Moosehead didn’t quite recover as nicely as we’d hoped, but that didn’t stop the DN gang from setting a course and scratch racing for two days. Which was ok because we couldn’t even make it to the first pressure ridge, the snow was so thick. David Frost and Martha Crosdale came from Michigan, Hugh from western NY state, and the usual NE suspects: Thieler, Atkins, Stanton, Demerest and maybe one or two others. Not bad for the last weekend in March.

And a very special tip of the helmet to Alex Innus from the Hudson River club for bringing his hundred year old gaff rig stern steerer. As far as we know, there hasn’t been a proper stern steerer at Moosehead for over a hundred years. Alex was good enough to take Peter, Kelly’s general manager, for a number of great sails. Peter has been very good to us over the years, sending pictures and ice reports at a moments notice. They sailed until the ice softened today.

But the Whizz guys had heard of a fabulous plate in Quebec at Lac St. Francois, home ice of Denis Guertin. A neighbor had got his attention with an amazing picture of the lake. Denis couldn’t believe it, considering only a few days before it had looked hopeless. By the time he had confirmed the condition was very good we had become rattled out at Moosehead so we packed up and headed to the border. He was right: as we rounded the last turn and gazed down at the lake it was all grey as far as we could see. And it’s a big lake.
We talk a lot about how to grade ice, and what the numbers mean. A TEN can be defined by ice that when sailed on, the sailor can say with confidence there there is nothing more to be asked of the ice. Nothing can be improved. Everything about it is just perfect. And so it was. Strong winds, three fast boats and endless miles of flawless ice. Add to that a restaurant on the lake with a Sunday afternoon dancing floor show serving up a great lunch and the whole experience is a ten.

Under the bridge and up the river, a fun dogleg to the 100+ mile day:

An iceboat is a miracle. Three to four times the windspeed? How can this be? When you are wound up sailing fast and you have nearly ten miles at a mile a minute to reflect on these things, the mind has time to step outside the boat and watch it go. The sheet is bar tight and cleated, you calmly adjust your goggles, maybe scratch your nose. Blasting along for so long becomes normalized. And you can build this ship yourself. Simply unbelievable. Indeed a miracle.

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