12/6 column: Ice Fishing

My husband doesn’t ask a lot. He likes the History Channel. Dreams of clutter-free kitchen countertops. Hopes his pasta-crazed wife remembers to make red meat every once in awhile.

But most of all, he just wants a week off every December to go ice fishing.
This is Jay’s week. He leaves Friday. And I don’t want to say he’s obsessed or anything, but consider the facts:

• He’s been packed for two weeks. His three-tiered tackle box, a duffel bag filled with Carhartts and wool socks, a video camera, a 10-inch gas-powered auger, three fishing rods, his GPS and Vexilar (that’s a fish sonar machine, for the uninitiated), and a pair of heavy-duty boots have lined our bedroom wall since Thanksgiving. “Don’t want to put it off to the last minute, you know,” Jay reminded me while writing his packing list in October.

• He woke our four- and seven-year-old sons up from a dead sleep last night to show them how some of his lures glow in the dark.

• He told me three times last week how he finally found the “vertical jigging spoon” he’s been looking for all season — on sale for $1.49.

I understand his excitement in getting away. I really do. No deadlines, no bedtime routines, no wife saying, “Wouldn’t you like to watch Desperate Housewives with me tonight, honey?”

All that and he gets to spend a week with his ice fishing buddy, Dave — who, if it’s possible, is even more crazy about the sport than Jay is.

The two have been sending e-mails back and forth for several weeks — messages that would appear cryptic and just plain weird to most of us.

From Jay: “Crunch time: Need ice.”
From Dave: “Open water on Bemidji. Three inches on Big Bass.”
From Jay: “New bronze spoon at Gander – buck fifty.”

But I have to admit I don’t understand the appeal of ice fishing. I like cold weather. I like cold weather when I can sit in front of our fireplace and say things like, “Would you look at that blowing snow! Anyone for a hot chocolate refill?”

So I can’t understand why a person would rather hang out in sub-zero temperatures on a sheet of ice that may or may not be strong enough to hold them — all while sitting over a 10-inch hole and waiting for a fish to swim by. For days on end.

Yet, somehow, my life is now revolving around just this activity.

Jay comes home from work saying things like, “Do you think I should bring the big cooler or two medium coolers?”

He walks around the house, wistfully muttering things like, “Full moon tonight. Good fishing.”

He deftly sneaks the topic into our everyday conversations.

“What do you think we should get the boys for Christmas this year?” I ask innocently enough.

With impressive haste, he answers, “You know what would be cool? An Aqua View Scout. It’s an underwater camera — only the camera is in the nose of this fake fish….”

But at least he’s getting his fix. In a week, I’ll have my husband back — and maybe a big cooler (or two medium coolers) full of fresh fish to boot.