Ice Fishing

Spring has gradually made its way into Korea. I know because I went for a hike with my school on nearby Mt. Acha recently, and there were a couple of white puffs of cherry blossoms and lavender firecrackers of chimdele dispersed among bare branches and a gray, overcast background.

What is chimdele you ask? Well, I am not really sure. So here is a picture from the hike.

Maybe it is a hibiscus? Hibiscus is the national flower of South Korea, so I guess it could be. If you know, maybe you can let me know and I can stop writing about flowers and start writing about sports and guns and guy stuff.

The point is that spring took its time getting here. As I have mentioned before, Korea received more snow this winter than any other on record- most of which was dumped on our little town the night of our return flight from sunny Fiji. Most of the winter was brutally cold with winds blowing down from Siberia. There was one point in March where it started to warm up and give us hope, but the next day, eight inches of snow dropped. One day late last month even broke the record for coldest day in April.

Thinking back on the harsh season recently passed, I am reminded of one particular experience where we embraced the Korean cold. Instead of hibernating indoors, sprawled out on our heated apartment floor and indulging in the best programing the Armed Forces Network had to offer, we made our way up to Hwacheon, near the DMZ, to attend the Ice Festival.

The annual Ice Festival is held over the first three weekends (Thursday to Sunday) in January. During this time, over a million Koreans and a tiny sprinkle of foreign English teachers converge on a frozen man made lake stocked with farmed fish. This is contrary to my initial vision of peaceful ice fishing under a metal shack in the middle of nowhere.

 Not my idea of a relaxing day of fishing, but a memorable experience nonetheless.

The parking lot was elevated slightly higher than the ice, so we marched down into
the frozen fishing field and gazed in disbelief at the endless sea of dark haired anglers below. Once we reaced ice-level, we were each handed a fly swatter "pole" with a colored jig attached to heavy line and instructed to find a hole. After ten minutes and just as many accidental run-ins with the packed crowd, we found a spot.

 Me, holding my fly swatter and watching that man try to bludgeon a fish.

The way the Koreans presented their lures to the fish was unlike anything I had ever seen. They would jerk their fly swatters upward violently, let the lure drop for about five seconds, and then do it again. The reasoning, I later discovered, was to try and hook the poor fish on any part of its body that came within striking distance. I saw one man hook one by the tail.

After a solid hour of nothing (you know it is discouraging when you can look down into the ice hole and see the fish swimming below) I wandered off to a group of foreigners to try a bite of sashimi. Usually, I get excited about food, raw fish included, but on this trip I was sick and swollen with a sinus infection. The sashimi just tasted like cold, flavorless gummy worms to me. One foreigner commented that the fish was good, "fishy, but good." I remember thinking: "you are retarded."

Eventually, I gave up on the conventional fishing and joined Sami and the rest of our crew to try and catch a few with our hands. The bare hand fishing is one of the highlights of this festival, and attracts thousands of participants and even more spectators. All of our tour group changed into shorts and t-shirts and walked out into the cold barefoot to a wooden platform suspended over near freezing water. After the announcer made a few indecipherable jokes in Korean, he gave us the go to jump in. I tried my best to ignore the burning cold and trapped a fish along the outer edge. I dropped it down into my tucked shirt, reached down and grabbed another. And then another. I was impressed with how quickly I was able to snag my limit of three, but Sami insists that it was due in large part to her excellent "spotting."

I climbed out of the pool, into a pair of slippers, and shuffled toward the hot water station with fish flopping in front of my belly. Walking was a bit of a challenge. I had no feeling in my toes. Luckilly, the shallow, communal trough of scalding hot water warmed us and brought the feeling back to my feet.

Showing off our catch while thawing out in the hot water.

 

That night, we steamed the fish in foil over hot coals and ate them whole with chopsticks, Despite my taste limitations, I could appreciate how fresh and moist the fish was- not "fishy" at all.