Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller There’s something about ice fishing with two kids that can put a little humility in you, and some pretty good food, too. First of all, they’ll probably out -fish you. That’s what happened on Sunday afte rn oon on Fox Lake, west of Willow River. Noah had pulled a crappie onto the ice be fo re I had even put a minnow on Mollie’s p o le. It wasn’t anything to rave about, only th e size of my hand. But Noah was excited, and I couldn’t blame him. Is there anything mo re exciting than watching a bobber disappear down a hole in the ice? Sure, it’s probably a dinky panfish. But may be , just may be , it’s that five pound largemouth th at you’ve dreamed about, th e kind Bob Dutcher likes to tote around town every fall. Or a 20 -pound nor th ern that would look g re at at Stanton Lum be r, next to Nick Woro be l’s lunker. Catching a fish through the ice is like opening day of baseball, where hope sp ri ngs eternal in the human b re ast. May be the Twins will win it ...

David Heiller “Come on, kids, we’re going skiing.” I made that statement on Saturday morning, and it didn’t sit well with Noah, Malika, and Jake. They had watched th re e hours of cartoons. Their eyes were glazed over. They were hypnotized by laugh tr acks and sound effects and chocolate covered cereal commercials that are SO nutritious. Hey, that’s what the announcer said. Their grumbling didn’t last long. Off went Bugs Bunny. Out went the kids. On went the skis. And along came the old man with a collie and two oranges and a bottle of apple juice. Take it from the old man: what a day for skiing it was! Temperatu re in the twenties. Sun shining. Three inches of new snow over an old ski trail. You folks who have gone south for the winter don’t know what you are missing. You kids who are still watching cartoons don’t either. Skiing, and turning around, and talking lead to this. She doesn't seem too mind much though, does she? Jake and Noah led the way. They quickly...

David Heiller The cabin sat on top of a high hill overlooking Moose Lake. Below you could see two islands, pine covered and rocky. They looked like ships in a smooth white ocean. We had to ski there first. I insisted, with a hunger that I couldn’t explain. Moose Lake, not the one in Carlton County but the one northeast of Ely, is a jumping-off spot into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. I had seen it from the front of a canoe three springs ago, had followed it through Newfound and Ensign and Missionary Lakes and beyond to an eight pound lake trout, the nicest fish I ever caught. And with the nicest friends too. So last Friday afternoon, Cindy and I strapped on our skis and headed up Moose Lake with a wind at our back and the sun setting low in the southwest sky. We broke our own trail for about half a mile, until I hit slush and my skis turned into two-by-fours of ice and snow. Stopping for a sunset. We headed for shore, and picked up a dogsled trail. It was sli...

David Heiller When it comes to good timing, the ice storm had it down perfectly. Still, it was a sobering couple of days this past Saturday and Sunday. The ice started forming on Saturday morning, New Year’s Day. That’s what I mean about perfect timing. Whο goes anywhere on New Year’s Day? At first it was snow, huge flakes. But that changed to freezing rain by noon. I called Cindy at work at about 3 p.m., and she was ready to head out the door, thanks to some thoughtful co-workers at Casual Corner in La Crosse. She got home by 4 p.m. after a very cautious drive. Ice built up slowly the rest of the day from sporadic spurts of sleet. It hit harder at about 9:30 p.m. I started to say to Cindy, “This weather is really getting” — then boom, a crack of thunder sounded. “What did you say?” Cindy shouted from upstairs. “God just finished the sentence for me,” I replied. Thunder on New Year’s Day? Very strange. By Sunday morning it was ugly. Half an inch of ice covered every...

David Heiller   Cold is relative. It always takes a cold snap to remind me of that. In December of 1977, we had a stretch of very cold weather, 20 and 30 below for a week or so. I remember standing outside and playing my banjo when the temperature rose to zero. This past Sunday morning was like that. I shoveled snow in my bathrobe and slippers, after the temperature shot up to 17 below zero. That was the warmest it had been for a day and a half. On Saturday afternoon, the thermometer rose to 21 below. Cold~cold~cold That was the high for the day. The night before we had minus 33. Steve Popowitz went outside Saturday morning. He thought some people were chopping down trees in his woods. Then he realized that the trees were popping from the cold. Pop. Crack. Pop. Crack. It sounded just like someone chopping trees with an axe. It was louder and faster than he’d ever heard. He had 35 below. He was trying not to boast when he said it. But it feels good anytime you can beat ...

David Heiller Mitten Wars Have Arrived, the tabloid headline screams. Mittens Fighting to Conquer Civilization as We Know It. Meanwhile, back in Pine County, Minnesota... Last Friday, as we headed out the door for the day care and Noah put on his mittens, I noticed that one was red, the other blue. Mittens and winter and, hey, hers even match! “You can’t wear those,” I said. “They don’t match.” There’s no surer sign of failed parenthood than when children don’t have mittens that match. “Where are all your mittens?” I continued, looking through the shoe rack in the play room where we keep the mittens. Don’t ask why we keep mittens in a shoe rack. “I don’t know. Maybe at day care,” Noah answered. “Maybe at Jake’s, I think.” Noah’s friend, Jake, has a laundry basket full of hats and mittens. It’s a fine and colorful collection, and grows every time Noah visits there. We looked through the toys on the floor of the play room, and found two mittens. They didn’t ma...

David Heiller Is there a better sight than to see a bobber sink into a hole in the ice on a warm December day during Christmas vacation? Let me know, be cause I can’t think of one. That’s the first thing we saw, me and Noah and his friend, Joe, out on Fox Lake on Dec. 29. I didn’t even have Noah’s hole scooped out, and there went Joe’s bobber, sinking slowly from sight. “Set the hook and back away from the hole,” I yelled at Joe, who calmly did just that. A nice crappie soon fl opped onto the ice. Joe, fishing in warmer weather. We all laughed and talked at the same time. We had been fishing all of 15 seconds, and already we had a keeper. We smiled lustful smiles. We thought we’d have our limits in half an hour, the fish were that hungry. You never know what’s under the ice. That jinxed us. The fish weren’t THAΤ hungry. Over the next two hours, we ended up with a total of 14 keepers. All but one we re caught by Noah and Joe. That was fine with me. I spent most of m...

David Heiller Warning: This column contains graphic language about cold weather, bodily functions, and outhouses. Parental discretion is advised. Those words of caution are issued for my mother, who became so disgusted with my last outhouse column that she couldn’t finish reading it. She stopped just short of flushing it down her indoor model. Noah and Joe were always busy figuring out the world as they knew it.  I am sure that deep discussions on the dinosaur theories  were always bubbling with these two. The outside thermometer read 17-below zero as I headed for the outhouse, in a quick step, Monday morning. That may be balmy for Nickerson folks, but for me, it’s getting cold. Heading for the outhouse, it’s downright arctic. My grandmother once said they used to put rabbit skins down on the outhouse opening mornings like this. I use a piece of styrofoam made for this very purpose. It ’ s quite comfortable if you don’t mind my saying so...