Finally the blustery wind is dying, allowing the ponds to grow ice in the teen’s temperature two nights running. So tomorrow, a few of us, armed with nordic skates, flotation suits, and skimbats, will be pushing the limits of intelligence on nearby Hobbs Pond. There is a bay there which is shaded by a mountain, and shielded from the NW wind, which was frozen thick enough to hold through the high winds of the past two days. Our faithful spy, Paul Cartwright, was skating there today with a buddy on window-smooth ice at the very limit of thinness.
One of my great joys, as I realize that indeed winter has not been carbonized this year and that we’re about to have another fabulous season, is looking out on my driveway and seeing Doug Sharp’s beautiful trailer, loaded with all my gear, ready to depart at a moment’s notice. No forgotten gear this year. All my ducks are in a row, weatherproof, nestled in Doug’s amazing work of art. The trailer is so compact, light, and balanced, I can lift the tongue with one hand.
Bring it on, north wind: we’re ready!