Progress towards a mess
By Nick Simonson
By this point in the ice season, what was once a well organized ice house is now a disaster. Okay, well, not a complete disaster, but definitely showing the signs of use to a point where it needs a mid-season clean up. Where at the end of December the wellworn unit was folded nicely, cleaned out and loaded into the bed of my pickup truck, replacing the dog kennel and deer hunting box containing the essentials – paper towels, handwarmers, nonperishable field snacks and the like – now my flipover sled is uncovered and stashed haphazardly, poles all akimbo and smelling slightly of the dehydrated minnow bodies and pieces of frozen herring scattered in the black base. In the cold of evening, or the rush to a new spot, rarely is there time to organize the two-seat thermal unit. It’s a sign of the seasonal progression that, while it may hint at my sometimes-unorganized nature, it also suggests use and therefore enjoyment of the outdoors. There’s a certain level of clutter, disorganization, and disorder that every season in the field or on the water brings, where I know where everything is, but not exactly where everything is. In those autumns where repeat runs for grouse or pheasants are common, the back seat of the truck begins to not only smell like my oversized lab but look like him as well with the coating of shed summer hair bringing on a slightly blond tint to the floor mats, hi shell casings.
