Olen said, holding a bottle of cold beer in one hand while the other fished through a bowl of unshelled peanuts that sat on the knotty pine end table beside his recliner. “Well, I took my camera out on the ice a few times already, if that’s what you mean,” Ryan said from the couch, turning away from the television to face Olen during a commercial break from the NFL playoff game they’d been watching. “Nah, I mean ice fishing.” Olen cracked a shell and popped the nut into his mouth. “So, whad’ya say—you game?” “I’m in!” “Good. It’s just what you need. Get you away from all the hoopla.” Olen extended his snack bowl in Ryan’s direction. “Peanut?” Ryan shook his head, and Olen shrugged. “We’ll head out first thing tomorrow morning,” Olen said. “John lets me keep my old snowmobile parked down behind West Bay Outfitters. We can strap our gear on the sled and head out to a great spot I know. I checked the weather an hour ago and they say there’s a storm heading our way, but it won’t be here until late tomorrow night.
