Freeze Up Thwarted

Freeze Up begins in fits and starts in mid-October.  I envision Old Man Winter playing tag with three lively grandchildren - Wind, Water, and Ice.  He lets them chase each other back and forth across the lake until he wearies of the game and declares Ice - his favorite grandson-  the winner so he can move along to other seasonal tasks.

First, ice forms in the still water below and behind our docks and then extends in the shallows on either side.  One night,  I awoke to a lovely, evasescent sight.  A full October moon was reflected in the inky water, framed by newly formed silver ice floes.  As soon as the moon moved, the image vanished.

The next day, my husband and I kayaked among the shifting ice.  Some stretches were gossamer thin, patched together with visible icy stitches.  Others were thick enough, even after only one day's formation, to withstand a paddle's prodding.  The windward side of these floes had developed a curb, higher than the shallow center, where gentle breezes blew laminar sheets of water over the surfaces, thickening them, millimeter by millimeter.


Over the following week, the ice waxed and waned in sun, rain, and
snowfall, as temperatures shifted from mid- 20s F to low 40s F.  One sunny day, it virtually vanished, except in protected leeward coves to which we bid adieu on our last kayak of the season.  Then, we hauled the boat off the dock and tucked it beneath the porch for quick retrieval next spring, when the ice will break up enough for us to bob on water, well wrapped in parkas, among the open leads.

Other days, both the eastern and western sides of the lake were socked in by 100 or so feet of ice, pockmarked by black splashes of open water.  For me, it is just as entertaining to interpret these biomorphic shapes as it is with shifting clouds.

I fancied a flying goose, a child's ghost costume, and something right out of Area 51.  This game is short-lived, however.  Overnight, those holes fill in, forming an expansive mass of white, ready for winter.

This year surprised us.  Rather than obeying Old Man Winter and departing, the granddaughter, Water, appealed to her mother, Rain, to let her remain.  So for the past two weeks, Rain pelted the ice, melting it, and then keeping it at bay.  As of November 1, we still have a liquid lake - two weeks later than normal, with no daytime freezing weather in the forecast.  Just as every month this summer, October broke historic records for high temperatures.  We never thought we could kayak here in November.  (Note:  our last kayaking date was Nov. 13 - amazingly late).


Inevitably, of course, Old Man Winter will prevail.  When he does, the world will shed its color pallet and return to the season's black and white landscape.  We will no longer see reflections of the trees and mountains across the lake until mid-May, when the Ice retreats to the mountain tops and Water returns.