About to give a Californian a heart attack

“Whoa!” Grandpa McMichael exclaimed as my husband, Gary, drove down the boat launch at Finger Lake Campground near Palmer — right out on to the ice. We were only 30 feet off shore when Grandpa demanded, “You turn this car around and take me back to shore right now! I’m not kidding!”

Gary’s mom and dad were up from California spending the Christmas holiday with us. This was not their first trip to Alaska, and they were always ready to go adventuring with us no matter where in Alaska we lived.

We got up that morning with the plan to go ice fishing on Finger Lake. After a hearty breakfast, we loaded our little AMC Eagle with extra warm gear, thermos bottles of hot chocolate and coffee, snacks, ice skates, the ice auger, fishing gear and camp seats. By the time Grandma and Grandpa, Gary and I, our two kids and the dog got in, the car was plumb full.

The winter of 1985 was very cold with not much snow. What little snow we did receive was blown off the ice, leaving the whole lake smooth like a big skating rink. Various sized bubbles were a foot deep and more were visible in the crystal clear ice.

Our family of four had already tested the ice when we had been out fishing the week before. But looking back, Grandpa must have assumed we would park in the campground and pack out the gear to the fishing spot. None of us thought to warn him.

Hearing the fear and panic in his dad’s voice, Gary stopped the car.

“Grandpa, the ice is plenty think. Get out. I’ll show you.”

He walked around and opened the door for his dad, who would not get out. The kids and I piled out, but Grandma and the dog refused to leave the car.

Getting out the ice auger, Gary started drilling a test hole, but never hit water, of course. He pointed out other vehicles and ice-fishing parties farther out to his father, which finally convinced him it was safe.

So we piled back in to the car and drove about a quarter mile father across the ice before setting up camp.

It didn’t take long to make a hole with Gary’s gasoline-powered ice auger. After taking a turn fishing, the kids and I decided to skate. By that time the kids had helped our springer spaniel out of the car and she was learning to use her toenails to get around.

The opportunity for skating on lake ice that nice had not occurred for years. Since everyone was content with their activities and safe, I took off on my own skating part way around the perimeter — only falling once when one of my blades caught in a pressure crack.

By the time I returned, a couple of land-locked salmon had been caught, the food and drinks enjoyed, and everyone was about ready to pack up and go home.

Through the years, our family has referred to that adventure as the time Gary almost caused his dad to have a heart attack.

Maraley McMichael is a longtime Mat-Su Valley resident. This story was written several years ago when her children were small.