Ice Fishing With Drones

Michigan is having a very cold winter.  The whole upper Midwest, thanks to the Polar Vortex, is experiencing one of the worst winters on record.  Most of the Great Lakes are nearly frozen for the first time in modern history. 

All of this weather news got me thinking, yet again, about my Michigan boyhood.   In the 1950's my dad and his pal Bud took me and Bud's six kids ice fishing on Houghton Lake in the northern reaches of Michigan's lower peninsula.  As I recall, mom and Bud's wife, Cece, came along for this four or five day adventure too,  but not to ice fish.  A cabin was rented to serve as sleeping and eating headquarters and the two women were more than happy to keep the cabin fireplace stoked and to stay as far away from the fishing as possible .  

The whole deal was amazing to me and the other kids.  We knew nothing of ice fishing and were excited to be doing something this adventurous with our dads. That we could drive Bud's station wagon RIGHT ONTO THE ICE had us dumbstruck.  It was nearly impossible to fathom how ice could be so thick that a car wouldn't crash through and sink to the bottom of that enormous body of water, but it didn't.  In fact, there were lots of other cars on the lake all   parked near  little ice fishing houses that resembled slightly out sized outhouses.   We, of course,  had our own shanty that the dads carefully situated directly over a hubcap sized hole that Bud and my dad had augured into the ice.  The ice was easily two feet thick and all that auguring had prompted more than a little snarling and cussing.  After breaking through to the water, Bud and dad retrieved two small fishing poles designed specifically for ice fishing, baited them with a couple of worms, added a couple of small bobers, dropped the lines into the water, and thereafter ignored.

Though we kids ranged in age from 7 to 12 it didn't take long to figure out that our dads didn't really care if they caught any fish.  They merely grabbed a couple of folding chairs from the car, opened a bottle of Canadian Club and proceeded to laugh, smoke cigars and tell stories until late in the afternoon.  We kids played around on the ice, slipping and sliding as we made up new games to amuse ourselves.  Every once in awhile we would open the door to the ice shanty to see if any fish had been caught only to be met with "what  the hell are you talking about" stares.  Sure it was cold, but we didn't notice.  Neither did our pops.

"Look, up in the sky!  It's a bird! It's a plane! Nope, it's a beer drone!

Late in the day we returned to the cabin with NO fish and rosy cheeks--Bud and dad's especially.  The moms seemed not at all surprised.  In anticipation of empty-handed fishermen, they had hot dogs and hamburgers ready to go.  It was a grand time.

Lakemaid, it's heaven sent! 

"Delivery for Mr. Al Coholic."

These days ice fishing has become far more sophisticated.  Now ice shanties are tricked out with heaters, wet bars, carpeting, satellite TV and fancy furniture.  Power augers drill the holes in the ice, if the "fisher persons" actually bother to bring poles. Some areas even feature local pizza delivery.  Recently some ahead of the curve entrepreneurs  devised a system of beer delivery utilizing drones.  This was truly ONE GIANT STEP FOR DIPSOMANIA, until the FAA killed the idea.

The sportsmen and women of northern Minnesota enjoyed drone delivery of Lakemaid Beer until the federal government killed this brilliant gift to American capitalism.  

Where is Spuds Mackenzie when you need him?

Maybe it's all for the best.  Real ice fishing should be BYOB.  Who wants to open the door to the ice cold reality of just one more winter in the upper Midwest?

Touchdown!