There’s a warm wind blowing on Moosehead Lake today, from the south at twenty. The surface is looking better and better. The skies are overcast, all the better to prevent slush-out, but with the strong wind and slush runners iceboaters would be having a ball today.
Alas, the thrill is gone. Iceboaters have heard the Fat Lady and succumbed to her siren song. Work is getting done, gardens tilled. But what Maine iceboater doesn’t feel the nip in the air today, notice the swaying of the pines, and just wonder if maybe we should have gone after all. It was in the cards, this cold snap having been well forecast over a week ago. But one by one the intrepid hard core of the CIBC slipped sheepishly into spring.
So it’s quiet day on Moosehead Lake. The snowmobilers and ice fisherman have left, summer visitors yet to arrive. It could have been ours, but now it belongs only to the creeping warmth, and a certain singer who’s mournful message can be heard in the wind.