Chickawaukie Ice Boat Club

23 degrees F this morning at sunrise, frost on lawn. Got on decaying edge ice with 10 Ft plank, just, the junk the far end was resting on will likely be floating bits by afternoon. Salvaged all the old moorings.
The surface was solid congealed granules 2-3 inches deep, yesterday’s slush. Out on the lake the surface is deeply pock marked, Chicky looks like healed small pox, it would be rattly sailing until the pock marks turn to slush later in the morning. The ice is 8 inches thick, slightly cloudy but recognizable old punky black ice beneath the frozen slush. Water wells up into the axe hole, as observed by Scot on Dammy, and the last 2-3 inches of ice just crumbles away into deep water. So there seems to be 3-4 inches of punky black ice in the middle holding the junk top and bottom together. Perhaps this will hold together for a couple of days of 20’s at night and sunny 30’s during the day. Perhaps it is all a little thicker on Dammy. It is thinner around old fishing holes and near streams. Like salt ice it probably will not give warning cracks before caving in.
Does this ice, and by extension Damariscotta ice get my Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, no. Will it hold up the intrepid? Quite likely. But the winter swimming season may also be here. Don’t forget your ice picks (do they work in slush?), throw lines, dry suits, and dry clothes in the car. Sail with a buddy.

Iceman

At dawn, I part the curtains
and scan the yard below
I see the grass is gaining
on the dirty piles of snow

I see the spruce bows wiggle
when moved by steady airs
and my mate adds her “be careful!”
as I carefully ease downstairs

I punch my buddy’s digits
as I swallow 7 pills
and I hope they will hold hostage
my growing list of ills

thank heaven for a buddy
whose distractions ne’er suffice
to even pose the question
of a broken date with ice

27 miles pass slowly
with my patience growing thin
but 8 bells find me rigging
on the lake’s deep-crusted rim

Damariscotta’s winds are famous
they almost never let us down
and in 15 years of sailing
I can’t remember hanging ’round

And in today’s wide open spaces
In the clouds and in the sun
those winds have kept us moving
and the deepening slush o’rcome

Another day of magic!
as we sailed and pushed and talked
and my buddy’s sharp bow runner
slammed a hole we hadn’t gawked

How slowly did we linger
as we took our boats to bits
with two day’s rain predicted
we couldn’t bear to leave the pits

soon it will be springtime
and I’ll hoist the boat on strings
and think with some excitement
of playing with summer things

But today I’ve only sadness
As I scan this season’s fun
and remember zen-like moments
That flashed and then were gone.

I feel my eyeballs glisten
as my gratitude breaks free
that somehow in my dotage
ice sailing sailed to me.

Don’t worry about Chicky ice, you can’t get on it. The lake rose 10 inches with last 1 inch rain and snow melt and the main plate of ice is further than a plank off shore, some of it stuck to the bottom at the near edge. I was told that the lake was covered with water this morning, that has all gone, down through the ice, bad sign.

However spy Scott Woodman reports at noon Wednesday that he was able to get on the ice at the Farm launch ramp. He walked out a way and found 2-3 inches of loose pencil ice on top and more than a foot of punky ice under that. He did not chop through as the hole kept filling up from underneath. The texture did change as he went down to somewhat firmer but not transparent old black ice any more.
Will this hold until cold nights starting Thursday through Sunday keep things stiff enough to sail on? The end is near and we should be very careful, we had a great second week of March, the third week may be a stretch.

Iceman

Jory and I took turns playing Eore today. He was there first thing, having left his boat on the ice last Saturday, and called me to say how great it was. It didn’t look promising at home as the lawn was still mud from yesterday. But this is what friends are for so I hitched up the Whizz and headed for the lake. The ramp was wet, but solid, so I set up with slush runners in what appeared to be a rather lame little wind. Jory looked like a white triangular ice shack sitting out there. I knew he wouldn’t just sit there and wait for me: he’d be sailing if he could.

But the boat took off easily and almost didn’t stop for another five hours. All of a sudden I was the optimist and Jory was saying nay. But he was pining for a trip to the south end and before he could finish his tea I was off in a spray of slush headed south. I love the way a new wind direction changes one’s relationship with a lake. Sailing is, after all, just an ongoing attempt to make another point, mark, or something. Now with the southerly all the familiar marks were new.

We made it to the mouth if the narrows and short tacked through. The snow mobile tracks had settled down a bit, and we popped out into the great puff that always seems to greet us in the first bay. It took a while to get out southing in because we couldn’t point too high without sloshing sideways but the wind held at a steady 8-10. It was enough for an occasional hike, which in slush reminded me most of windsurfing. There’s really not much down there holding you to earth. We worked down to the bottom of Muscongus Bay and while stopped for a break realized that the sun was coming out and we had no idea how deep the slush could get before becoming un-sailiable. Especially downwind. The wing mast of the Whizz loves these conditions, but Jory’s tired old DN sail had to work a whole lot harder to keep wound up. The downwind tacking angles became as shallow as the up-wind ones.

There was no way either of us could stay wound up in the narrows as the warmth of the shore seems to soften the ice there more than out in the broads. So we cheated a bit and just let the sails out until they lay on the shrouds and ghosted downwind like a soft water boat. It was wonderfully relaxing. Back in the North Broads the wind was right where we had left it. On the southerly, it’s one glorious reach three miles back to the pits. But we weren’t done yet. Now that we were within walking distance of home we ripped around with abandon, carving up the slush in great wonderful triple patterns lines. I tucked in behind Jory at one point and carved a long set of figure eights in his wake.

THis isn’t a great shot, but if you look closely you’ll se the great rooster tail. It was mesmerizing just watching the runners make their way through the slush. It ran more like a long skinny power boat. On the long runs with no traffic, pressure ridges or fishermen to watch for I would just stare at them. Lloyd has said he thinks they actually plane, and would have to agree with him.
So that was our day, and you don’t get them like this without faith and a little help from your friends! Conditions still look good for the weekend, DN racers take note.

The rain has been postponed until tomorrow night, so with a SW 10-15 wind forecast we’ll be sailing Damariscotta early tomorrow morning in an attempt to beat the slush. Temps will just hit freezing tonight. It’s gonna be close, but this is why we left the boats on the ice: we need to go get them anyway so why not do a little sailing if possible while we’re there?
Ramp is probably still tight, but the parking lot is a mudpot. Try to park in a dry spot to avoid digging it up. The weekend is looking good, so don’t pack it up just yet!

Pits yesterday.

INDIGO is back!