When Common Becomes Adventure

Jim Olson

Originally authored February 18, 2011

Years ago, my close friend Ron and I planned a day of ice fishing on a remote lake near Isabella Minnesota.  We were looking forward to the final 10-mile off-road trip to the lake and spending the day exploring, drilling holes in the heavy ice and moving at will spot-to-spot in natures quiet solitude. 

The journey from a common day of ice fishing to one of adventure began the minute we left the blacktop at the edge of the town in Finland.  As the temperature steadily dropped and the wind rose with each passing mile along the well-known dirt roads past Nine-Mile Lake, we soon found those roads completely ice covered for mile after unending mile.  As we crept along, seemingly more on ice covered canals than roadbeds due to the recent thaw and hard freeze, we would glance occasionally at each other, tighten our seatbelts, and then laugh out loud at the unimaginable wind-polished ice underneath our tires.  

We finally arrived at the cut-off from road to trail and began our ride via snowmobiles to our desired lake. Having made the trip earlier this winter following established state trails, Ron and another friend had then broken trail for the last couple miles in deep snow and brush, occasionally finding summer portage pathways allowing for easier passage.

We found the trail they had previously made in only fair shape.  The machines and the icehouse we pulled tended to sink deeply to each side of the narrow trail and we found newly fallen trees and brush blocking our path. We stopped regularly in the quiet woods and took our time putting the machines back on the trail and removing those fallen items along the way.  The most challenging aspect became the condition of the trail for a quarter mile due to what clearly had been a moose having taken to the trail at some point for his personal use, obliterating the previous foundation for our sleds to follow.  As we worked getting the sleds through this portal, it was not lost on us that we were the guests here and not the moose, putting the gift of our location and current effort in positive perspective.

As we got closer and closer to the lake, we became aware that the wind had picked up considerably; but having been in the shelter of the close trail and thick forest cover, we were not prepared for the ferocious wind awaiting us as we rolled onto the frozen lakebed.   Another mutual glance and arched eyebrows was followed by a burst of laughter as we sized up what our day was really going to be like.   Jealous of our time to make such trips, we pressed on.   

It was now fully evident that our day was not going to be a wide-ranging search of the lake for Walleyes but a strategic set up of the icehouse that would simply allow us shelter from the brutal wind.  We soon chose a location we thought would provide for the best chance of fish, and the least chance of riding the icehouse down the lake; a bruising type of ride I had ingloriously experienced in the past.

We then set about the Charlie Chaplin slapstick routine of drilling holes and setting up the shelter in wind gusts we found out later were reported as up to 50 miles per hour.  Afterword, it took the entire first hour to realize that the shelter, fabric whipping wildly, was going to hold up.  The more it shook, the harder we laughed.  You have to understand, my good friend was well aware that I have “Forrest Gumped” my way across life’s stage and that he was now enjoined in my latest act. This was not my first “Lieutenant Dan” experience, but it ranked right up there, reflected in those famously shouted words…..”IS THIS ALL YOU’VE GOT!”

It is an impressive testament to the current technology of fabric and metal pole construction that we then spent six hours swapping stories as good friends do about past trips, family, solving the world’s problems, and enjoying a hot lunch off the heater that warmed our shelter; all in the midst of the roaring din outside.

You are most alive when common becomes adventure.  As we made our way off the lake and toward home having not caught a single fish, this planned good day had become a great day, a high point on my treasured list of shared adventures.