The snow lies deep all over the land but the open water tempts the canoeist in me. In the first photo, taken on the north shore high above the lake, you can see the open water to the left and other areas where the ice is thinning. This is when the North Country is starting to awaken from the long cold winter.
On the first warm sunny day the urge is too great. Soon the snow will be too soft to snowshoe so we waste no time. We grab snow shovels and head for the mounds of snow that outlines the location of the canoes. Once they are free of their winter blanket and sit on top of the snow, we load up the life jackets and paddles. After strapping on the snow shoes we grab a tow rope and head towards the lake dragging the canoes behind us..
The canoes follow easily until we come to the steep slope that leads from the top of the hill to the ice below. At this point we stop, remove the snowshoes and climb into the canoes. A slight push with a paddle and off we go down the long steep snowy slope, and out onto the ice of the lake.
On many an occasion we have purposely placed a hand in the water up to our wrist. Before we can finish counting to ten the chilling pain forces us to pull our hand from the water. It is an excellent reminder of the risk we take. Neither one of us has ever dumped a canoe, but we realize it can happen.
As we push off from the icy shore we move into a canoeist's dream. The water is like glass and the canoe slides through it with hardly a sound. Our course is limited by the ice but as the days go by the open water becomes wider and the path longer. The deep snow, thin ice and limited open water keeps the rest of world at bay.
We drift by dozens of private cabins buried in snow, without any sign of life. The huge snow drifts give the feeling that they will never be gone 'til June. We experience the lake in a way that no one else even contemplates. All the photos we obtained were unique
I experienced this special time by myself for many years until I was joined by a friend who was tired of hearing about it and wished experience it himself.
We enjoyed this for many years and referred to it as "Spring Canoeing."
Read parts 2 & 3 first.
With each step to the right I took I imagined the ice felt thicker and stronger and I started to relax. In time I could see the shore line so I swung left in order to stay on the lake and southbound. In about fifteen minutes I reached the south shore of the lake. I was very happy. I was on solid land and had had enough of lakes.
The next truck sound drew me towards the highway that was getting much closer.
I swung to my left where the snow cover was packed and easier going. I was getting tired and moving slower but kept moving along the south shore of the lake. Out of the white mist ahead of me I thought I saw something much darker. As I moved forward cautiously I found I was looking at a small water filled creek.
That stopped me cold, as if someone threw water in my face. The first shock was the fact I could not go further in that direction because there was open water. The creek current was keeping the water from freezing even though it was at least twenty below Fahrenheit.
Then I realized the warmer creek water flowing into the lake had thinned the ice for some distance out into the lake. I had been walking across the lake and heading directly towards the location of the creek and the thin ice. I would not have gone much further before the ice would have broken and I would have ended up in the lake in snowshoes with a pack on my back and a rifle in my hand.
I stood stock still playing the recent course of events through my head. From the way I was dressed in heavy winter clothing the water would greatly increased my weight. In addition the thin ice would not have supported my weight. It would be almost impossible to drag myself back up on the ice. The backpack and snowshoes would have guaranteed my end. I might have slipped off the backpack but the snowshoes were another matter. If some miracle had allowed me to get out of the water, I would have died from the cold, long before I could reach help.
I shook my head and got back to the business on hand. I turned away from the creek and moved off to the southwest towards the sound of the last truck. After another exhausting hour I reached the highway and knew where I was. I had to turn left to go east down the highway to where my car sat.
During the walk down the side of the road, snowshoes over my shoulder, I did not see or hear another vehicle. Not another car or truck went by. The flow of traffic had ended for the night. If I had not reached the highway when I did I could have walked in circles without the aid of the truck noise.
Later I determined I came out on the highway about two miles west of where I parked the car. I went in the woods at about 10 A.M. and came out onto the road at 7 pm. I walked at least seven miles in, seven miles back out then two to the car for a minimum of sixteen miles. Because I was in motion at least eight hours I feel I walked somewhere between twenty to twenty five miles in total.
It was not the mileage that was important but the fact that some sixth sense gave me warning to stop before I walked into thin ice and open water. In the days that followed it snowed a great deal more and became even colder. All my tracks would have been covered and the open water would have frozen over. There would not have been a scrap of evidence of my passing and my remains would have never been found.
Another person would have just disappeared into the silent trackless wilderness.
I have lived the rest of my life with appreciation of the gift of another chance.
