“You don’t need a helmet to fish there, sparky,” he states, then hooks his thumb to silently command me to slide back on the bench as he folds himself in front of me.
I instantly wrap my arms around his waist. This bizarre sense of comfort with Sam is interesting and annoying because I can’t put my finger on it. I’m sure he just reminds me of someone I know, but I can’t figure out who. Hopefully, it’ll come to me while we’re ice fishing.
Sam fires up the engine, and a few seconds later, we take off on our adventure. He steers us down into ditches and cuts across various snow-covered roads until we reach a tranquil forest with several other snowmobile tracks. We even pass other sledders on the way, and I can’t help but marvel at this whole other culture of society out here. Outdoorsy types, carving their ways through forests in search of their next thrill. It’s exhilarating!
About fifteen minutes later, my cheeks are frozen inside my helmet as we drive past Boulder Junction Lake that’s full of fellow ice fishers. I thought we were going there at first, but Sam continued past it, clearly knowing something they don’t.
We end up at Partridge Lake, a spot that’s a good deal smaller than the one we passed and more secluded because it’s surrounded by snow-covered trees. A single lonely house is out on the ice already with a puff of smoke billowing out the top. It’s like a postcard and exactly what inspired me to try this out.
I squeal in excitement as Sam ventures down a snow-covered boat ramp, and we hit the open ice. This entire day has already been ten times more thrilling than I ever could have imagined, which is much appreciated after the Christmas I had. Two days ago, I was supposed to be on a plane to the East Coast, but somehow, I ended up here in Boulder. Life is funny sometimes.
When Sam finds the spot he wants, he stops the sled and kills the engine. “Ready to help, sparky?” he asks as he removes his helmet and hops off the snowmobile, readjusting his knit hat so just a tiny bit of his reddish blond hair sticks out beneath it.
I smile at his nickname for me, which only cements the fact that I had to have known him in a past life. We begin setting up camp, and Sam guides me through the entire process. His fishing shelter is a small, cube-shaped pop-up tent made of what appears to be an insulated thick nylon material using collapsible tent poles for framing. The sides have two plastic windows and two flaps at the top for some sort of airflow.
I have to admit that I sigh with relief when he mentions the flaps are for a heater because holy shit, my nipples could cut glass right now. But there is no way in hell I am telling Sam I’m cold. I’m not going to be Basic Maggie today. I’m going to be Adventurous Maggie. However, I’m still kicking myself for not investing in some thermal undergarments to go beneath my two-hundred-dollar snowsuit. Rookie mistake that won’t happen again!
I’m on my hands and knees, brushing a square of snow off the ice for the tent when Sam comes over with a giant, scary looking drill. I watch him position the sharp tip on the ice.
“That thing looks vicious,” I state, watching with great fascination.
“Want to try?” he asks, eyeing me over his shoulder.
“Yes!” I exclaim and nearly biff it in my attempt to hurry over to him.
He stands behind me and positions my hands where they need to be for the manual crank ice auger. His body feels warm against mine as he presses up against me, but I’m ignoring that pleasantness because this trip isn’t about boy hunting. This is about un-basicing. That’s a thing, right? A verb? If not, I’m making it one. I’m un-basicing myself, and that apparently means becoming an ice fisherwoman. Which also means I can’t be attracted to the first fisherman I lay eyes on.
Sam helps me crank the handle, and we drill a small six-inch hole through the ice for what feels like ages. But when it finally plunges through to the arctic water below, I can’t help but feel an immense sense of accomplishment.
I begin to ladle out the slushy ice inside the hole as Sam quickly drills two more holes. Once we’ve got them ready to go, we position the tent over the cleared space and shove snow around the bottom edges to seal it off. He unzips the door and begins handing me things I’ve never seen before in my life. At least I recognize the propane heater! Score one for Basic Maggie.
Sam works quietly inside the hut, propped on his knees, his eyes intensely focused as he slips something into the middle hole and plugs in a video monitor.
“Holy shit, is that a video camera?” I exclaim, dropping to my knees beside him and seeing something sway in the water below. “Was that a fish?”
He chuckles. “Yes, it was a fish, and yes, this a video fish locator. My auger is small, so you can’t see what you have going on down there. And this lake is almost a hundred feet deep in some areas, so you need this to see what’s going on beneath the ice.”
“Fascinating,” I say with a sigh. Because it is.
He rigs up two fishing poles next, one of which is the brand new one I just purchased from Marv. There really was no way in hell I could have done this all on my own today. Sam’s doing special knots and shit, and I wasn’t even a Girl Scout growing up! I was…a cheerleader. And cheer squad has not prepared me for today’s events whatsoever.
Sam takes a match and lights the heater at last. As soon as the warmth touches the tip of my frozen nose, I want to kiss him. Well, maybe not kiss him but thank him profusely. But honestly, under normal circumstances and if I were fishing with a boyfriend instead of a complete stranger, this glorious heat would be worthy of sexual favors.
He props up two little stools for us, and in seconds, we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with our poles in the icy water.
Then it begins.
The…ice fishing.
Which I realize now is mostly just sitting in silence and staring at a hole.
Guys really do this for fun?
I shake my head, forcing myself to live in the moment and enjoy the nature all around me. To allow myself to do some deep thinking and embrace something new and different for a change.
So I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I glance at my watch and am gutted when I see it’s only been four minutes. It feels like we’ve been at this for at least an hour. Is my watch broken?
More minutes tick by.
Or is it seconds?
Is there a weird wrinkle in time here on this lake where everything slows down? And flipping heck, why is it so quiet? This silence is excruciating. All I hear is the cold wind outside and the faint crackle of the propane heater every once in a while. No city or traffic sounds…nothing!
We’re all alone out here. The only other ice house is on the other side of the lake and probably wouldn’t even hear my cries over the wind.
“Let some—”
“Ahh!” I scream, my eyes going wide in horror as I realize Sam’s voice just made me jump like the dumb girl in all horror films.
“Jesus hell, what’s wrong?” Sam asks, turning to gawk at me with worry.
I shake my head aggressively. “Nothing.”
“You scream like that when nothing’s wrong?” he asks. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at them.
“Your voice just…surprised me,” I chirp.
He’s staring at me now. He’s staring at me in that silent, easy way he has about him. “Were you doing some deep thinking there, sparky?”
“No,” I balk defensively, and then my brows lift. “Or maybe I was!” I look at him with wide, excited eyes. “I mean, my imagination was certainly taking flight. Do you think that’s deep thinking?”
“I have no fucking idea,” Sam replies with a laugh and a shake of his head. “But I know screaming like that is going to scare all the fish away…so maybe, try to deep think a little more shallow.”
I smile at that remark because at least he didn’t accuse me of being basic. After another moment of silence, I finally ask, “So this is it?”
Sam jiggles his line a bit, letting more slack down into the hole. “This is it.”
“You just…sit out here and wait?”
He nods. “They’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know…Marv knows. If Marv says they’ll come, they’ll come.”