With only four days until the start of spring, early on a Sunday morning, Dan Beeson-Bergeron sits in the middle of a frozen lake.
Patiently positioned, he awaits inside a tent. This makeshift shelter is the width and depth of a closet – and the depths of the turbid water are tucked under the densely encrusted surface. The mantle of ice laminates the lake in every direction.
Planted beside Dan, is his friend Brett Clark. The friends share appreciation of the expanse of lake surrounding them, and contentment inside the scant square footage of this tiny fabric tent.
Between them, previously punctured and expertly notched into the ice, is a hole.
Beside their hole, inside their tent, in the middle of this lake, they await in anticipation: to catch a bigger fish they don’t plan to fry.
Why?