NAIFC

Greg "The Prowler" Wilczynski, Coach of the USA Ice Team

Thursday

It’s nearly midnight on Thursday, just two days before Round 1 of the 2010 World Ice Fishing Championship.  I’m sitting at a makeshift work area in the basement of Big Pine Lodge at Holiday Acres Resort in Rhinelander, WI, the headquarters and temporary home of the USA Ice Team for championship week.  Planted in front of my ancient laptop, I’m pounding the keys in an effort to put the finishing touches on the software that will run the giant overhead scoreboard during weigh-in, and I keep getting distracted.  You see, I can hear, quite clearly, the team meeting taking place a floor above.  Normally I can pretty much work through a hurricane, but something about this meeting has really piqued my interest.

So I decide to give in and assume a fully committed eavesdropping stance (you figure it out), and as the meeting progresses, I recognize something in the exchange that I have only seen on a handful of occasions.  Something intangible that only seems to happen under the right conditions - like, say, simultaneous planetary alignment and the finding of your car keys.  Actually that’s a pretty good analogy.  I hesitate to say that it’s the point when everything clicks into place - because I have witnessed things that were “firmly clicked” or “well-gelled” fail miserably.  No, it’s much more subtle, fragile and rare - like the pre-dawn aroma emanating from a your favorite bakery, today’s special being the secret recipe for inevitable success, the core ingredients of which seem to be talent, preparation, confidence, and willpower. Surely someone since the dawn of man has come up with a word for this “intangible thing”, or maybe not.  Either way, I’ve always liked the idea of making up new words for stuff.

By now, my head hurts and my left leg is beginning to cramp, so I straighten out of my eavesdropping stance.  The meeting is over, and I can hear a few of the guys stepping out onto the deck for some fresh air.  I decide to join them.  Greg “The Prowler” Wilczynski, Coach of the USA Ice Team, is there.  I’m curious to see if I’m right about my “intangible thing” theory, so I approach Greg and mention that I thought things sounded like they were on track.  His response seals it for me.  Not that he says anything specific, like, “We’re going to win,” or anything approaching it.  No, Greg is his usual humble, stoic self, offering a realist’s perspective in his patented soft-spoken, no-nonsense fashion in heavily accented English.  Nobody can predict the future, but at this point I’m fairly certain that Team USA and its fans are going to thoroughly enjoy the weekend.

I consider team sport fishing to be a unique challenge at this level, especially if you’re a coach.  It’s like a cross between an all-star game and a track meet, where both individual and team performance are equally important.  Like in an all-star game, you have the best talent in the nation, each bringing their own experiences, habits, methods, ideas, baggage, attitudes and, yes, egos, each one used to doing things their own way.  As in a track meet, the team score is an aggregate of each individual’s score.  In other words, no single angler can have an “off” day.  The team simply can’t afford it.  So, you can probably imagine how, once on the ice, it would be fairly easy for an individual angler to cave into the enormous pressure to perform, slip into old habits and forget all about that silly team strategy in favor of whatever has worked well for them - despite being in a wholly different scenario.  If you’re a coach, establishing a sound and adaptable team strategy under these circumstances is difficult enough.  Getting everyone on the team to first set aside “self”, and then to drink, eat, breathe and even dream about the team Cool-Aid is nearly impossible.  Nearly…

Friday

All eleven teams are gathered in the main lodge at Holiday Acres Resort for the evening meal, following a full day of prefishing and strategy-making on Boom Lake.  I’m tucking into my astonishingly tasty entrée, thinking that somebody ought to give Chef Tom his own cooking show.  Between these savory bites of edible perfection, I check out the competition seated at the other tables, looking for signs of the “intangible thing”.  I don’t see it, but I’m quick to remind myself that my perception here really doesn’t amount to much.  These are the best ice anglers in the world, after all.  I’m not going to gain much insight on their preparedness from watching them chew.

Over more fresh air back at Big Pine, I catch a moment with Greg before the team meeting to ask him how he thought the day went.  He offers nothing to diminish my theory about the “intangible thing”; however the anxiety that comes from being mere hours away from the big event is evident in everyone.

Team USA gets little sleep this night.

Saturday - Round 1

It’s around 4:30 on Saturday morning and something has drawn me from my slumber in the basement hide-a-bed.  The lodge is dead silent.  And it’s colder than it should be, I think.  Still half asleep and completely disoriented, I stand up and begin my habitual shuffle toward the bathroom, immediately smacking into an end table and making what seems an ungodly racket in the odd silence.  Knee recovering and fully alert now, I realize, hey, it’s pretty dark in here.  Way too dark.  So instead I stumble through a ridiculous gauntlet of strategically positioned and seemingly booby-trapped furniture toward the far wall where I vaguely remember the light switch to be.  Arriving intact, I flip the switch.  Request denied.  I flip it again, checking to see if the switch was just kidding the first time.  It wasn’t.  The power is out.  Perfect, I quip, as I trip my way upstairs to wake everybody up.

Brain fog causes several of the guys to question the coincidence, and theories of sabotage abound until we realize that the entire neighborhood is dark as well.  Simmered, the team begins preparing for the day.  I head over to the main lodge to assist in the effort of going door-to-door waking the other teams and handing out tea-lights.  Throughout all of this, I begin to question the resilience of the “intangible thing”, realizing that even a tiny dash of unexpected circumstances could either make or ruin everything.  I hope none of the guys are quite as superstitious as I seem to have become.

With several other last-minute crises averted, sector assignments finalized, teams fed and transported to the fishing grounds on time, I mingle throughout the pockets of anglers gathered at the launch site on Boom Lake.  Sector judges, officials and event coordinators bustle about in anticipation of the launch, a massive march of anglers out onto the ice, now only minutes away.  Photographers, videographers and reporters scramble to get that last pre-event interview or series of killer shots.  Backs are slapped, hugs are shared and hands are firmly shaken in good will amongst all those present.  Phrases like, “Good luck,” and “Slay ‘em,” overlap in several languages; at least I assume that’s what they’re saying.  I weave my way over to Team USA, and find it difficult to contain my emotion as I look each of them in the eye and wish them well.  I know how hard they have worked for this moment. And watching from the launch as the herd of international anglers slowly makes its way across the ice and toward a destiny shared by few, I mutter aloud, “What a beautiful day.”

Throughout the morning, I am approached by several enthusiastic fans and spectators who have wandered off the ice and into the enormous tent that will serve as the weight-in venue, where I am stationed.  I am able to glean some information on how Team USA is performing, and I wish I had time to venture onto the ice myself.  The intermittent news is reassuring, and I get the impression they are holding their own.

It’s nearly 12:30 now, and the anglers are off the ice.  Round 1 fishing is complete, and the weigh-in is about to begin.  Sector judges and officials are offloading the 55 tagged and sealed buckets of fish to be weighed, and anglers, spectators and press eagerly crowd into the tent.  It is packed in here.  I catch up with Mike McNett, Captain of the USA Ice Team, and ask him how we did.  “Middle of the pack,” he casually responds with a blank expression, and then hurries off to direct traffic.  Hmm.  Knowing Mike, this can be interpreted in several ways so I decide not to hurt myself thinking about it.

The weigh-in begins, and as it progresses, it becomes evident that Team USA will wind up somewhere in the top three.  This little fact sinks in, and almost at once a completely paranoid thought begins to overwhelm it in my overstressed brain: I somehow screwed up the scoring software… missed a semicolon or an entire line of bad code or something…  Oh my God!  I think this insane thought despite all that previous stuff about “intangible things” and “just knowing”…  After all, we did finish dead last in Poland last year, and I’ve never been great at math…  I begin to formulate a plan for my stealthy escape from the tent, then from Rhinelander, then from the planet.  Collecting myself from underneath the scoring table, I run a quick visual check of the numbers and realize that the software is just fine.  Team USA is indeed climbing in the ranks, and extreme pride replaces my paranoia in an instant.

With the Round 1 weigh-in complete, the numbers checked and rechecked, Team USA finds itself in first place, with Mike Boedeker currently in third place in the individual rankings.  Not bad, I think, as dozens of cameras capture the now static ten-foot-wide overhead scoreboard displaying those unthinkable results in full color Hi-Definition splendor.  Not bad at all. Back at Big Pine Lodge, a few of the team are gathered around the TV to watch the local press coverage, reflect upon the day and generally bask in the glory of being excellent.  Emotions run thick in the room, with nary a dry eye amongst these typically rough & tough outdoorsmen. Nobody really expected this.  Not really.  And it’s an amazing feeling.

Team USA gets even less sleep tonight.

Sunday - Round 2

The same stuff pretty much happens this morning, sans the blackout and impromptu door-to-door wake-up service.  A few teams, including Team USA, have made angler substitutions for the second round as sector assignments are finalized.  Regardless of how this day unfolds for Team USA, we have certainly earned the respect of our peers.  Back on the fishing grounds, this is all too apparent in the body language of most anglers as they line up to march out onto the ice once again.  It’s a new day, and they will be gunning for us.

I take a pre-launch walk over to chat with the legendary Dave Genz, Consultant to Team USA, who is sitting atop his parked snowmobile a few yards from shore, watching the anglers make their last minute preparations.  He points out how we really lucked out with the weather, and that the ice will likely have melted too far from shore by tomorrow.  Indeed he is correct.  There is standing water all along the shoreline, and we are forced to block off most of it, including a man-sized hole in the ice, with some crime scene tape and a few folding chairs.  The temperature is already in the mid-fifties and climbing, with a predicted high of sixty-five.  The resulting fog bank from the sudden melt-off envelopes Boom Lake this morning, and we speculate about what effect, if any, this will have on the bite.

I wander back onto shore, navigating through more hugs, handshakes, back-slaps and slay ‘ems.  Upon reaching them, I can see that the “intangible thing” has not abandoned Team USA, each angler clearly not willing settle for anything less than all out victory.  I momentarily crack their concentration to once again wish each of them well, and make my way back to the big-top to do my behind-the-scenes thing.  By nine, the fog has lifted and the sun is shining brightly.  I reluctantly shed my team parka and think, wow, another beautiful day.

Sunday’s weigh-in is truly something special, and although it is extremely difficult, I manage to perform my duties with a measure of emotional detachment.  Team USA never moves out of first place, ending up with three anglers in the individual top ten, Mike Boedeker taking first place, Doug Bussian taking fifth, and Bill Whiteside taking sixth.  This is really going to turn some heads, I muse, grinning like the proverbial cat. I knew it all along.

A better writer might be able to communicate the experience of winning a world championship, the enormity of the thing, the emotional intensity.  I simply can’t find the words. For now, it will have to be enough to say that I am both immeasurably thankful and proud to have played a small part in this remarkable victory for the USA Ice Team, and indeed, for freshwater sport fishing throughout the United States.

And as for putting a name to that “intangible thing”, we should probably let Webster’s take a crack at it first.  But I’ll be sure and let them know that “Champion” has a particularly nice ring to it, don’t you agree?