It had been a full day of initiation into the winter wonderland that is Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Snow squalls that blew up from out of nowhere had penetrated my layers with their icy cold. Following the sloping hill of the road, I was looking forward to the snug warmth of the little town of Munising. To my right stood a brave encampment of fishing shanties bolstered against the uncompromising winds that gusted over the solid expanse of Lake Superior. Squinting against the nearly blinding white, I could scarcely make out a lone figure a couple hundred yards away. Curiosity braved me back into the near zero temperatures to find a fisherman sitting atop an upturned bucket. As I approached, detail came into focus-rusty hair and bushy mustache, ruddy cheeks and reddened hands-it seems I had stumbled upon Yukon Kornelius, sans the red-nosed reindeer. His surprise rivaled mine when I asked whether he minded posing for a photograph. "Sure", he replied with a pleased grin. "How about I just sit here like I was?"