Ice Fishing in the
Great Indoors
Fish shacks are being tricked out with
big-screen TVs, poker tables, king-size beds and sonar equipment
When Dennis Larson
went ice fishing with his buddies on frigid Lac Qui Parle Lake in western
Minnesota one recent weekend, he brought his jigging rods, rattle reels and a
power auger for drilling through three feet of ice. He also brought two,
32-inch flat-screen TVs, a poker table and a blender for mixing strawberry
daiquiris—just a few of the amenities in his new, 30-foot-long Ice Castle fish
house, which he drove right onto the lake. He plans on spending most weekends
there through February.
"It doesn't
matter how cold it is outside—it's like being home, only you're able to catch
fish," said Mr. Larson, the 58-year-old owner of a contracting company in
Montevideo, Minn., describing his $44,000 custom shanty.
After checking with a
local fishing guide that the ice was solid enough to support the 6,200-pound
house, he hitched it to his pickup truck, drove to his favorite fishing spot
and lowered it to the ice on a built-in hydraulic lift with the touch of a key-fob.
He then drilled through 10 openings in the floor, set up his reels and began
his fishing trip in the great indoors.
Ice fishing, a
traditional winter pastime in northern states and the Great Lakes region, may
conjure up images of grumpy old men in flannel hats sitting on buckets. But the
sport has boomed in the past decade, its popularity fueled by the development
of high-performance gear and technological advances such as sonar fish-finders,
underwater cameras and lake-mapping apps for smartphones. In Minnesota—where
ice fishing is less a sport than a cultural institution—the homemade wooden
shacks that once dotted frozen lakes are being replaced by increasingly
elaborate and expensive shelters, snug enough to withstand a polar vortex and
loaded with electronics.
Though compact enough
to be towed on a highway, Mr. Larson's new shack boasts a kitchen with an oven,
microwave and refrigerator, a full bathroom with a heated shower and a
skylight, couches that fold out into a king-size bed, a stereo system with
built-in speakers and a pop-up dome satellite dish for catching Sunday
football. A fireplace tucked in a cozy alcove between a set of bay windows
casts a glow on the tongue-and-groove cedar-paneled walls and ceiling.
The 10 fishing holes
are carved right into the floor. Built-in holders for Mr. Larson's rods and
rattle reels (named for the sound they make when there is a pull on the line),
allow him to fish while he mixes cocktails at the countertop bar, or plays a
hand of poker. An underwater camera hooked up to the televisions shows the
crappies and walleyes swimming directly underfoot, while a sonar display gives
their depth and finds fish out of camera range. Bait minnows swim in an
illuminated aquarium built into the wall, powered by an automatic pump that
draws fresh water from the lake; a second tank holds the day's catch.
Mr. Larson's
tricked-out fish palace was made to order by Ice Castle Fish Houses, one of a
number of regional manufacturers riding the fancy fish-house trend.
Jeff Drexler, whose
American Surplus & Manufacturing in Montevideo, produces the top-selling
brand, was making portable storage units when one of his dealers asked him to
build a fish house in 1997. "Before we even got back, they had it
sold," said Mr. Drexler. In 2013, the company sold 2,081 fish houses, he
said—up from 1,422 units in 2012—grossing $23 million. This year he is
projecting sales of 2,500 units.
Thomas Walworth,
president of Statistical Surveys, a marketing-research firm that tracks the
sales of recreational vehicles, has seen "a dramatic increase" in
demand for these portable fishing shacks since 2007, when his firm began
collecting data on them. "The industry started to look at them and see
there was quite a lot of market," he said. Now, leading RV makers such as
Forest River are getting in on the action, with its Salem Ice Cabin line.
Designed for stays of
several days or longer in subzero temperatures, high-end fish houses have
spray-foam insulation, double-paned windows and forced-air furnaces. They also
have air-conditioning units: Most are now built to double as hunting cabins,
which may explain why curtains and upholstery tend to be more "Field and
Stream" than "House Beautiful."
"I have five
different patterns, all camouflage," said Eric Bongard of Custom Cottages
in Shakopee, Minn.
That appealed to Jeff
Douglas, a 46-year-old nurse in Andover, Minn., who spent close to $50,000 on a
24-foot Custom Cottage that sleeps six to use year-round for ice-fishing and
hunting. In addition to a gun closet, his "toy hauler" model features
a back end that drops down into a ramp so he can wheel his two all-terrain
vehicles inside. Mr. Douglas can use an all-terrain vehicle to tow his
5,500-pound cottage onto early-winter ice; made entirely from aluminum, it's
lighter than steel-framed models.
The interior is
smartly organized, with overhead racks for fishing rods and a queen-size bed
that lowers from the ceiling on electric jacks. A generator—a must for deluxe
fish houses—helps power Mr. Douglas's multiple TVs, DVD players and underwater
camera.
Although there is no
running water, the house has a bathroom with a portable toilet—and its own
fishing hole. "We had the best luck out of that hole this weekend,"
said Mr. Douglas, who had just returned from a fishing trip with his wife and
three children to Upper Red Lake in northern Minnesota.
Owning a house with so
many holes in the floor has its pitfalls. Small children—and adults on
nighttime trips to the bathroom—have been known to step in them, plunging waist
or thigh-deep in icy water. (Since fish bite at night, most people like to
leave the holes open.) Car keys, cellphones and wedding rings have vanished.
"Whatever you can
drop, it goes down the hole," said Mr. Douglas, who forgot to bring catch
covers—screens that fit over holes with fishing lines—on his trip with his
kids. "I was so afraid they were going to drop the TV remote down the
holes, I changed the channels myself," he said.
Occasionally, the
houses themselves take a dip. "I personally had one go through," said
Chad Hiepler, Ice Castle's office manager, recalling how an unseasonable warm
spell 12 years ago loosened the ice on a local lake enough to send his house
and many others pitching into open water. "I got a bunch of buddies
together, we were able to winch it out," he said. He advises Ice Castle
owners to take out insurance.
These new fish houses
on wheels are designed for lake-hopping, to be towed wherever the fish are
biting. Traditional shacks, known as skid houses, are set on ski-like runners.
Once they are dragged onto the lake, they stay there for the season.
Every winter, entire
shantytowns spring up on the ice of 207-square-mile Mille Lacs Lake in central
Minnesota, the state's ice-fishing epicenter. Many return annually to their
favorite resort—lakefront areas maintained by individual owners who monitor ice
conditions, plow roads, rent out fish houses and come to the assistance of
fishermen who can't find their way back to their shanties after one too many
adult beverages on shore.
Cathie Kranz, a
54-year-old executive assistant from Prior Lake, Minn., enjoys the sense of
community at George Nitti's Hunters Point Resort, where she has been
ice-fishing for years. In 2011, Mr. Nitti built her a $27,000 skid house that
she helped design.
"I wanted it to
be a place where people could come and feel comfortable," said Ms. Kranz.
"I didn't want it to be too manly—I want it to feel clean and fresh."
The 12-by-22-foot pine
cabin is airy, with a cathedral ceiling, fan lights and large windows. It
exudes a certain icehouse chic. A tiny antique sleigh hangs on a wall near a
42-inch TV in the full-size kitchen, where Ms. Kranz has prepared roast turkey
and prime-rib dinners.
The custom-made
cabinets and drawers have handles shaped like walleyes, and there is a
whimsical assortment of fishing poles in the bathroom, which is decorated with
a light fixture that resembles a pair of jigging rods. It doesn't have running
water, but there are outlets for Ms. Kranz's hair dryer, flat iron and makeup
mirror.
Over at a neighboring
resort owned by Eddy Lyback, who patrols his patch of frozen lake in a beaver
hat from the wheel of a 1966 Ford pickup, roads are marked by hand-painted
signs. John Kalina, a 59-year-old farmer from Lonsdale, Minn., parked his new 34-foot
aluminum-sided wheelhouse on the Bowl, named for a dip in the lake bottom. A
sleek 8,400-pound behemoth with a giant walleye decal, the house was built by a
nephew and by his 27-year old son Jeff, who estimates that it cost just under
$55,000.
Paneled entirely in
water-resistant cedar with a seven-foot vaulted ceiling, the house has a large
bay window, handsome knotty-alder cabinets and a 40-inch television. Bright LED
lights on the exterior guide Mr. Kalina back home in the dark; pathway lights
on the carpeted floor inside insure that he won't trip in any of the eight
fishing holes. Magnetic sensors in the reel holders trigger a buzzer or play a
lively polka tune when there is a tug on a fishing line.
There wasn't much
music that weekend: Mr. Kalina had yet to catch a fish in his new house.
"I don't
care," he said. "As long as I can get it out on the ice, I'm
satisfied."
No comments:
Post a Comment