6AM…. teacup in hand, I sat in my meditation chair, looking out at the spasms of the evergreen outside: hmmm…tons of wind….a prayer naturally arose: dear Higher Power…..we know you order the many conditions of wind and ice….we know you giveth and taketh away….but you know, HP, this season has been a biggie in the taketh away, and a smallie in the giveth….what would it be like, just to even things out, say, for us to sail until May 1?……

I tracked down the gear, hitched the trailer, and drove the mere 1.4 miles to Megunticook….light cloud, wind 15-25 and gusty NNE….storm sails–could they be reefed?–came to mind….nobody around yet….ice presently hard, but ready to slush-out at any minute…the gear, once unloaded, began skittering off downwind….a quiet intrusion of wisdom: Do I really want to do this?….let’s face it: you can easilylose the hang of iceboating….without your buddies calling at 630….denying, exaggerating, downright lying….without this HYPE….the cuddly koala bear in our souls would take one look at this, and say….warm up the coffee, mopsy, i’m coming home!

but good old Lloyd was there, keeping faith, setting up Cheapskate….Bill was off to buy champaign….typical….I’ve even seen him smoke cigars….I checked in with Bunting, and, as usual, he decided that only fools would go out in this…. so i eased off the emergency brake and luffed and crabbed my way up to the lee of Davy Jones Cove. By now the spring sun was out, the ice was sparkling with crystals, and, with only very few scabs to avoid, it was a delight to sail on….hey, this is great!

and it truly was….the ice was without hazard, thou the boat speed was sometimes terrifying. I often used a tight-sheeted sail while sailing dead downwind, as broad reaches would take you out of control. I kept station with stately Cheapskate, that most forgiving of boats, until Bill joined us, and we blasted up the western passage, a threesome, against the howl….At the north broads, about 9:15, in a momentary lull, I could feel that the ice was softening….but with so much wind to overcome the drag, it was easy to blast thru Chaney’s Narrows and reach Wipe-out Bay…There, alas, the wind was definitely mellower, and the spector of a long push home–my storm sail possibly unequal to the friction of slush…made our decision unanimous: to roll the dice and head home for slush runners…

but once back in the North Broads, happily, the wind was as strong as ever, and we stitched our way South, and frolicked over to the turnpike section….there all three of the “fangs” passages into the turnpike, were blocked by open water….this is, after all, April…and besides you craved the open spaces to bleed off speed when the boat became hell-bent on self-destruct….finally we gathered at Davy Jones’ and opened the champaign…

and there we lounged, in the bright noon sun….clothes stripped off….Bunting, who had sailed after all, and I swapped stories of our blue-water sailing days in the 60’s….we worked slowly down the bottle…even sharing drinks with two passing skaters, who were totally slushed out….then, slightly tipsy, I had another lovely sail in Cheapskate, which brings one back to the excitement of our first seasons of iceboating….when the sport was simple, exposed, elemental….finally, with the slush getting inches deep, we left our boats on the ice for a possible early-morning romp tomorrow …ahhhh….spring sailing….what could be better?