Bay City — I’ve lived in Bay City for years, spent my whole life in Michigan, and yet, somehow, I had never been ice fishing. That changed this winter when a friend invited me to tag along for a morning on the ice. Waking up early and stepping out into the cold, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I’d seen the shanties pop up every winter, scattered across the frozen river and bay, but I had never stepped onto the ice myself.
As we walked out onto the frozen expanse, I couldn’t help but marvel at the stillness. The air was biting, but there was an undeniable peace to it. It was a different world out there—one where time slowed, and the usual noise of life faded into the background.
My friend Blake, an experienced ice fisherman, led the way, weaving between clusters of anglers, some huddled in shanties, others sitting out in the open and bundled up against the wind. There was a quiet camaraderie that didn’t need words. It wasn’t about competition but about being out there.
When we reached our spot, Blake fired up his auger and drilled a hole straight through the thick ice. I peered down into it, watching as the dark water beneath us. My first thought: Is eight inches of ice really thick enough to be on? Blake assured me it was, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there wasn’t nearly as much as I would’ve liked between me and the river below.
As I kept staring down, I noticed something else—the water had a greenish glow to it, an eerie contrast to the white ice surrounding it.
Inside the shanty, the world changed entirely. The cutting wind was gone, replaced by warmth from the small heater Blake had set up. It felt like our own little escape—a couple of ice-cold beers and a line in the water. We kicked back, letting the time pass in the slow, steady rhythm ice fishing demands.
We never ended up catching anything—not a single bite. But strangely enough, it didn’t matter. Fishing is as much about the experience as the catch. It’s about the crisp winter air, the quiet conversations, the laughter between sips of beer, and the feeling of timelessness.
I walked off the ice that day without a trophy fish, but I left with something better—a deeper appreciation for what ice fishing really is. It’s not just a sport or pastime; it’s a tradition, a way to slow down and just exist for a while. Now that I’ve done it, I know this won’t be my last time stepping out onto the frozen Saginaw River.
Landen Taylor is a musician and explorer living in Bay City. Follow him on Instagram @landoisliving.
