I keep a ladder propped up on the front of
the cabin in December, so I can climb to get a better view of
the growing ice. Last Sunday morning all I could see was shades
of grey. The old ice I had walked on a week ago was covered
with snow, with splotches of grey where the slush had come
through and frozen.
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VIKI MATHER |
What had been good ice covering half the bay
a week ago was pushed back to a third of the bay by the north
winds. The wind died in the night, there was new ice forming at
the edge.
From the top of the ladder at my little log
cabin, all I could see was grey beyond that edge of good ice.
Pale, pale grey where a dusting of snow coloured the skim of
new ice. A broad band beyond that was deep grey to nearly
black. Was it water or new ice crystals? Beyond that, I saw
the
same pale grey of the new thin ice. Was it
more ice? Or more water? I walked out to see.
The good ice was covered with snow, the slush
coming through. It was good right up to the edge the wind had
left behind when it died in the night. A quarter inch of new
ice ran out 50 feet, then it was water all the rest of the way.
The darkest grey, nearly black, was flat as a mirror. The paler
grey beyond was water being gently touched by the wind.
The time had come to get the canoe! Home
again to drag the canoe across the ice. I launched from the
edge of the six-inch thick ice as though I were stepping off a
dock. It occurred to me that 95 percent of the time when a
canoe tips, it is at the launch. I was very careful.
So began what I expected to be the final
paddle of the year.
The lake was calm and beautiful. The quiet
was as deep and cold as the lake below. No loons now, no
mergansers, no great blue herons, not even a migrating grebe
broke the stillness of the water.
Along the shore, huge teardrops of ice gave
witness to the winds that have blow over the past week.
Splashing waves froze on contact with the rock. The next wave
would have run down a bit before it froze. Over and over again,
the waves on the shore shaped the icicles into fantastic
shapes.
I came to the next bay north, which had ice
tucked into its farther reaches. This edge was thick and strong
as the one where I had launched, but I had no desire to get out
and walk. It felt so good to be afloat! And who knows when I'll
get another chance?
I could see several miles north on our long,
skinny lake. All was water. Only the tiny ends of protected
bays held ice. But not for long. Two days later, the entire
lake froze over. Winter is here.
Viki Mather lives by a lake near Sudbury.
