Chickawaukie Ice Boat Club

First, a quick note to mention that Toleman Pond was frozen around the edges late this afternoon. How much ice was there in the morning we’ll never know but the lakes are tuning themselves up!

Paul Zucco was so taken by this exceptional example of twentieth century illustration that he searched on ebay for a copy of the magazine, found one, and informs me that the year is 1937. Skeeters were a new breed at that time, so this must have been a very cutting edge publication.

There has been quite a lot of local chat about the Cheapskate and her lateen rig. Here is a long, scholarly, but interesting discussion of the history of iceboating in Toronto. They adopted the Lateen rig early and never “evolved” to the gaff sloop rig so typical of the Hudson River fleet. In spite of the fact that he lateen rigged Vixen was a great success, local builders kept on doing what they had always done, and it took the development of the bow steerer and a Depression to end the reign of the mighty stern steerers. Thanks to Lee Spiller for sending it in. Don’t be intimidated by its length. Take a deep breath and just start. You won’t put it down:

http://journals.hil.unb.ca/index.php/MCR/article/view/17508/22480

Just like the headline says, Doug Raymond’s friend Brianna Partridge, below, heard the call and has signed up as a new CIBC member. Welcome Brianna! It look like Doug’s boat, and we love the sail.

Back to the future, we have word from Quebec that the Polar Vortex is sniffing around their door. Denis Guertin will soon begin to check his small local lakes and report to us here. He sends along this little vignette from last season to help get the juices flowing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14v5BLT5OMI&list=UUkuJRknBSZNiQ_owzIdehzg

Stu’s wife Judy sent this invitation to all of us at the CIBC. All who can make should please go. Stu’s hospitality was epic. Lloyd and I stayed with the Nelsons during the once-in-decade conditions on Winnie in 2010. For a week, Stu fed us, entertained us with iceboating stories and photos, and then led us through the islands on a fantastic tour of the northwest corner of the lake. I first met Stu at the Narrows on Damariscotta Lake. It was my first year with a new boat and he came right up and exclaimed what a beauty she was. There is no greater compliment than to praise a man’s boat (with the exception of his wife, of course…).
The greatest memorial we can erect in Stu’s honor is to emulate his enthusiasm, humility, kindness, and his wicked good ice scouting nose. Lloyd’s note to Judy is below:

Stu died on Sun. at 7:30 pm. We are having a Memorial Service Fri. at 11 AM at the Congregational Church in Laconia. Please send this our to all his great friends in Chickawaukee. The best to you and your family Love, Judy

Judy and Stu; I was told and I called you some time ago and can’t improve on wishing you both God’s blessing and the strength to get through the ordeal. We will all miss him, he has been part of my memories of iceboating for decades and will remain firmly lodged there.

Love to you both, Lloyd

Thanks for sending this in, Don:

Stu Nelson, 88, died last night in Laconia, NH. He was one of the most energetic and knowledgeable of our skippers. He knew how to set up a nearly perfect boat and handle it by feel. His knowledge of the history of our group will be missed and I hope I remember half of what he told me over the years. Some of my best days iceboating were spent with Stu….the days that were gifts that keep on giving.

As you may know he was sailing coach at MIT for many years and has a collegiate regatta named for him (it was run 2 weeks ago). There will be a service in a few weeks. I will pass on details as I get them.

I told Stu many times, he will always have a seat in my iceboat.

Fair winds my friend,

Don Kretchmer

Gambit, Freeskate

Steadying Influence? Jory Squibb? Excuse our bit of pre-ice psychosis but Mr Ice Ecstasy could hardly be mistaken for a steadying influence. He was just yesterday begging me to loan him my spare SkimBat regardless of the fact that he begged me earlier this fall to get that thing out of his sight because he knows he won’t be able to control himself come first ice. He’s still nursing injuries from crashing on Sebago last year. Any co-dependent drunks out there? Does this sound familiar? My steadying influence dictates that we will not be seeing Mr Squibb sailing a SkimBat this season.

Soon we will have real ice reports at this site, but for now we’ll have to be amused by our collective pre-season ice-psychosis.

Where do we come from?….where are we going?….such meaty questions….but my biggie is: How can I get thru November?…..and it’s only November 10th….November is my nemesis….i don’t know exactly what that means, but it’s the right word….definitely a RPITA….(hint: A is a 3 letter word)

Keeping the iceboat set up in perpetuity out in the driveway helps the waiting move along….sometimes i even hoist a sail….and late Sunday afternoon, deep in gloom, i headed to Bill’s shop….i knew Sunday is a workday there…i wanted to check on the new boom he promised to help me finish, which would finally allow me to sheet my new Whizz sail to the very limit….and give an essential lift to my sagging moods…

….there was Bill in a paper jump suit which—a long time ago!—had been a spiffy Ebola protective outfit….but was now patched about with duct tape….he looked like kitchen help, low on the food chain….he was leaning in on a two-handled plastering gizmo… skimming epoxy on a tired 40 foot Atkins Ketch, which i call the incredible hulk….we immediately began chattering about the coming early freeze….turns out the gulf stream is being goosed by the polar vortex because of a frown from El Nino…and sometime next week, ice-people’s prayers are to be answered in spades…

“uhhh…Bill”….I queried…”you’ve got two skimbatts right?” I knew we were both thinking of all the ‘early ice extacies’ we’ve been thru….Toleman, Grassy, the Swamp….the very names are sacred…and of how much a skimbatt is the needed chariot….Bill stared fixedly at me, as he paused in the skimming….”Noooo, I absolutely do not! You dithered back and forth, and finally asked me to sell your skimbatt at the swap meet. So, forget skimbatting!”

we had been skimbatting last February on Sebago, which was still open water, but frozen inside Outer Island, north of Nason’s beach. Late in the day, I had blasted into an ice scab and now, 8 long months later, was still healing a bad knee….I now sighed…”aging”……is that how it’s spelled? …looks like ague-ing….is it physical?…or maybe just mental?….maybe it’s just thinking “old”? …maybe i should just keep on keeping on?

but i also keenly feel a mental part….some sort of tardy cost-benefit calculation….some of our past stupidities i haven’t even dared to share on this site, for fear of discouraging the sport. last fall, for example, i shared this, early Plymouth Pond adventure:

“so we strapped on skates, Bill assembled his Skimbat, and we started swinging our ice axes, as we made our way out over deeper water. Hooray! After weeks of piddling ice, something was solidly talking back to our swings! Soon we came to smoother ice, without orange peel, which measured noticeably less than the previous 4″: 2.5″! Bill abandoned the skimbat, as our worries increased, and I headed back to the pits for a forgotten pair of claws. This was not going to be bullet-proof ice!

Once we were back together again–Bill not having moved an inch in my absence– we espied two areas about 2′ in diameter, just faintly different from their surroundings, which turned out to be only 3/4″ thick! We made a note to mark them later, and–still gripped by ‘early ice extasy’– continued on the 2.5″ ice to the South. We soon found that the ice was far from monolithic: it was a potpurri of textures, overlapping plates, and brash ice sandwiches; which occasionally measured as little as 1.5″ thick. It was almost impossible, in this variety of surfaces, to spot the ice junctions which are so vital to see and check. (*) Then, a moment of total panic set in: It suddenly seemed like we were surrounded on all sides by dangerous, unknown, unpredictable ice. A high-stakes roulette game with nasty odds. We gingerly turned around and, inspecting the glassy black ice carefully, exactly followed our skate scratches back to the launch area, where we skated and skimbatted safely in the light air, keeping to the 2 acre patch of 4″ thick orange peel ice.”

……that report gives a happy ending to our folly of skating beyond the initial 4” ice….but…dear confessors…. IT’S NOT THE WHOLE STORY!….in truth, at the (*), we were skating South, parallel to each other, 50 feet apart when, simultaneously we broke through the ice, and sunk into the frigid juice. Luckily, thicker ice, not thick but thick enough, was right behind us, and with picks we clawed halfway up onto the ice, slowly swung our skates up and, with our picks, slid prone to the North and eventually stood up…Bill, without insulated clothing, headed for his car and its heater….I skated around on the thick ice, just to rub in the advantage of correct clothing, and then we changed clothes and drove home.

hmmm….i’ll be 74 next spring….there are many ice buddies far younger than I, who don’t even think about ice until the Christmas tree is at the dump. They let the young immortals jump around on the thin early-season ice, and then join us later on tested ice….could i stand being that wise?….could I stay on the edge of Plymouth in those glassy first days…and watch others head off across the ice?….could i live with the trouble Bill would certainly get into without my steadying influence?

as you can see, deep philosophy is happening…