For some quirky reason that I don’t fully understand, the cold does more than quicken my step. Somehow it lights my inner fire. Under the right conditions, real honest-to-goodness bone-chilling cold makes me feel vital and alive. Alive, yes, but mindful of my vulnerability in His hands.

This may explain why some of us like ice fishing and some of us would prefer to hunker near the hearth and thumb through Cabela catalogs.

Of course, outdoor adventures in extreme cold are the stuff of lore and legends. Words from the popular poem, “Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service, come to mind. It speaks of a mind-numbing kind of cold that most of us have never had to endure, a cold that is so soul-draining and unrelenting that even death by fire has an attraction. In the poem Sam’s burning remains shout back to his Yukon chum from “the heart of the furnace roar,” “please close the door/ Since I left Palm Tree down in Tennessee/ It’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

Is there a metaphor here for the hardcore ice fisherman?

Back at camp after a day on the ice, a crackling wood stove, a toddy and a bowl of hot soup are, in effect, the ice angler’s “furnace roar.” It is a special, memorable kind of warmth that is best appreciated by ice fishermen who spend long days on the ice under all weather conditions.

Outspoken critics

Ice fishermen have their detractors even among sportsmen. Within the angling community there are catalog-thumbing purists who are convinced that ice fishing is a bad thing. They argue that ice fishing is “too easy” and a good way to deplete our sport fishery. These people are self-righteous fools who, like so many others are quick to censure the outdoor recreational pursuits that they have not experienced.

More often than not, ice fishing is slow-paced and uneventful. It is the nature of the undertaking. A day on the ice without a single “flag” can be slow, but it doesn’t have to be – as the saying goes – as dull as watching paint dry. If clean air, unlimited visibility and solitude don’t keep you interested, there are other ways. For example, this past weekend we enjoyed a well-attended family ice fishing outing at our camp up north.

Day 1 was full of tripped tipups, and by sunset four respectable salmon were kept for the evening meal. Day 2 was an altogether different story. The fish were not in the mood. No matter. We made it interesting. In the morning before the winds stirred, we played cribbage. During mid-day, when the late February sun warmed enough for a gloveless hand, we sliced some onions and put fire to the pan. Bowls of steaming hot soup and deer burgers helped keep the cold at bay.

In the afternoon, as a freshening breeze offset the warming sun, a remote frozen Maine lake was transformed into Fenway Park. A large Teflon skillet and a tennis ball were used for a game of Frying Pan Baseball. To compensate for bulky clothing and awkward footwear, a lawn chair served as second base. An English Setter played deep center field. There were no spectators for this game. Had there been any they would have been distracted by the bite of the air, the razor-blue skies and the unobscure view of a snow-capped Mt. Katahdin.

At day’s end the final score of the ball game was 12-6. Between innings, seven fishermen iced all of two splake and one salmon.

We sledded back to camp in time to feed hunks of beech to the big camp stove and watch a splendid sun fall below the jagged dark treeline. The best was yet to come. With darkness coming on, temperatures plummeting and a north wind building down the lake, a cozy camp with good companionship and the smell of hot food in the oven is a place like no other.

Don’t believe it? Ask the two Maine Game Wardens who stopped to check our fish and accepted our invitation to come inside for a “warming break” and a hot meal. After cups of hot coffee and small talk about Sunday hunting and other outdoor issues, our uniformed guests agreed that the Saturday night camp cuisine was, indeed, too tempting to turn down.

As I often tell my wife Diane, Florida is nice this time of year, but so is a February day on the ice in Maine when it all comes together.

V. Paul Reynolds is editor of the Northwoods Sporting Journal. He is also a Maine Guide, co-host of a weekly radio program “Maine Outdoors” heard Sundays at 7 p.m. on The Voice of Maine News-Talk Network (WVOM-FM 103.9, WCME-FM 96.7) and former information officer for the Maine Dept. of Fish and Wildlife. His e-mail address is [email protected].