The Village
Ice fishing in the shadow of Mount Katahdin is a refreshing social affair.
Whatever else it might be, ice fishing on Millinocket Lake is always cold. It's perhaps even the very definition of cold. First, there is the dark expanse of lake underfoot, which chills the toes and quickly freezes anything you put down upon it. Then there are the winds that swoop off nearby Mount Katahdin and make strafing runs down the wide-open water body. Even when the air is calm it carries a painful nip in this part of the North Woods, south of Baxter State Park and the Allagash, where the average February temperature is a bracing nineteen degrees.On those rare bright days when the winter sun seems to be busting out all over, the black water of the fishing holes will always be there to numb the fingers.
That doesn't stop anglers like Rick Cyr, though. "We go out all the time," says the former mill worker. "The wind seemed to blow all through January last year, and we were out there when it was 30 to 40 below. We get out there whenever we can." There is a stretch of lake in the woods above Millinocket, near Spencer Cove, where a group of shacks known locally as "The Village" is set atop the ice. And the "we" Cyr refers to is a tight-knit group of friends — many of them retirees — who have been fishing together for decades here below the white-browed eyes of Mount Katahdin.
"I started that little village in 1972," recalls Pete McPheters, a retired welder from Millinocket and uncle-in-law of Rick Cyr. "At the time everyone was fishing local spots known as the Norway and Sandy Stream and my shack blew over here. I didn't feel like moving it, so I set up right here and found it was a great little smelt hole." Not bad for salmon, togue, and white perch either, says McPheters, who heads to his holes "almost every day" during the season.
When he was laid off from the local paper mill and unemployed, Rick Cyr was right there at McPheter's side. These days he's working again — got a job doing construction — which has cut back on his fishing. But he does his best to get out. "We set up on the first or second of January and stay out there until the second week of March," he says. On the regrettable days when he can't make it, McPheters and some of Cyr's other friends go and use his shack, keeping his holes busy. "They'll go up in the morning and make coffee and cut the hole, fish for a while, and leave after they have their coffee."
On those days when they can all get together the village bustles with people making the rounds, sharing success stories, watching out for each other's tip ups, escaping the cold in the shacks of friends. Today the neighborhood numbers about thirty ice houses, a motley assortment of temporary dwellings that range from plywood jobs topped by old pickup-truck caps to stick-built camps that rival seasonal homes. Some have insulation, many have stoves, and they all have their own little ingenuities, like reels that attach to the walls.
Cyr remembers coming here decades ago with his father and his grandfather when the population of ice fishermen was much larger. "There used to be fifty or sixty shacks here," he recalls. "Now you're lucky to have thirty or so. People have gone to other lakes. I've tried others, but I like it right here."
The population of the village does swell on weekends, when mill workers and teenage boys show up, dragging along their girlfriends. That's often when Cyr's own son and daughter will come out. Now twenty-eight and twenty-six, the pair have been fishing with their dad "since they've been old enough to come out on the ice," he says. And the kids tend to do more than sit idly around the hole. "They do some snowsledding, some skating, some cross-country skiing, and there are fantastic views of the mountain," says Cyr.
On the best of all days, McPheters will set up his fry pan. "I'm famous for cooking up deep-fried cusk and french fries for everybody," he says. The old welder is particularly interested in the kids and keeping them involved in the future of the village. "That's why we cater to them. We make sure to let them know how good it is," he says. "The next generation is coming right along."
The cold is just a part of it all. Nothing that woodstoves, coffee, fried fish, and good company can't keep at bay. "There are days when the weather might keep me away, but that ice shack is just as toasty as can be," says McPheters. And the warmth is not just coming from the woodstove. The camaraderie and good times of the village are something that not even the fierce chill of February can cool.
That doesn't stop anglers like Rick Cyr, though. "We go out all the time," says the former mill worker. "The wind seemed to blow all through January last year, and we were out there when it was 30 to 40 below. We get out there whenever we can." There is a stretch of lake in the woods above Millinocket, near Spencer Cove, where a group of shacks known locally as "The Village" is set atop the ice. And the "we" Cyr refers to is a tight-knit group of friends — many of them retirees — who have been fishing together for decades here below the white-browed eyes of Mount Katahdin.
"I started that little village in 1972," recalls Pete McPheters, a retired welder from Millinocket and uncle-in-law of Rick Cyr. "At the time everyone was fishing local spots known as the Norway and Sandy Stream and my shack blew over here. I didn't feel like moving it, so I set up right here and found it was a great little smelt hole." Not bad for salmon, togue, and white perch either, says McPheters, who heads to his holes "almost every day" during the season.
When he was laid off from the local paper mill and unemployed, Rick Cyr was right there at McPheter's side. These days he's working again — got a job doing construction — which has cut back on his fishing. But he does his best to get out. "We set up on the first or second of January and stay out there until the second week of March," he says. On the regrettable days when he can't make it, McPheters and some of Cyr's other friends go and use his shack, keeping his holes busy. "They'll go up in the morning and make coffee and cut the hole, fish for a while, and leave after they have their coffee."
On those days when they can all get together the village bustles with people making the rounds, sharing success stories, watching out for each other's tip ups, escaping the cold in the shacks of friends. Today the neighborhood numbers about thirty ice houses, a motley assortment of temporary dwellings that range from plywood jobs topped by old pickup-truck caps to stick-built camps that rival seasonal homes. Some have insulation, many have stoves, and they all have their own little ingenuities, like reels that attach to the walls.
Cyr remembers coming here decades ago with his father and his grandfather when the population of ice fishermen was much larger. "There used to be fifty or sixty shacks here," he recalls. "Now you're lucky to have thirty or so. People have gone to other lakes. I've tried others, but I like it right here."
The population of the village does swell on weekends, when mill workers and teenage boys show up, dragging along their girlfriends. That's often when Cyr's own son and daughter will come out. Now twenty-eight and twenty-six, the pair have been fishing with their dad "since they've been old enough to come out on the ice," he says. And the kids tend to do more than sit idly around the hole. "They do some snowsledding, some skating, some cross-country skiing, and there are fantastic views of the mountain," says Cyr.
On the best of all days, McPheters will set up his fry pan. "I'm famous for cooking up deep-fried cusk and french fries for everybody," he says. The old welder is particularly interested in the kids and keeping them involved in the future of the village. "That's why we cater to them. We make sure to let them know how good it is," he says. "The next generation is coming right along."
The cold is just a part of it all. Nothing that woodstoves, coffee, fried fish, and good company can't keep at bay. "There are days when the weather might keep me away, but that ice shack is just as toasty as can be," says McPheters. And the warmth is not just coming from the woodstove. The camaraderie and good times of the village are something that not even the fierce chill of February can cool.
- By: Andrew Vietze
- Photography by: Benjamin Magro
