The loud crack of the thick ice expanding and forming below makes a sound akin to that of train cars joining together. At night, the sound strikes an eerie, ominous tone that would send those with weaker nerves running - sliding - for the shoreline.
In a small ice-fishing shack on Slave Lake, in the dead of the Canadian winter, in temperatures ranging from -11 to -31 Celsius that week - and with nothing to block the biting wind - Eric Gryba and his wife, Cate, were enjoying the bye week in a way that was uniquely them. The sound of cracking ice was mildly unnerving, but nothing to abandon their vacation for.
They loved it.