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In Longueuil, I drop the kayak from the car rooftop directly to the snow and drag the kayak like a sled toward the water. Today, Montreal’s harbor is a complex world of ice; a majestic ribbon of moving colors and reflections, alive and whispering. Before setting foot on ice, I dress for immersion in frigid water (in the range of 3°C to –2°C/37°F to 28°F). At this temperature, water is cold enough to cause pain to bare hands. I zip my dry suit, tighten my boot gaskets and put on a neoprene hood and a pair of neoprene gloves. With the paddle in my left hand and the bow of the kayak in my right, I step onto the ice. Even after a few winters of doing this, I am always a bit nervous when first setting foot on an icy surface. Holding onto a 17-foot kayak and a 7-foot paddle and wearing proper immersion gear and a PFD makes this activity safe, but it still feels weird. Today, the ice cracks and squeaks. It is slippery, too. A few people ashore watch me slip and fall. Ouch! How can water be so hard? As I continue my scouting, I notice a large area of water free of ice. Currents push the ice north of this area. By launching here, I will be able to get closer to the moving ice to assess its density. If it turns out to be too dense to paddle in, I can return to my point of departure. Because there is no wind, only the current affects the movement of the ice. I must pay close attention to the air surrounding me—if a breeze begins to blow, I must be aware of it and assess its influence on the movement of ice and on my planned route. I walk 300 meters to yesterday’s ice edge. The demarcation between yesterday’s and today’s edge is sharp and clear. I can see pieces of ice pointing up in the air, frozen in place after being pushed up by the current, then clear translucent ice beyond. The final 30 meters consists of ice formed over the last 12 hours: a bizarre patchwork of white ice chunks called shuga (so named because of its resemblance to powdered sugar). The shuga drifted, aggregated and, surrounded by a thin, transparent layer of newly formed ice called nilas, froze in place. The nilas, approximately one or two inches thick, flexes under my bodyweight. Walking on nilas gives me chills, especially when it’s brand new and still elastic, like today. Bending down, I drag the kayak by the coaming, ready to lie down on the kayak should the ice give way. When possible, I hop from one chunk of shuga to the next, avoiding the nilas as much as possible. I see little bubbles moving underneath the ice. Water finally! With the kayak resting on a piece of shuga, I get in, secure the spray skirt and push myself into the water. |
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