The Thrill of the Chase
Deep in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, I stood at the edge of a frozen lake. Puffy clouds ringed in pink and the tilt of the sunrise began to kiss the surrounding peaks. Laser-like pings, creaks and other worldly sounds emitted from pristine blue ice.
The lake itself still moved. Bubbles caught in the thinnest layer of ice danced like a lava lamp near my feet. Open water from kilometers away gave me the sense of breath being brought to this alpine bay and the ice heaved with inhales as if the lake merely clung to a thin layer of Saran Wrap.
My new friend Lee Nordbye, braver and more experienced with ice than I, was already ten feet out. He took a knee and wrapped his gloved finger through the top of an ice-climber’s screw and rotated it into the ice. Lee had already explained that if the ice is as deep as the cuts of the screw, it is four inches and considered Red-Cross-standard-safe for skating. He told me how we must respect the ice, understand what is happening and be safe in our decisions.