By Jodi Rae Ingstad
Columnist

Yesterday a friend of mine made an edifying comment about her husband.   I love it when wives, with no agendas or manipulations in tow, say positive things about their mates.   There is a group of women in every circle who rip apart and tear apart the very man they’ve been cleaved to.   For the way their words would tear the flesh of their husbands, they might as well cleave him.  I’m not so certain all of those women really feel the way they say they feel about the men they married.    You see, there is a phenomenon around bad-talk.  One person in a group begins it and virtually every woman in the group chimes in.  I’m certain I’ve been guilty of it too.
That husband of mine and I are forced to spend a lot of time- very together.   I don’t use the word “forced” like he’s holding me against my will.  Our remote living space, the fact that we don’t have children, don’t watch football, baseball, basketball or hockey, we don’t go to bars and don’t belong to any civic organizations finds us cooped up together like chickens in a lean to.     
All kidding aside, wives, I implore you to think just for a minute how it must feel to be your husband. Get into his head and see the anxiety he must experience in supporting you and your family for a lifetime.   Men work hard, they worry and ache.  They want to please us but they can’t read our minds.  
 Realizing this in my own marriage, I have come up with the perfect way to spend this Valentine’s Day holiday.  I am going to make it very simple for that husband of mine not to feel like he has to read my mind.  I will alleviate all the stress and pressure he must feel being a husband who supports me and our animal family.  I am going to do a homemade craft project to catapult our love to new horizons.
I’ll begin by taking a brown, paper bag and cutting it into rectangles.  Then I’ll use a paper punch to make holes where I’ll thread red, satin ribbon through in order to make the binding.  I’m going to gift husband a homemade book.  It will be a love manual of sorts.  I’ll show him in print why I love him so.  
“For Husband.   A book of L.O.V.E. written especially for you, Happy Valentine’s Day 2010!”
Page 1.  “I know it bothers you when I elbow you once you begin snoring even though I never elbow the dog who sleeps with us that also snores. She’s a cute little puppy and that would be animal abuse. That’s why I elbow you and not her.”
Page 2.  “When you put the used cat litter under the tires of my car for traction, it just reminded me how unspecific I am when I problem solve things with you. Forgive me. Next time I’ll specify to use the brand new bag.”
Page 3.  “Some women just get a new mop. You bought me a whole new vacuum. This is love.”
Page 4. “They day I knew you really loved me is the day you brought me home a bottle of scrub-free jacuzzi tub cleaner. Now when we hold hands, mine will be soft from no scrubbing. Thank you!”
Page 5.  “I don’t hate you for leaving the lid up and me falling in the toilet again at 2 am. The splash just reminds me of how hard and fast I fell in love with you.”
The very last page of my book will be my pledge to be his Valentine forever.  Instead of giving him a box of chocolates, I will get him what he will love- an oil change certificate. Men love those and it saves me from doing it myself. Be love, know love and don’t forget to laugh!

Doug Leier
Columnist

The “Dog Days” of winter for some begin in December and aren’t officially over until the last drift of snow disappears from the shelterbelt.
I know, Dog Days is generally a summer term referring to a lingering hot and humid period in August, but it also seems appropriate for a long stretch of midwinter weather that just doesn’t’ want to break for the positive.
This time of year, anglers, hunters and anyone else who enjoys the outdoors usually has on eye on the calendar for the next transition. We wait for change and find excuses around every corner. It’s too cold to fish, there’s too much snow – trust me I know from personal experience it’s pretty simple to decide to stay home.
If weather and reports of slow fishing drag you down, however, don’t despair. I’ve got some advice for helping to fight through the Dog Days no matter the time of  year. Part of the equation is reducing the stress – read simplifying – your time outdoors regardless of the activity.
My go-to guy is fellow North Dakota Game and Fish Department outreach biologist Greg Gullickson, Minot. He’s the only friend on my list who’s gigged flounder in Texas and hooked and cooked ling from North Dakota’s Lake Sakakawea. So when I need a few pointers for midwinter ice fishing, I know who to call.
“For me, part of enjoying fishing is at times you need to get back to the basics and not make it harder than it is,” Gullickson says.
Which is good advice for fishing any time of year. “There are thousands of versions of the equipment needed to be an ice angler,” Gullickson says. “The nice thing about ice fishing, and especially this time of year, is you can set out on foot with bare bones equipment and still enjoy it. Now don’t get me wrong. I am a gadget man, but still remember when my ice gear consisted of a five-gallon pail filled with homemade poles made from broken summer rods, and sticks with line wrapped around them. For me, at times I get more enjoyment with less, even when then bite is slow.”
 As Gullickson explains, it all comes down to supplying the basic needs to ice fish. You need to be able to make a hole in the ice (auger), pole (rods or tip-ups), lures (hooks, weights and bobbers), bait (minnows, smelt, wax worms) and if you desire, some sort of shelter.
And in a winter such as the past two, snow shoes, cross-country skis, all-terrain vehicle or snowmobile can reduce the potential for spending your day shoveling and not fishing. The point is, at times reducing the level of potential problems like getting stuck can increase the enjoyment.
Another way to reduce potential preparation time or equipment needs is to look for ready-made holes that are a sign of recent fishing activity and possible success.
“An easy way to make a hole is to ‘magpie,’ or find an old hole that someone had been using and chip it open with a metal bar,” Gullickson recommended.
Think of neighboring ice anglers who spend considerable time to get all their electronics set up and situated prior to dropping a line. With these tips and a little experimenting, you too can get into ice fishing the old fashioned way. And that’s not a bad thing at all.
 Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking the latest and greatest in gear and equipment. The key is to not let a lack of gear and gadgets keep you from trying a little ice fishing, even if it’s the hook-and-bobber type.
If you approach winter outdoor activity with the right attitude and reasonable expectations, the Dog Days of winter don’t stand a chance at getting you down.

Nick Simonson
Columnist

Shantytowns are generally a bad sign.  Economic downturns, natural disasters and tribal wars all come to mind when such a place is shown on the evening news.  However, in the ice belt and points north, it is the sign of something good - a hot bite on frozen waters.  While fishing a lake in central Minnesota with some friends recently, a large a city of fishing shacks and its respective suburbs made it hard to figure out exactly where the fish were biting best.  
From the public access to the other side of the lake, groups of permanent shelters, homemade plywood pop-ups and twenty thousand dollar ice castles, stretched in clusters from shore to shore.  About the only area that wasn’t populated by an on-ice abode was a stretch surrounding the lake’s inlet.  The bite was on and with the advice of a fishing board buddy, my three friends and I prepared for a panfish bonanza as we weaved our way around the neighborhoods on the plowed road.
The lake sported a slot limit on crappies, meaning the only slabs we’d be able to keep for the pan would have to be much bigger than the fish I was accustomed to.  Reports from those around us signaled that big bluegills also roamed the spot we set up on.  With two shelters, two augers and three sonar devices in tow, we unloaded and set up the grid. But of the forty holes we punched to start the morning, we really would only need two of them.  
After running several lines east and west, I joined the novice in our group to show him how the sonar worked and how to watch a spring bobber when the fish moved into view.  His tiny jig hadn’t stopped falling when a red line materialized above the bottom and began moving up the display.  He closed the bail and the bait hung above the fish.  Cautiously, the fish moved up to the jig.
“Watch the tip for any movement,” I explained.  
The copper wire and pink bead twitched ever so slightly.
“There it is,” I exclaimed as he set the hook and the rod arched sharply in his hands.      
He worked the fish up and a beam of early morning sun caused the reflection of green scales to light up the icy cylinder over which we hovered.  I looked over the edge of the hole and saw the gaping mouth of a huge crappie.  It tossed and turned in an effort to free itself but the tiny jig held true, and I reached in and lipped the speck like it was a summer largemouth.  I hollered to my two other friends as they were readying their ice tackle and held the football sized slab aloft.
“I don’t think it will make it,” the nearer of the two said, “you better put it on the tape.”  
I was taken aback, knowing that on any other lake this fish would have had a date with the Fry Daddy, forgetting for a moment that on this water it was the tape measure that would decide its fate.  The crappie weighed over a pound and I could barely fit both hands around it.  Its eyes uneasily surveyed the tailgate as I laid on the measuring stick, pinching its tail down to get an accurate measurement.  In every position, from nose to tail, and then tail to nose, and through every effort except stepping on the poor fish, it fell a quarter inch shy of the legal minimum on the lake.  As a result, it was quickly back in the nearest hole.  
No sooner had the fish disappeared down the hole than I looked up to see the spring bobber rod bouncing in my buddy’s hands again.  After an immediate surge, the fish came up slowly, putting a permanent bend in the ultralight blank.  Having a non-keeper size in mind, the fish that splashed in the hole was a no-doubter.  I reached in and lifted it up. It was fatter and longer than the previous one.  It eclipsed the slot limit by nearly an inch and a half, and our first keeper was on ice.  
We popped some new holes and the four of us set our portable shacks over the hot spot.  Our sleds were the little green houses, and the permanents around us - with their silent generators and Dish TV receivers - were the big red hotels. But, regardless of the expense of our shelters, we were all fishing the Park Place and Boardwalk squares on the lake.  
Schools of bluegills moved in throughout the day, usually concealing crappies that roamed a few feet beneath them near the bottom.  The action was fast and satisfying on our light tackle, with very few lulls – a perfect learning experience for the new ice angler in the group and the best action in recent weeks for the rest of us.  We landed nearly forty crappies, with many measuring near the slot limit, but requiring release. In between the solid bend the slabs brought were the spinning and whirring battles with the bluegills, some topping ten inches in length.  
By the time dusk settled over the lake and the lights began turning on in the shanties from shore to shore, we had a dozen keeper crappies, a handful of nice bluegills, and over 150 fish between the four of us.  We called it a day and wound our way through the shanty town as neighbors broke off conversations to return to their winter homes in time to catch the evening bite.  The glow of yellow and white through the window of each shack cast squares of light on the snow as guideposts back to the access.  Each one was a signal that the slot-spurred action for big crappies continued and the shantytown that sprang up was an indication of the good fishing to be had…in our outdoors.   

Richard Betting
Valley City

In response to rising criticism of the Devils Lake outlet, Gov. John Hoeven, the architect of the outlet project himself, unleashed his big guns: Terry Dwelle and L. David Glatt from the North Dakota Department of Health and Todd Sando from the North Dakota State Water Commission.
In their letter in Monday’s Times-Record, the three tried to justify pumping more contaminated Devils Lake water into the Sheyenne River. Basically, they said, the lake is rising and the only way to get rid of the water is by dumping it into the Sheyenne.
That they haven’t thought of another alternative – increase upper basin storage by restoring drained wetlands – illustrates their need to make excuses for their actions so far.
Readers will notice that the three did not offer any scientific, objective facts or studies of the results of adding more Devils Lake water to the river. Instead, they attempt to excuse the governor for his approval of the use of emergency rules to declare the drainage permit null and void and allow an unforgivable 750 milligrams-per-liter maximum of sulfate into the Sheyenne, a level over 300 percent higher than normal. (That amount just happens to be about the typical level of sulfate in Main and West Bays of Devils Lake.)
The three writers did not mention that the level of arsenic in the river would also increase by about 200 percent along with the added sulfate. Nor did they mention double the amounts of phosphorous, nitrate and chloride, among others.
The governor is using the old adage to make his case and then his escape: It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. Who should have been involved in making the decision to void the original outlet permit? Well, besides Valley City and Barnes County, here are a few:
Can fish hatch, survive and thrive in Devils Lake water at the Valley City National Fish Hatchery? If so, why is Devils Lake still being stocked?
What will 100,000 acre/feet of Devils Lake water do to Lake Ashtabula? What is the North Dakota Game and Fish Department’s response to the change in water quality, to what those changes will do to recreation on the lake? What about cabin owners around the lake?
What changes will the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers make to its operational plan for Lake Ashtabula? Will there be an earlier and deeper spring drawdown? Who has jurisdiction, the Corps or the State Water Commission, when it comes to deciding when and how much water to release? What happens when the sulfate level in the lake rises above 450 mg/L? What happens when that water is released downstream into the river?
What will happen to the Sheyenne River between Devils Lake and Lake Ashtabula, once sulfate-and-other-contaminant-laden Devils Lake water becomes 80 or 90 percent of the total water in the river?
How will the Sheyenne Diversion around West Fargo be impacted by continuously higher flows? More erosion? That’s what will occur in the entire Sheyenne River.
What difference will higher flows of contaminated Devils Lake water do to Fargo’s water supply when it draws water from the Sheyenne?
Has the Red River Basin Water Supply Project taken Devils Lake water into consideration? If so, what are the ramifications? Where are the studies showing the impacts? Is Devils Lake water part of the plan to get Missouri River water to Fargo?
When the State Water Commission pumps 250 cubic feet per second Devils Lake water into the river and the RRVWSP adds another 125 cfs, what will the effects be on erosion and flooding along the Sheyenne River? When the river flows at less than 50 cfs in the fall of the year, what will adding 600 percent more water do?
All these affected parties should have facts and scientific data – not just verbal assurances – to reveal the effects of adding 250 cfs Devils Lake water to the Sheyenne River.
But no, when Gov. Hoeven, on July 15, 2009, signed the letter allowing the use of emergency rules to void the permit to drain and replace it with a plan that will allow degradation of the Sheyenne River, none of these constituents had any voice in the matter. An arbitrary and capricious act replaced science, common sense and community involvement.
No only do the big three – on behalf of the governor – not ask for forgiveness, they still fail to ask for permission.