pickup and are able to pop Fischer into a warm vehicle while we set up and tear down. The portable fish house is not suitable for two dogs and us, so the pups were stuck at home.
I’ll admit, Fischer had slightly more interest this year in the auger, the house, the minnows and the process but it quickly faded in favor of snacks and toy trucks. And if you think we’re such wonderful parents for always bringing our kid outdoors, don’t be fooled into thinking we didn’t turn on “Paw Patrol” so we could fish in peace for what we hoped would be the sunset bite.
Sure enough, right around 5 p.m. I marked a fish and for about two “Paw Patrol” episodes we were passing the pliers back and forth unhooking walleyes. Part of me felt guilty that Fischer mostly missed the action, but after a few weeks of sickness and Christmas chaos, part of me needed this.
Sometimes I worry that all these early efforts will be for naught. I mean, what’s the difference between him being in the ice house watching a video versus at home? I worry if he’ll actually embrace any of the crazy stuff we introduce into his young life. And I try so hard to practice accepting that later he may not.
But it did make me smile as I cleaned up the breakfast dishes the next morning and heard him pull one of his many trucks and trailers across the living room floor and say out loud: “I’m going fishing.”
