Doug Raymond had a look at the pond yesterday, and reports that the entire plate is still there. It was a bit misty so he couldn’t see all the way out, and there was water over the ice at the pits so we don’t know thickness, but given the near zero temps this night and the next we could be back in business on Sunday. There is a wintry mix coming Saturday, but no accumulation is indicated. Sunday is sunny, mid 20’s, NW wind 10-12.
We will scout it tomorrow and report back.
As I look out at the rain/snow/ice mix on my back steps….and scan the weather ahead… woefully devoid of extended hard freezes…i am still enchanted by our inaugural days on Plymouth Pond…i remember journalling the next morning:
> couldn’t sleep last night….ice formation has its myriad variations….that ever-seductive crap shoot….and our first iceboating day on Plymouth has given us an unforgettable day of strong impressions….i had gotten up in darkness, attended to some last-minute iceboat tweakings, and sped the trailer—without a license plate!– to an 8AM arrival at Plymouth. >
> Doug Raymond, Bert Chapin, Jim Gagnon and others were already there, in the powerfully bright sun and fast-warming temperatures. As I stepped out into the glare of perfect ice, into the powerful squinty yellowness of the still, warm morning….i was instantly in love again…reunited with a long-absent passion…I immediately shed clothing and, seized by a calm, methodical mindfulness which is quite foreign to me, began setting up the new Whizz rig on Icywood: a rig I had been working on through the fall.
> Bill had nagged….guilt-tripped…seduced…even reasoned me into stepping above my deep-seated sleaze. I don’t like working on iceboats. I pride myself in sailing a fairly-fast assemblage of jory-rigs…bits of chain extending shrouds is a favorite!….but this morning….perhaps the result of listening to zen-buddhist tapes on the hour-long drive north….I slowly put all the new pieces together for the very first time…i stared and stared, feeling a calm deep satisfaction: there she sat, with John Eastman’s long pennant waving at the masthead…..a perfect, perfect creation! >
> I enjoyed a few careful runs, amazed at how demanding the high-aspect sail was. This baby could move you like stink, but would luff or stall with even a tiny miss-trim. Doug stopped his DN nearby and warned me that the ice was now zippering between the two areas of open water we had marked the day before. Then he jumped on the ice, to prove his point–cracks shooting out beneath his boots– and the ice oscillated up and down. I had never experienced ice of this amazing elasticity.
That day, we left the ice early, spooked by its creaking as you moved along. The open holes became progressively more difficult to see as the ice puddled in the rising temps….
the next day, I received this from my dear sparring partner, Bill Bunting:
Jory,
>
> Congratulations on your upgraded Icy Whizz. I surrender. I give up. >
> Considering that I had enough trouble passing you with your old hand-me-down rig, obviously it would be ludicrous to think that I could ever do so again. Well done. >
> May Whizzy Ice now make history dispelling old chestnuts regarding the supposed necessity of having wide-track planks, and sophomoric phallic springboards, in order to make a proper skeeter. More power to you, and to Whizzy Ice! >
> However, and I almost regret having to tell you this, I will not be gnashing any teeth nor losing any sleep over eating your chips. Indeed, I welcome their taste. As I approach my LXX annum, come this January, I realize that now is the time to slow down and smell the ice fishermen’s wiener roasts, as it were. In the grand scheme of things, what is the point of going faster anyway? Are we not all hurtling through space and time quite fast enough? Is it not time to leave behind our childish competitive games? >
> But please, do not let my epiphany lessen your pleasure from your tricked-out Phizzy Ice. After all, to each his own. However, having read of your intention to reach your demise on the very day that your bank account reaches zero, I am concerned that in your quest to best my old $200 Red Herring you will have unnecessarily hastened that day of reckoning. >
> Bill Bunting
….one of the joys of our community is having another sailor who is exactly matched with oneself: Whose runners are sharper, or better aligned this year?….who has finally bought a new sail?….who is yanking in that last few inches of sheet?….who is faster in the tacks or jibes?…. having a ‘stalking horse’ to train against….not a Buchholz off on the horizon, but a Bunting runner to runner….this opens the adrenalin valve…..
and I admit that these thrills may, among other things, reach back into our reptilian brain, when speed and competence once meant food and mates and survival. But I don’t think speed and skill are only ‘childish competitive games’. I had come to a crossroads with the lovely DN rig….I had sat in a Whizz and pulled the sheet to the limit….I looked up into an angular, modern, sort of “industrial” rig, where mast and sail seemed to blend….and where the limits of flatness—so necessary at higher speeds– go far beyond the DN….
speed may be the icing on the cake, perhaps less necessary in the oldster’s diet…. but it is also a metaphor: the quest for speed masks a subtler need to change, to grow….and i’m not sure that has an age limit.
Buchholz’ comment was, typically, blunt: “Gents: it ain’t over ’till it’s over! Let the Childish Competetive Games begin!”
Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, so the saying goes. But Denis and Frank thought it might apply to iceboating, too. The forecast was dubious for their fair corner of Quebec yesterday, but they hauled their new, as yet un-tested, Whizzes down to Lac Abenakis anyway. Show up and pray was the mantra of the day. Alas, it was not to be. The 4″ ice was slushy on top and there wasn’t a breath of wind. But being the enthusiastic good sports they are, they set up the boats in the parking lot anyway.
We’re not sure if this counts as a sailing day; the rules committee will have to decide this one. But it was much more of a day of iceboating than had by any one else. We’re in a waiting mode while the weather tries to make up it’s mind which season it wants to be. Today is spring again, with melting snow and thawed earth. The ice is disappearing from Hosmer Pond. Nothing hopeful on the forecast. If anything positive is happening in your own neck of the woods, please let us know.
Lastly, is any one from Maine going to the tune-up clinic at Steve Lamb’s on Dec.13? I have an iceboat that needs a lift there, and a new Renegade mast to southern Maine. Thanks.
Without intending to rub it in, the great photos of this weekend on Plymouth just keep on coming so the editor really must post them. This one is from Bryan Hitchcock who felt we needed Lloyd in the line-up, even though he is in the background.
On another subject, we have just installed an excellent article on how to build an inexpensive iceboat trailer. Find it under the PLANS header at the top of the page. Thanks to Bart Chapin for that.
Lloyd Roberts can’t remember ever sailing this early in the season, nearly a week before Thanksgiving, and he has a looooong memory. The pond probably skimmed over last Wednesday, was discovered on Thursday, checked Friday and then sailed yesterday and today. And now it’s done. We barely got off with dry feet as the launch area was breaking up because of the concentrated weight of boats and people at the end of the day. The ice was still 2.5″, but was quickly going to pencils. It became so flexible that if two people were standing side by side it would begin to dish and fill with water.
Speaking of water, Jim Matthews found one of the holes we had marked yesterday.
Lloyd, dressed in his dry suit and still recovering from heart surgery, scootched in to get a line around the airborne runner. It took him a minute, just enough time for the ice to slowly stretch under his weight before breaking. We used his line to haul him out and he found that he was completely dry except for a couple of wet toes. As often happens, the wind prevented us from rolling the boat out of the hole, so we took down the rig and used the mast to lever the plank up and out. Here, Jim Gagnon hauls from the bow after Jim Matthews flipped the bow runner up over the edge.
Jim had been informed of the hazzard locations, but the lesson here is that once you’ve been told where the bad spots are, go out and find them. Plot them on your mental map of the lake and update your location relative to the hazzards continuously. Thankfully it was fifty degrees outside and there was no harm done. We saw this exercise more as a pre-season drill than a rescue operation. Thanks to Jim for providing us with an excellent learning opportunity. Two of the three boats that came to help were carrying throw lines. Is there one in your boat?
Bart Chapin had his maiden sail with Yellowbird, ditto with Jory’s new rig. The Icy/Whizz sailed beautifully, and combined with work Jory’s done on the steering and upholstery, ICW is a whole new boat. He’s got Red Herring in his sights! Bart was so excited to sail today that he left home at 5:30 for the two hour drive to Plymouth, arriving there first.
Lloyd continues his fascination with Cheapskate this year. We wonder if we’ll ever again see Cool Tool…
Doug Raymond arrived right after Bart and said that the runners ran absolutely silent until the ice began to soften at around 10:00. But even then the little zippering was only in the surface and we pushed our luck until about 1:00. Oddly enough the wind held all morning and was still blowing as Jory was wading out for the last of his gear.
Stand by for the next round of Black Ice! Commodore Fortier still wants to hold the Linc Davis Regatta while we’re still in 2014.
Chickawaukie Ice Boat Club 