In all the 50 years I’ve been kayaking I’ve paddled around ice, broken thru ice, but never paddled over ice.
All thanks to our unusual winter this year.
All thanks to our unusual winter this year.
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Yeah, that is unusual. I think I have seen water over ice like that once before.
Living up on the great lakes I have several times experienced where our tributary streams and creeks form rivers on top of the ice that sometimes wind around and flow great distances out above the frozen lake. A river on top of a lake.
I have never seen anyone actually paddling on one.
A couple years ago I took a photo of one winding out on the snow covered lake. The problem of digital photography is having a million photos to wade thru to find one.
In 1977, the Chesapeake Bay froze so thick that you could walk out to the main channel span of the Bay Bridge from Sandy Point State park. Oystermen were driving out to the beds in their pickups, sawing holes in the ice and hand tonging. That was the thickest ice I have ever seen that far south.
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I remember that winter (1976-77). Here in Pittsburgh we had sub zero temps with daily averages of 20 throughout from just after Christmas through to the end of January and all our big rivers froze over – the Ohio (a major Mississippi feeder) froze bank to bank and people could walk across.
Early Spring breakup that year was pretty dramatic, with stacked up ice floes and barges that were torn loose from their moorings by the crushing flow got caught under bridges. I was still into mountaineering sports back then in my 20’s and my climbing friends and I took advantage of plenty of opportunities to do ice axe and crampon ascents up the steep highway road cuts that are common around our hilly region. Some of the whitewater paddlers in our outdoor club took advantage of the hard frozen snowpack on most hillsides to go boat tobogganing
My best friend got married that January and as Maid of Honor I had to wear long johns and boots under my gown (fortunately our dresses were long-sleeved and high-necked velvet.) We could see our breath during the service in the drafty 100 year old chapel. That evening the temp was down to 12 below F and when we ran from the church to the vans taking us to the reception hall, the cold was so intense that most of the blooms in floral arrangements and bouquets completely shriveled before we got there.
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I was fooling around on a reservoir one March, breaking ice all the way to see how far I could get. Once I got “that far” I paddled out backwards. It was a fun day. I called it The Shackleton Adventure.
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I do not think boats and ice go together at all.
We used to fish late in the season. Trout really wake up in the fall with cold water and shorter days. We would have to wait for the ice to melt off the boat before launching.
Once we were in a blizzard a long way from shore. The visibility was 25 feet and I could not see the shore. I relied on instruments, a compass and a depth finder. I was happy to find the far shore on a large lake. I fell off 20 degrees so I knew I was below or destination. Then we followed the coast line back to the boat ramp. My brother was in the boat. We grew up on Chesapeake Bay and were used to big water. I have had some people really panic in rough conditions.
And as the hoar frost weighted solemn vows
dove to chapel floor or lined each furrowed brow
of those attendant parties seeking in undercover
to warm love’s gowned sustain did time froze asunder?
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Dogged By Depths
Peering into icy depths
beyond all self reflection
there’s frozen layers to fascinate
and dance in my detection
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The Bonsai pipeline’s bit chilly, today.
Clattered chattered corrugations,
bow-a-non-cowa’d path to play!
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Anchor ice when it’s on the bottom like that
Vielen Dank! 
Did you lay forward?
More like "laid back."
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oh it came at you that fast eh
I have this GF that ice dives in Canada and those are some spooky images because she has to make it back to the hole.
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My whitewater partner and I were driving down a mountain gorge one day after a wintry early Spring paddle. Looking up from the passenger side seat, I spotted two ice climbers coming down a sheer cliff face of giant icicles. ZERO in the way of exposed rock or friction. “Holy sheet, look at these crazy guys!” I remarked. “Oh yeah,” my partner said, “I know one of them, he’s a neighbor.” We pulled over to the shoulder of the road, got out and sat on the car hood to watch.
The ice climbers approached us after safely finishing the descent and gathering up their gear. My partner shakes hands with his neighbor, who then turns to the other climber and says, “Remember I told you about those mad bastard kayakers who run the steep creeks around here?”
We fell over laughing. Risk is relative, I guess
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