My reaction when Matt and I started this list was that we'd have to complete the whole thing in the five months that we wouldn't be snowed in. What kind of outdoors could possibly be enjoyed when it's too cold to actually DO anything the majority of the year??
What I'm beginning to understand is that Michiganders have their own definition of "outdoor sports."
Matt's sister and boyfriend are pursuing their medical careers a bit further north of us, near a small town known to be highly popular for it's population of senior citizens, as well as it's ice fishing.
Yea, I thought it was a myth too, but evidently it's really a thing. People actually sit on literal feet of frozen water and stuck a baited string in a drilled hole to catch dinner.
What's even a step beyond that stranger danger? They have an actual festival to celebrate the absurd activity.
So we wandered up to their neck of the woods a couple weekends ago to see what all this ice fishing business was about during Tip Up Town, the annual event that attracts attendees from all over the state. I was excited to learn more about the "outdoor sports" of Michigan.
Before we embarked on this grand adventure to trudge on a frozen lake and learn about ice fishing, Matt's relatives deeply intimidated and concerned me, because up here, when you go outside for an extended period of time and there's snow on the ground, extensive undergarments become a comfortable commodity. But when you start talking about venturing out onto a frozen lake - then it gets serious. Long underwear, snow pants, multiple pairs of socks, and at least six other layers the South likes to joke about but if you ever required it, they'd probably determine "safety indoors." It's about a two-hour conversation up here before risking the elements while you pile on garment after garment. It's possible I exaggerate that length of time because I was sweating from both overheating in my seven layers as well as nerves that I was going to be that stupid Southern girl Matt used to be married to that froze to death because she didn't take the nice Michigander's advice.
Once we finally arrived, we spent about twenty minutes hiking through the snowy festival, a square half block of a couple rides, an ice slide and food trucks, populated by maybe fifty people, then I took my first step on ice.
The lake was beautiful. A wide expanse of white, topped with a wispy blue sky, the already setting sun sparkling off of everything. Snowmobiles, trucks, even a mobile home, dotted the ice, blanketed with a couple inches of fluffy snow. I literally would not have known it was a lake.
Somewhere in the distance, a couple tents and huts were propped up, presumedly sheltering some dedicated ice fishers, but for the most part, it was snowmobiles racing across the horizon.
And I wish I had more to tell you about ice-fishing. I'm not sure what I was expecting, perhaps educational displays on the process of ice fishing, or someone actually explaining what a tip-up is, or people kindly attempting to sell their frozen-solid catch in a slightly Canadian vernacular... but, as it turns out, events like this are not really so much about the whole fishing in the ice thing.
Apparently, it's about drinking.
My companions allowed me a moment to oh and ah in marvel of standing on a foot of solid naturally-frozen ice-lake, before trudging on to the beer tent, where we camped out for the next two and a half hours, dancing, talking, taking goofy photos, and enjoying ourselves. We emerged for another twenty minutes of play time on the lake, during which I made snow angels with a stranger, and Matt wrestled in the snow with his sister's boyfriend.
And that was it. Two hundred and ten minutes of exploring the great outdoor sport of ice fishing - and I think I got the gist of it. It's not about fish at all. It's about hanging out in a tent with your friends, trying not to freeze to death, and drinking beer.
That's the official unofficial "outdoor sport" of Michigan. Beer.
Created with flickr slideshow.
What else should I put on my Michigan Bucket List?
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