The first day the ice formed at the edge of
the lake, it was about three centimetres thick. Then it snowed
just a bit. As the ice stretched and adjusted to its place on
the lake surface, it groaned and cracked. Water from below
seeped through these hairline cracks and spread across the ice.
It melted the snow in a line about a metre wide, turning it
black again.
On the next day, the ice was nearly twice as
thick - especially along the "cracks." Where the snow still lay
a centimetre or two thick on the surface, the ice was
significantly thinner. New ice formed further out from
shore.
After a third cold night, the ice was thick
enough to walk on comfortably, at least for the first kilometre
of the bay.
After that point, the ice was only a day old.
I stood at the edge, with my long pole in hand. I used the end
of the pole to whack a hole through the younger ice. It only
took one stroke. The ice was just shy of three-centimetres
thick. It would take another cold day or two before I would
venture to walk there.
So, my journey moved onto the land. I left my
long pole at the shore, as I stepped into the forest. I
continued my walk out to the end of the bay.
I wanted to see if the rest of the lake had
frozen over yet, and the only way to do that was to climb the
hill.
The higher I got, the more of the lake I
could see. And the more lake I saw, the more ice.
I hadn't planned on walking all the way to
the top of the hill at the end of the bay. I didn't think it
likely the whole lake would be frozen over, but the further I
walked, the more ice I saw. So I kept walking up the hill until
I came to a friendly white pine.
Unlike most of the trees in this forest, this
beautiful pine kept its lower branches - like steps on a
ladder.
For the past five years or longer, I have
been climbing this tree in December to look at the ice. I
hadn't planned on climbing the tree on this day - but there it
stood, beckoning.
The density of the forest here prevents a
clear view of the lake below, so I climb the tree for a better
perspective. This is no easy task for a woman of 53 years
wearing mitts, a thick winter coat and rather clunky winter
boots.
The view from the tree is stunning. I was
reluctant to leave. So I made myself comfy there in the
branches, and wrote this story for you to read. I sat in the
silence. Ice crystals growing on the calm lake below, bits of
blue showing through the clouds.
A very fine snow was drifting through the
air. It coloured the thin ice as it formed on the lake. Patches
of wafer-thin ice were growing over most of
the surface. I could see only a few large
patches of open water. No, the whole lake was not frozen over
yet. I'll have to make this journey again
after a few more cold nights, to see the rest
of the lake frozen over.
