January 1st started off like any typical winter Saturday morning, but the day’s events had much more in store for me than I had ever cared to experience. That morning, my alarm clock sounded at 3:30 AM so I could make my way to Lake Loveland where I knew the slab crappie were biting. After loading up the truck and grabbing a quick sandwich, I hopped into the driver’s seat and was on my way. My truck tires rolled onto the ramp at 4:30 AM. It was cold and still very dark outside. Taking a look around, I was surprised I didn’t see any others on the ramp or the ice as the bite had been fantastic the week prior.
Motor memory started working me through my regular routine as I took out my ice auger and drilled a test hole at the ramp to check the thickness of the ice. It was a good 6” solid. With my safety test done, I started the ¼ mile trek to my GPS spot on top of a few concrete outlets. As I was walking, I made use of my headlamp to scan for any cracks so I could be sure to follow the thick ice. As I got closer to my spot my attention turned from cracks in the ice to old drilled out holes. As I was searching, I was slapped with an unfamiliar sense of terror and surprise as I plunged through the ice and into the icy waters. The chill of the water instantly stole my breath and panic instantly followed as my hands did nothing but slide over the ice. I tried frantically to get my sleeves to stick to the ice and was quickly getting drained from all the kicking, panicking and yelling I was doing. After several minutes, thoughts of not seeing my family again consumed me with worry. I had no idea how I would manage to get myself out of this water. Several times I had searched the pockets of my ice fishing suit looking for anything that I could use to pry myself out of the icy water. I had no ice spikes, little energy, and had never been so cold in my life. I was certain that if someone did not hear my pleas for help I was a goner. My only companion was a sense of anguish as I realized my fishing buddies were not set to arrive for another 45 minutes. There was no way I would be able to withstand the water for that long.
I was able to see cars driving on the road in front of me, but I knew the drivers could not hear my screams. I was in total despair. I needed God, an angel, a miracle to save me. Then suddenly, I remembered the Leatherman knife that was in my jeans pocket. I worked to unzip my jacket and pull down my chest bibs so I could reach the knife. I needed to be very careful not to drop the only chance I had at escaping.
Finally, I managed to pull it out of my pants pocket. I opened it up with my numb and stiff fingers and then took it in my fist and started slamming it into the ice as hard as I possibly could. I knew I had to get it deep into the ice so I could pull on the knife like a handle and wiggle myself out of the water. This exercise turned out to be quite an undertaking because of how exhausted I was and how badly I was shaking; not to mention I could barely make use of my nearly frozen hands. After several attempts of hammering my knife into the ice as hard as I could, I finally made it stick just enough to do the job. I have never felt as relieved as I hoisted myself onto the safety of the surrounding ice. I was overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion as I laid there looking up at the sky, thanking God I was out.
After the fact, I found out the lake was pumping in water from another location which was melting the bottom layer of the ice sheet. I realize I am a very lucky man and every now and then I reflect on the events of that day. Ice fishing used to be my passion, but I have not been again since that day.
