Dismay on Ice

Screen Shot 2019-02-25 at 08.00.08I tried ice fishing once. It did not go well.

My late Uncle Paul made arrangements with a Lake Erie charter captain he knew to take us ice fishing on the West Basin. The captain met us on a beach near East Harbor and we piled into an early ’50s Chevy convertible.

It wasn’t an actual convertible. It was a hardtop with the roof cut off. It didn’t appear that the roof had been removed with conventional cutting tools; more like it had been gnawed off by Godzilla.

As we rolled out onto the ice en route to the ice shanty, the captain announced, “If you hear ice cracking, jump clear.”

I felt like jumping right then and there, just to be on the safe side. Had someone so much as cracked his knuckles, I would have been out of there and turning horizontal cartwheels across the ice.

We made it to our shanty unscathed, piled in and bid the captain adieu.

We sat around a hole in the ice, dangling hooks baited with minnows — for no apparent reason.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Hours passed without so much as a nibble. The minnows died from exposure.

Unlike warm weather fishing, you can’t move to another spot when the fish aren’t biting. We were stuck in the shanty until the charter captain returned.

We passed the time with idle conversation, during which each of us confessed that we hadn’t bothered to bring our fishing licenses. After all, who’s going to come out there in the bitter cold checking licenses?

We were talking about how things couldn’t possibly get worse when we heard a snowmobile pull up followed by a knock at the door.

“Game warden,” a man outside announced.

 

This was published earlier this year — one of my outdoors columns for the Ashland Times-Gazette and Loudonville Times-Shopper.

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Stagestuck — Appleseed Amphitheater in Limbo

A venue that was, in effect, stillborn. Pretty much mothballed after a dismal opening season.

MIFFLIN, OHIO — The gate was open when I drove by the mothballed Johnny Appleseed amphitheater this afternoon. So I pulled in to have a look around.

About a hundred yards past the gate, a crane loaded logs onto a tractor-trailer. The logging equipment reminded me of vultures, picking a carcass. The forest surrounding the amphitheater belongs to Muskingum Watershed Conservancy District. They’re still looking for a way to repurpose the facility.

A boarded up ticket booth and a sad looking concrete statue of Johnny Appleseed spoke volumes. The play — a musical that some deemed “too Disneyesque” — was a resounding flop. The center was built at a time attendance was flagging at other outdoor dramas in the state.

Still, you had to admire their determination, the folks who dared to dream big and roll the dice.

They lost. The Appleseed Center and two shuttered bars nearby sit like scabs upon the landscape in a corridor once considered promising.

The sign says it all.


Vines begin to consume galvanized steel apple plaques at the back of the grandstand. A light tower stands sentry — for no reason other than a prolonged death watch.

A sad looking Johnny Appleseed — his hat damaged by the elements, teeters on its base.