Lakes across Wisconsin this time of year are dotted in ice shanties, bonfires and bundled people brave enough to face the cold. They hang out in their huts all day long and throw the occasional ice fishing tournament. For writer Patti See, these events remind her of another famous festival.
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The Black Rock Desert in Nevada hosts Burning Man every summer on what used to be an ancient lakebed. Anyone who’s been there will tell you it’s not a “festival” but a temporary metropolis, Black Rock City, created every year by “Burners” who come to assemble giant art installations or to appreciate them, and, of course, to party and burn stuff.
Here on Lake Hallie, it seems like we host “Freezing Man” each time a group of anglers comes out to ice fish. At least that’s what my new neighbor, Ken Smith, calls it.
He recently showed me a photo he took from his front porch of five guys huddled on the back side of their pop-up ice shelter. Ken and his wife, Kim Ferguson, are in the midst of their second winter on Lake Hallie. They notice things us old timers no longer do. I love Ken’s concept of “Freezing Man.”
As a new Lake Hallie resident, Ken Smith deemed the annual gathering of ice fishers “Freezing Man.” Photo by Ken Smith
Just like at Burning Man, a temporary village materializes on Lake Hallie. Ours involves dudes in Pac boots and Carhartt gear on four wheelers and snow machines surrounded by Eskimo-brand shelters that are a bit like grown-up pup tents.
Anglers adhere to the Burning Man mantra “leave no trace,” though I’ve noticed the occasional too-small blue gills left on the ice. They attract bickering eagles, which bring neighbors like me to our windows with binoculars.
Burning Man is held in an extreme environment, just like Lake Hallie in winter. There are other similarities. Vendor free? Check. Everyone’s expected to participate? Check. Balancing cooperation, self-reliance, individual expression and creative collaboration in a community? All checks.
Burning Man’s experiment in “temporary community” goes back to the San Francisco Bay area, 1986, when a small group set fire to a wooden structure in the shape of a man. Freezing men on Lake Hallie go back to the 1840s when Blue Mills loggers might have gathered around a small fire, more for utility than an artist’s statement.
Burning Man attracts upwards of 40,000 participants at $400 a pop. I had to do the math twice. A cool $16 million. Since 1980, the Lake Hallie Sportsman’s Club annual ice fishing contest the first Saturday in February brings out maybe a hundred, if you include the kids and dogs. You buy a dollar raffle ticket to enter or 6 tickets for $5.
Ice fishers take a break to skate on Lake Hallie. Photo by Patti See
Burning Man attendees must bring along all supplies including food, water and tools. If you forget something vital, your best bet is to make friends with your neighbors. On ice fishing contest Saturdays this is exactly the culture on Lake Hallie. Anglers share food, drinks, lures and stories.
In the broadest sense, “Freezing Man” takes place on lakes every weekend, January to early March, all across the upper Midwest when bars sponsor outdoor contests on ice: from the 75th Annual Prairie du Chien Ice Fisheree to the 1st Annual Ice Bowling Tournament on Cornell Lake. Across the border, Wabasha, Minnesota hosts the 32nd Annual Grumpy Old Men Festival, where you can fish, tip back a few around a bonfire-on-ice, or jump through a hole cut in the Mississippi. This last event would make anyone grumpy.
This year it’s minus 1 degree on Lake Hallie when the first vehicles arrive for the Sportsman’s Club’s contest. By 7 a.m., I hear the familiar whir of an ice auger, though the competition technically doesn’t start for another five hours.
Across the lake, neighbor Kim makes a crowd-sized batch of chocolate chip cookies. She’ll package them in Ziploc bags to give away at the registration tent. From our toasty kitchen, my husband, Bruce, and I watch the port-o-potty unloaded from a truck bed. Bruce poses the question of the day: just how cold is that toilet seat?
An ice fisher uses an auger to make a hole on a foggy Lake Hallie. Photo by Patti See
