Freezeup starts
on November 3rd
this year. Gail came in with me last night and when we had to
break ice for
about half of
the mile to the
cabin she
planned to leave
in this morning.
We left the
skiff a few
docks away at
Greg Gursey's
cabin because
it's closer to
deep water and
doesn't freeze
as quickly
there.
This morning I went out in the dark and started the
outboard.
The skiff was
frozen in but I
broke the ice
just by stepping
into the boat.
The tattle tale
was frozen, too,
so I ran it for
a while and then
shut it off for
a while,
repeating this
until the tattle
tale started to
flow. Then
I went back in
and cooked a
hearty breakfast
of corned beef
hash, eggs,
toast, and
juice. I
like hearty
breakfasts when
you think you
might get
stranded in the
cold.
When we got under weigh I tried to follow the path of
broken ice we
had left the
previous
evening, but the
refrozen water
and the newly
frozen lake left
scant trace in
the beam of my
headlamp.
Gail would
occasionally
point the way to
a darker patch,
which usually
turned out to be
newer ice that
made less noise
breaking
through, but we
created quite
the racket of
aluminum
crashing through
ice all the way
up to Trent's
Chateau, where
Jamie is also
icing in as
caretaker.
I suspected
Craig Johnson
(and later I found out Dale Haggard was at his cabin),
the only other
home guard iced
in this year,
could hear us
all the way over
on Flat Lake
Island, if we
actually didn't
wake him up.
Trent must have
deep water in
front of his
place because it
wasn't frozen
yet. But
soon afterwards
it was noisy
again.
When we got to the dock Gail quipped that we wouldn't
have to fight
anyone for space
there. I
saw her off and
picked up our
paper and took
Haggards, who
are in at their
shop (only
Carolyn was there to finish hauling boats out), for Jamie.
I know how nice
it is to get
that last paper
and how every
word in it gets
read over the
ensuing week of
isolation.
The route
back was pretty much open for me, the water seemingly thicker than usual
in the dark. I took the video "Getting iced in 2009" and
the camera made
it look pitch
dark and eerie
while my eyes
had adjusted so
I wasn't using
my headlamp.
It was nice to
get back to
Greg's dock and
leave the skiff
for daybreak to
pull out with
Phylis (my
snowmachine,
italicized to
make it clear
that it is not
its namesake,
Phylis Sterling,
from whom I
bought it when
she and Jim
lived in the
next cabin).
Later, when I hauled the boat out, I started draining
the lower unit
lube oil, but
couldn't get the
upper plug out
with the little
screwdriver I
had. So I
put the drain
plug screw on
top of the lube
oil container,
planning to work
on it later.
Now it is dark
again, and
"later" has
arrived, so I
think I'll stop
writing and walk
down, making
noise so I don't
surprise the two
moose
habituating our
garden, and just
put the drain
plug in a bag so
I can find it if
it snows, and
work on that one
again tomorrow.
Maybe the ice
will be doing
its scary but
reassuring
singing
(reassuring
because it mean
it's getting
thicker). (Post Script: When Carolyn came in on her hovercraft to join Dale,
she wondered about their paper. She understood about giving it to
Jamie and read Craig's before passing it on to him.)