I didn’t really like ice fishing as a kid. My family didn’t go much, and I was miserable when we did. Sitting by a hole in the ice with a stubby rod, freezing and bored, it felt like a chore. I never saw the point.
That all changed five years ago when a buddy started planning a fishing trip in the dead of winter with some guys I’ve known since high school. Our group had stayed close through college, marriages and kids, but as we grew older, it became harder to find time to get together. This was his way to make sure we didn’t let our friendship die a slow death. His pitch was simple: two days on the ice, a couple of cases of beer and smokes, and a chance to blow off steam. Fishing was almost incidental. I was in.
That first trip set the tone for what has become a tradition we look forward to every year. Over the years, each of these trips have taken on a life of their own. Sometimes, we’ve had textbook Michigan winters, with biting cold, sunny skies, and perfect ice. Other times, we’ve been thrown curveballs. One February, several years ago, the temperature dropped to -20°F, so we camped in a teepee in the middle of the Manistee National Forest. We were armed with a wood stove, .22 rifles, and enough fishing gear to make it an official trip.
We spent more time stoking the fire and swapping jokes than drilling holes, but it remains one of the best weekends I’ve had with the boys.
Sometimes the weather has been more forgiving. On one trip, after a full day of pulling panfish through the ice, a blizzard rolled in. Most of us hunkered down in the cottage, but two of my buddies emerged from the garage with makeshift sails and saucers, determined to take advantage of the wind and the ice. We spent the next few hours racing across the frozen lake, howling with laughter as we watched each other disappear into the mist at breakneck speeds, like sailboats bound for the Arctic. We sailed clear off the lake and into the adjacent swamp. Epic.
When the ice has been too thin to fish, we’ve adapted. Small game hunting, tending campfires, or just sitting around a table playing euchre. It’s always been about finding a way to make the time meaningful. Sure, the fishing is important. We’ve tried lakes all over Michigan, small unnamed ones, chasing the perfect spot to fill a bucket. And there’s nothing like a fresh fish fry after a successful day on the ice. But the real value of these trips lies in what happens around the fishing.
Life doesn’t slow down for any of us. Since we started these trips, there’ve been job changes, marriages, kids, and loss. All the sorts of challenges that come with being an adult. But through it all, this annual weekend has been a constant. It’s more than just a chance to catch fish or blow off steam. These trips are investments in something that sustains us.
I didn’t like ice fishing as a kid because I didn’t have anything to tie it to, but now ice fishing has a purpose. It’s the way we slow down and engage with the people in front of us without screens or deadlines or distractions. It’s not really about the fish (though that’s a pretty sweet bonus).
As I get ready for this year’s trip—finding a new lake and sorting through tackle—I’ve reflected on what these weekends actually are. They’re a tradition and a lifeline. It’s the glue that has held our friendships together. On the ice, life’s busyness melts away. What’s left is simple but powerful: connection, laughter, and friendships that have weathered decades.
James Zandstra is an experienced outdoorsman with a passion for the Mitten State. Follow his work on X @TheFairChase1.
