Editorial of February 20, 2025

Ice—Out on the Lake

It’s happened at last. After weeks of gray, damp, sunless weather, the snows have arrived and the freezing temperatures have performed their task. Otsego Lake has closed in—for the first time in several years. It took a week or so of almost closing, and then melting, until it finally iced in. We have records of ice cover on Otsego Lake that go back to 1842, first recorded in “The Freeman’s Journal” and much later tracked by the SUNY Oneonta Biological Field Station.

Between 1842 and 2001, there was complete ice cover every winter; ice data for 1849-1850 shows a freeze (ice-in) date of February 1, 1850, though very often the ice-in would occur in December and January, and a thaw (ice-out) date of April 24, 1850. After 2001, things began to change, owing most probably to climate change, and since that year we have had several zero ice-in seasons, including those of 2001-2002, 2011-2012, 2016-2017 and 2023-2024—four ice-less years in the past 20 and most likely zero in the roughly 10,000 years since the glaciers receded and the lake was formed.

As a result, not only was there no ice fishing those years, there also was increased evaporation, water temperature and sunlight penetration, and lower water levels, all affecting the life cycles and habitat of our plants and animals. With the once unusual HABs (harmful algal blooms) now occurring somewhat regularly, we humans and our pets are at risk as well.

This year, we have ice cover. And last weekend there were scores of fishermen out all over the lake, braving the cold, snow, wind and dark skies in hope of a catch, preferably a lake trout, walleye or perch, the most sought-after fish out there (due to the depth of Otsego Lake, there is a wealth of cold-water fish lurking therein).

Ice fishing is a uniquely American occupation. Although probably older, its first mention was among the American indigenous people of the northern United States and Canada, about 2,000 years ago. These fishermen made a hole in the ice, put in a wooden fish decoy, found a fish, and speared it with a weapon made of wood, bone or ivory. Later, rods, lines, hooks and reels were introduced, turning the difficult task of ice fishing for winter survival into the popular winter sport it is today. Our ice fishermen use rods, lines and tip-ups, the last being a baited and flagged device that is set in an adjacent hole in the ice and tips up when a fish is on the line, alerting the nearby fisherman. The ice-fishing rods are shorter than normal to prevent the hooked fish from ranging too far from the eight-inch hole, making it difficult for the fisherman to haul it out.

In the 20th century, colorful one-person fishing shanties appeared, dragged out onto the ice and left there until the ice-out. Some of them were well equipped, with a variety of heat sources that warmed up the interior, kept the hole in the ice clear for longer, and provided a liquid source of heat for the fishermen. These brightly decorated shanties were visible both on the Otsego Lake ice and on the shoreline during the summers. Most, but not all, survived the weather challenges, but some were left out too long, and went down in the ice-outs. The more sober tarpaulin pop-ups that appear all over the lake today are a lighter, smaller, portable version of the old wooden shanties (ice house, fish house, fish coop, fish trap), designed to be easily transported, assembled, moved to another fishing location or taken back to shore at the end of the day.

Ice fishing, an exhilarating engagement with nature, is also fraught with danger. Cars, trucks, SUVs, ATVs, and snowmobiles often sink, as do fishermen. A good rule of thumb is at least three and a half inches of ice for a person, six inches for sleds, snowmobiles and ATVs, 12 inches for cars and 14 inches for trucks. This is if the ice is relatively new. Newly-frozen ice, free of large lumps and cracks, is safer than old ice that has become brittle, but even new ice should be tapped often with a spud bar to test its strength and depth.

And finally, those ominous loud groans and booms we hear echoing across our lake are, happily, the sounds of the ice expanding, becoming thicker and stronger. Who would have known?