In a scene reminiscent of one from the movie “Grumpy Old Men,” we struggled getting overdressed to fight off the cold for a day on the eight-inch ice of beautiful Hubbard Lake.

It all began this past summer, while my daughter’s father-in-law, Mac, and I unsuccessfully looked for a good school of perch. We had success in the fall, but, after several hours of conversation and an empty bucket where we normally put our catch, we said, OK, then; we’ll get a batch of these tasty little fighters through a hole in next winter’s ice.

Well, that day came Tuesday afternoon of this week. We met at a cottage on the north end and had the perfect spot picked out, as recommended by an experienced fisherman. We unpacked a few personal items, made sure our sleds and all their contents were secure, and then went back inside to put on our winter gear.

Two nearly 70-year old men, both almost fully recovered from surgeries in recent months, layered up.

Insulated coveralls, heavy coats, and then the hard part: putting on our boots! Seemed both of us had so many clothes on that our feet (our normally accessible feet) were unreachable! I sat down to get mine on, but not after nearly removing all the layers I had on first. Mac tried to get his overshoes over his work boots while standing. After several minutes of bending over and then standing to catch his breath, I grabbed a barstool and brought it over to him. It worked. Seems you can solve a lot of problems sitting on a barstool!

Lowering our sleds down over the seawall, we set off at exactly on a course 218 degrees southwest. We were to go four-tenths of a mile, which would put us over 40 feet of water. Pulling our sleds with one hand and a homemade ice pick in the other (in case we went through the ice), we walked for what seemed far enough. We stopped to check our distance (and to catch our breath again), and found we were only one-third of the way there.

Off we go again. This time, we stopped right on “the spot”. OK, with hand-cranked ice auger out and, after five miners, we say almost simultaneously, “This ice is really hard.” One hour later, we had a hole through the eight-inch ice and said we need to sharpen this auger.

We agreed to try this hole before we went to the trouble of putting up the tent, which seemed appropriate, as we were both a bit tuckered at that moment. That lasted about 15 minutes until a biting northwest wind was telling us we better put up the tent now. We did, lit the portable heater, and sat comfortably for the next few hours, looking at the crystal clear, fishless water. The sun was getting low, so we called it for the day, repacked our sleds, and walked the 10 miles uphill back to shore. OK, it wasn’t uphill, and it was only four-tenths of a mile, but did I say we were nearly 70 years old?

Undressing back at the cottage was only slightly easier than getting dressed, but at least a cold beer and deer sausage were waiting for us. Following a hot pizza and crisp salad, I stayed up clear to 8:00! Mac, obviously in better shape than me, told me the next morning he lasted until 10. Our plans of heading out again at 7:30 in the morning were interrupted by a frightening phone call that our 11-year-old granddaughter had just collapsed and we should call 911. We did, then scrambled to drive the 10 miles to her house. The paramedics were on the scene, and our granddaughter was much better, but they loaded our precious into the ambulance to take her to town for tests and observation.

Nothing we could do for her now, so, not knowing how the day would unfold, we suggested her 9-year-old brother stay close to us, which meant he was going ice fishing. So, back to the cottage, and, being smarter than we were the day before, we got dressed with no problems, brought an ice chisel with us this time, and soon had two more holes in the ice.

Sitting out on a frozen lake with a good friend and your grandson on a sunny, cold morning is now a memory I get to add to my collection. The results were the same as the day before, no fish, but I didn’t care at all. I had fun, falling down only once, flat on my back, which actually gave me a better view of the clear sky!

Shortly before noon, we broke down our temporary ice camp, headed back to shore, and checked on our granddaughter, who was now recovering at her home.

Even at my age, I learned a lot this week.

I’m glad I moved back to Michigan to retire.

Friends and family are more important than anything else in this life.

Memories like this are priceless.

And I am probably too old to go ice fishing anymore!

Greg Awtry is the former publisher of the Scottsbluff (Neb.) Star-Herald and Nebraska’s York News-Times. He is now retired and living in Hubbard Lake. Greg can be contacted at gregawtry@awtry.com.