Then there was the
silence. Not the enforced kind. Just the quiet that creeps in and before you can
whisper, sound is conspicuous by its absence.
As winter tightens its
grip, it also loosens at the same time. We get used to hunching shoulders as we
go out the door, expecting cold blasts to envelope our senses. Then a moment
comes when the air is not so cold, the wind not so harsh - for a while anyway.
Changes like this come
to Lake Superior with an extra surprise. You think the freeze up will be complete,
that ice will cover most of the outside world, and then all that becomes undone.
These developments are most obvious during the times of ice formation.
At first there isn’t
any chance at all of ice covering the lake. Snow and storms don’t settle down
enough; these are the days when highway travel is most treacherous and all one is
able to do is keep clearing snow. But the lake can’t fight the cold forever.
Eventually enough heat leaves, the shore starts to accept ice on the rocks and
the frigid dense water finally accepts the weight of the cold.
The first sign that
this might be happening is the strange quiet; it’s such a contrast to the din
of battering waves. Then a hair thin
skin grows over the water. The smooth surface appears as a lighter colour and,
if the wind and the temps stay down, pretty soon this layer stretches as far as
one can see. And it remains quiet.
A few days ago on a
clear day I looked to the north across Agawa Bay, past Montreal Island to
Baldhead , about 25 km. as the raven flies.
The view was amazing! The entire lake was kms and kms of skinny ice. As
far as I could see there was no water, just a smooth, light, blue - grey sheet.
What fun to imagine a skate but of course that was only a wild thought. This
surface calm of ice was not destined to last. However, it was great snowshoeing
along the beach and tossing ice pebbles across the hard water.
Then the lake orchestra
filed in and took a seat. The ice music is incredible. Crystals tune up their
instruments and the symphony begins. A high singing joins the echoing rolls in
the distance. It is soooo hard to describe. If you have never heard the sound perhaps
this might tickle your imagination.
Pretend you are in a
huge gymnasium with ice for a floor. You are all alone, so the only sound is
your own heartbeat. Then, off at the far end, a bowling ball begins to roll
along the floor, a floor that is 5 cm think and lays over top a huge water
chamber. Echoes reverberate from one end
to the other as the large ball moves. Close to you there are the occasional
squeals as parts of the floor break and rub up against each other. Or sometimes
the whole floor heaves, as if it is breathing. That sound resembles leather
creaking and it too echoes as far as you can see. Myriad patterns of cracks and
fissures are left behind.
This howl, creak and
groan lasts as long as the ice remains as a solid sheet. However very little
stays the same for very long. The wind arises, the ice shifts and the whole
scene breaks up. Plates of broken ice slide onto the shore in a wild mass of a
vibrant turquoise blue. The music turns to a tinkle then a growl. The wind
stays up and soon there is no ice sheet, no delicate plates, just a rolling
mash. There is no skinny skin, just heaving masses of white that on cloudy days
resemble the morning’s oatmeal or sequined lace on the sunny ones. The sound is
huge. Gigantic growls fill the air as ice chunks splatter and fly carving a new
shoreline out of older ice cliffs. This new surface tightens and the silence
returns once more.
One advantage to
experiencing such impermanence in lake conditions is that you learn to prepare
for all the impermanences in life. Some make you smile. Right now we benefit
from low gas prices and interest rates. Some make you cheer. The Hounds are hot
and so are the Raptors. While others reaffirm what you know to be true. Ice
formations are fantastic and maple syrup, flowers and spring most definitely will
be back.
That’s the tune that
keeps us going, even if the silence tricks us into believing otherwise.