Just because it's a bad idea..

 ..doesn't mean it won't be a good time.

DISCLAIMER: Please DO NOT ATTEMPT anything you read in this blog post.
Well, except ice cream. Definitely do that.

So there I was - truckin' on down to the Cambridge Farmers' Market in a snowstorm last Saturday morning.

I mean it was coming the heck DOWN

I saw ski tracks on the trail from the moment I entered, and knew I wanted to lay down some of my own; the weather was predicted to turn mild by Monday, and opportunities must be seized!

Winter doesn't last forever - it just feels like it sometimes.

As I'm boppin' down the trail, the poor little hamster in my skull is churning away on his wheel as quickly as his tiny legs will carry him, trying to figure out where to go ski. The Langdon Hall RARE trails? Did that the week before. The Walter Bean Trail, on which I was running? Nah, did that two weeks ago. Mill Run Trail? That was our first ski of the season, back in early January. Rail trail? Blargh, there are a bunch of road crossings. Hmm..

I paused at Devil's Creek Falls, which were solidly iced up; they had been the prior Saturday as well, but the ice had only got thicker. You could barely even hear any water flowing, and it was usually a torrent - now it was just a faint gurgling sound, like bubbling oil.

The main fall was so iced over that intrepid animals had gone for a wander down it!

I ran down a bit further, and at the switchbacks by the heart fossil the river was nothing but a sheet of snow-covered ice as far as the eye could see. The deep cold of the past two weeks had stilled the Grand.

I've seldom seen this in the 17+ years I've lived in Cambridge

That's when the glimmer of an idea emerged in my tiny, addled brain. I knew it was stupid...I just wasn't sure HOW stupid.

And if that doesn't scare you - at least a little - you haven't been paying attention.

I kept an eye on the river ice as I continued my journey down to the market. The sun started to emerge as I reached the terminus of the trail in Galt, which wasn't optimal for my potential plan, but certainly looked pretty.

Even as the snow kept on falling

Crossing the Park Hill bridge below the dam, I stopped and took a long, critical look at the ice shelf above the flow.

HMMMM..

Arriving at the market, I met Tank and laid out my stupid idea.

We'd go for a ski, after we got our groceries at the market and had a bite to eat. He was all in! Where were we going?

"The Grand River."

He was...slightly less all-in for that.

REALITY CHECK TIME: First of all, as I mentioned off the start, PLEASE DON'T TRY THIS. Not on the Grand, not on the Speed, not on whatever local body of water takes your fancy. I don't want to see anyone get hurt (or worse) by following my idiotic example. Second, this was not undertaken lightly.

• I chose a section of the river - from Riverbluffs Park/the Cambridge Rowing Club/Ancient Mariners' Canoe Club upriver, no further than Devil's Creek Falls - that I know from experience to be wide, deep, and have very little current.
• I was aware that the daily high temperature had not been above -4c/25f for at least a fortnight prior to the attempt.
• I had visually scouted the ice along the entirety of my intended route - looking for any signs of disturbance or instability - and had seen none.
• I know the heavy snowfall (over a foot in the 7 days prior) would act as an insulating blanket to keep the ice from melting even on sunny days, by reflecting the solar energy and maintaining temperature.
• From years of running the trail on a weekly basis, I am aware of the growth patterns and behaviours of ice on this stretch of river - I find the river ice fascinating and have photo records of various states, and pay close attention just because I think it's neat!
• I grew up ice skating on the Credit River in Mississauga, ON and thus have some experience at judging ice conditions on waterways.
• I know that 8cm/3" of stable ice is enough to support an adult's bodyweight.
• Cross-country skis disperse bodyweight in much the same was as snowshoes, meaning that someone on skis can safely travel over ice that might not support someone walking in boots.
• Tanker and I have safely snowshoed - over a decade ago - on the same section of the Grand River.
• We had both walked on the ice at Rockwood Conservation Area 5 days prior, and been able to see that the ice there (in similar weather and water conditions) was more than a foot thick.

Even with all of that taken into account, I had deep safety concerns. Tank had decided he was in for this whacked-out idea of mine, so precautions were in order.

And even with all of them, it STILL could have gone really badly, so once again PLEASE DO NOT TRY THIS

1. We loaded up a change of warm clothes into our car, in case we got wet.
2. I carried a credit card in my pocket so if we needed to bail off the river at a different point than where we'd entered, we could call a cab to get us back to our vehicle and purchase hot food and drink if needed.
3. We each carried a pair of screwdrivers in an easily-accessible pocket in case we fell through the ice and needed to self-rescue. I don't own a pair of ice awls, but I plan to buy two pairs for future use; anyone who plans to traverse over bodies of water on ice should have some means of self-rescue with them, and know how to use them.
4. We would not be alone out there. Had one of us fallen through, the other could reach with a pole or ski to assist even if the screwdrivers failed, or call/go for help. I likely would not have gone if Tank hadn't agreed to come along, and definitely if he refused to at least come down to the park to keep an eye out if I went through the ice.
5. Possibly the most important of all of this was making a rock-solid promise that we would bail the heck off the river at the FIRST SIGN of any danger. No excuses, no "awww but" - I made absolutely sure that Tank knew I would be turning around after a single stride if anything didn't feel right.

I'm generally pretty jovial, but I don't muck about when faced with hypothermia and drowning risks.

We jammed through the market and brunch as quickly as we could, knowing that every minute of sunshine on the river could potentially turn this from a fun outing into a tragedy. Arriving at Riverbluffs Park on a beautiful winter afternoon, the first step - literally - was to walk down the boat launch ramp in ski boots to see if the ice at the shoreline (which is typically the first to destabilize as melt occurs) would hold our weight.

Those tracks had been made that morning, based on the amount of snow that had fallen since they'd been made. That was reassuring.

I walked out first, being 50lbs lighter than Tank (and already having my screwdrivers in my pocket). The ice felt rock-solid beneath my feet; no sensation of shifting or flexing, and no noise at all.

This was gonna happen, wasn't it?

I could see that the footprints continued upriver, right along the shore. Venturing out a bit further, the ice below me remained reassuringly solid.

I could barely contain my excitement, but forced myself to stay calm and pay attention to what I could see, hear, and feel.

Tank had joined me on the river, and felt no movement underfoot, either. Knowing it was possibly going to end in ruin, but also needing to know...I jumped. I might as well have landed on cement for all the reaction underfoot. It was ON!

..and was clearly not going to be the easiest skiing in the deep snow.

We double-checked we had everything we needed and grabbed our skis from the car, stepping into them at the edge of the ice on the boat launch ramp. 

Deep breath

Giving my wonderful husband a kiss and telling him I love him, I gave a kick and began to work my way out to the middle of the river.

HOLY CRAP Y'ALL

Can we talk for just a second about what an incredibly good sport Tank is?
I couldn't ask for a better partner.

I mean who else would take "We probably won't die" as legit endorsement for an adventure?

Breaking trail on the almost completely undisturbed snowpack was a bit of a challenge; there was very little glide to be found in my stride, but I was absolutely enchanted with the experience. Having paddled this section of river numerous times this past summer on my stand-up paddleboard, I loved the same-but-different quality of the views as we trucked along. The first thing I was looking forward to seeing was the limestone cliff on the east side of the Grand, maybe 600m upstream from the boat launch. I didn't intend to get too close, but I did consider heading over toward it a bit.

It looks so small here, but is actually at least 6m/20' tall

As we drew level with the rock formation, I saw a line of animal tracks crossing the river just ahead of me. Coming right up to them, I stopped dead and yelled to Tank that we needed to turn around, just as he pulled up behind me and told me (not having heard me in the breeze) that we needed to head back.

We hadn't made it as far as I'd hoped, but much further than I'd feared

Those animal tracks? They showed wet snow at the bottom, and as I turned around I could see that my pole plants - and even my ski tracks - showed the same. The ice was rotting beneath us, and while there was still no sensation of movement or break-up underfoot, there was no question of pressing onward. We turned back immediately and kept moving until we were back on tracks that showed nothing but pristine snow.

I didn't even pause to take a photo of the wet snow.
That ought to tell you how seriously I took the potential danger.

As we came back to our entry point, I decided I'd head a little further downriver toward the rail bridge.

I wasn't quite ready to be done yet..

 

Look at all that gorgeous, un-tracked snow, just calling to me..

The sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds as I strode south, the wind at my back.

It was such a beautiful afternoon

Departing from the tracks I'd set leading to the boat launch meant I was back into breaking trail again in the deep snow.

It definitely confirmed I'd never be taking these particular skis into the backcountry.

Tank was having a bit more difficulty in the snow conditions than I was, despite me laying tracks ahead of him; his skis have led a bit of a tough life, with us maybe having pushed conditions on some crushed stone trails a little too far in the past. He couldn't get any glide at all.

He followed along behind me for awhile, but decided to turn back again not far past the boat launch ramp.

I found another set of animal tracks crossing the river, and stopped to inspect them.

Fortunately nice and dry this time

I was having a ball in the sunshine - what an incredible experience!

It might very well be once in a lifetime, but I'm delighted to even have once!
(If you look really closely, you can see the screwdriver tips sticking out of my skirt pocket)

As I got closer to the rail bridge, I could see a line of disturbed snow directly under each side of the trestle; passing trains had knocked snow and debris off the tracks and onto the ice below.

Just barely visible here, if you know to look for it

Between the potential for damage to the river ice from debris falling from that height, and the fact the river gets shallower and swifter as you pass the bridge (and approach the dam a few hundred metres below it), I declined to go any further.

You've gotta know when to quit while you're ahead.

I swear I'll still be talking about this when I'm 80!

Back upriver once more to the ramp, I skied right to the top. It had only been just under a mile total, but one of the most exhilarating things I've ever done. 

I'm betting those tracks made at least a couple of people wonder.

I was able to ski right to the top of the ramp, and found that Tank had popped his skis off; I guess he hadn't heard me when I suggested we do a little more skiing on the actual trail, just for some less-intense fun. He was up for it, so stepped back into his bindings and we sailed off through the pollinator preserve.

Much more glide on the well-trodden snow, and definitely much less adrenaline!

We skied a little more than another mile (passing the point where we stopped and turned around on the ice) before returning to Riverbluffs Park, our car, and our tracks on the river.

I was absolutely tickled that there was such clear evidence of our adventure!

Then - as one does after successfully pulling off a high-risk maneuver - we went for ice cream.

It doesn't matter if it's February. Ice cream is the official food of WOO-HECKIN'-HOO!

Now for the crazy addendums - later that afternoon, I went out for a second run as the sun was setting, on the far side of the river. As I trotted along, I came within a couple of kilometers of where we'd been skiing earlier. Here was the view:

Beautiful? Yes. A little scary? You heckin' bet!

Not a scrap of ice coverage to be found - just a couple of swans.

As the weather warmed and the sun gained strength all week, I was convinced that the ice would break up down in Galt where we'd been skiing. Last night - 5 days after our little spin on our skis - we went back to have a look. To my surprise, the ice still appeared solid!

And - despite all the snow having melted off - you could actually still see our ski tracks!

However, appearances can be deceptive; I stepped out on the launch ramp in my tall rubber boots and immediately crunched through the rotting surface.

Just goes to show you can't judge ice integrity by simply looking at it.

I honestly believe the longevity of the ice this week is a testament to how truly solid it was while we were out skiing, though. Had it been less than several inches thick - much moreso than needed to support our weight on skis - it would have cracked and begun to form one of the legendary ice jams we've seen in the past during warm spells, where meltwater comes rushing down in a destructive torrent from just below Shand Dam and drives the ice in piles that push up onto the river's banks.

Nothing like that in evidence here - the melt and re-freeze actually makes it look inviting to skate on, but you couldn't pay me enough to try it!

So now I've officially walked, snowshoed, canoed, tubed, stand-up paddleboarded, and cross-country skied on the Grand River.

Replace the paddleboarding with kayaking, and he has, too!

So I'll finish off this already ridiculously long chronicle with one final admonition to PLEASE NEVER ATTEMPT TO SKI, SKATE, OR OTHERWISE TRAVERSE ICE. Even if you are totally confident in the ice integrity (via published data from a local or regional authority, or via measurements taken using an ice auger) and feel you absolutely must go, please take precautions like ice awls, means of calling for help (whistle or cellphone), and never go alone. If you disregard every other thing I've said above, please follow the most important piece of advice I can give: WHEN IN DOUBT, BAIL OUT. We had a fantastic time and came back safely because we respected the danger, and I always want you to be able to say the same! 

After all: ambulances don't stop at ice cream shops!

Neuf

I have a calendar item that tells me something weird: as of Tuesday next week, it'll be nine years since I started this blog.

This is apparently my 481st post, which I assume is approximately 48 posts per reader

I'd already been competing in endurance athletics (mostly road running and triathlon) for nearly 3 years when I moved to this format instead of the clunky, hand-coded website I reserved for race reports only. I had secured some sponsorships, and was really a bit excitable about the whole business. 

I'd like to think I've learned not to take myself so seriously.

In that very vein, I made an executive decision: despite it being a long weekend, I wasn't going to try to bank a bunch of doubles to improve my standings in the 100 in 100. Instead, I would try to improve my general well-being and chill the heck out a little.

To be clear: we may have differing approaches to "chill"

Saturday rather punished my attempt to go about business as usual: my morning run down to the Cambridge Farmers' Market for groceries took place in bitter cold, with wind blowing the falling snow in my face most of the way. Brunch was ok - the "hanging out with my sweetheart" bit - but then I encountered a whole bunch of self-entitled people roam around Huron Natural Area when I went for a second run that day.

It was still pretty, but I was rather soured on the whole thing..

The snow - which had just started falling again as I arrived - seemed to get heavier as the light faded. I hadn't brought a headlamp, and even if I had it would have been difficult to see. I had thoughts about pushing a little further than a single lap, but it was clearly not my day.

So I ran away.

Sunday was Valentine's Day, so we started with a heart-y brunch.

By which I mean: if you look closely, I carved the strawberries on the waffle into heart shapes.

..then it was off to a trail with Tank to take advantage of the beautiful sunshine, and all the snow that had fallen through the week.

A precious moment of solitude on the otherwise well-used trail

Well, call it duo-tude

Conditions were fabulous, and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly - we even got warm enough that it didn't feel entirely strange hitting up our local vegan/allergy-friendly ice cream shop to sample both their "chocolate dipped strawberry" and "chocolate raspberry" flavours, which they kindly packed into a single pint for us. Seriously; you should check them out. The frozen treats are awesome, they carry a bunch of other vegan and allergen-free foods (everything from popcorn and granola bars to entrées), and it's owned by just the sweetest lady ever. 

Though sweetest guy ever goes to this fellow right here <3

I didn't shirk off running entirely - as a matter of fact, I made good use of that snow on the trails by getting in only my 4th snowshoe run of the season. Appropriately enough, on the anniversary weekend of the inaugural Happy Trails snowshoe race "The Flurry".

Amusingly enough, I think I wore the same outfit just by coincidence..

While Tank went for a walk in the same woods, I ran up a big stinkin' hill.

Yes, I'm aware it looks like nothing, and vert isn't real.

The view from the trailhead at the top was entirely worth it, and then I got to bail back down it!

Back home for an incredible dinner barbecued by my darling (and the ice cream that had survived our plundering between the ski and run/hike), we laid our plans for Family Day Monday. 

More rock and woods than rock and roll

There were two things on the docket: a hike, and a brew-up - preferably in a cave, as it was supposed to snow most of the day.

And there are plenty of places to hide from it, if you're willing to get a little low!

First, though, we ended up wandering over the ice - sturdied by the arctic blast of the past week - to check out a bit of a different perspective on some of the fascinating rock formations in Rockwood Lake.

Definitely a change from paddling past!

We accessed the Pothole Trail from a gently sloping spot on the shore of the lake, and went wandering through the cedars clinging tenaciously to the rocks, trying to restrain ourselves from doing some climbing.

So many tempting looking hand a foot holds..

Wandering through the potholes themselves, it's virtually impossible not to marvel at the incredible effects of water and time on the solid limestone.

What nature hath wrought.

Never having previously been to Rockwood in winter, we were fascinated by the icy sculptures formed by falling water among the rocks and trees.

Like this out-of-the-way little spot

Not to mention the year-round wonders of natural decay

I could sit and stare at the varying degradation rates of the rings for hours

..and of course the majestic beauty of towering rocks and the caves that lurk below them.

The sheer tonneage of stone on top of that deep void is mind boggling.

Having walked the Cave Trail, we ascended the Cedar Ridge Trail to head toward the car, which was parked in a lot that claimed it would be locked by an impassable gate at 4:30pm sharp. We did stop at the lookout (having paused to put on our spikes beforehand, as the path to it was treacherously icy), but otherwise hiked along efficiently so we'd have plenty of time before our car was trapped.

You can't come to Rockwood and not hit the lookout.

So we didn't get our brew-up in a cave, but we still got it among the trees: having moved our car to the central parking lot near the gate (which had been chock full when we arrived), we wandered over to a woodsy spot and cooked up some delicious post-hike hot chocolate.

It's not camping, but it's the closest we've come since October.

As for running? Well, that was almost an afterthought - really, I hadn't even picked a place to run, and foolishly hadn't brought a headlamp. We had to pop into Guelph on our way home, and as we came in York Road I spotted the covered bridge. Since Tank had never seen it, I asked him to stop at the small parking lot on the east side of the Speed River so we could check it out.

Covered bridges are always neat, but the construction of this one is fascinating

Then I realized we were right beside a trail - a groomed, crushed stone path that runs alongside the Eramosa River, a dammed portion of which actually forms Rockwood Lake before it joins the Speed River on its way to Cambridge, flowing just down the hill from our house.

Not the most interesting spot, but still quite nice, and safer than singletrack as sunset neared.

I set off heading northeast into the wind, and was soon rewarded by a new discovery: having only run a small section of this trail previously in absolutely atrocious freezing rain conditions, I'd never realised there was some singletrack right on the riverbank!

Ooh, now this I like!

Ice conditions varied widely: there were people skating just a few hundred metres upriver

I even found another of the eco-ornaments hanging off a tree near the terminus of the main trail.

The bright sumac shone out in the grey and white of an overcast winter evening

I explored for about 2.75km, until I came to a place where the trodden-down snow seemed to tail off in a pile of deadfall.

This is where - with fading light - we nope.

I figured I'd try to stay on the main trail for the way back.

I'm sure you know how that went.

With just enough light left to see how icy it was (after I'd already committed to taking it), I bopped along a section of conifer-lined singletrack I hadn't previously noticed, emerging right by the covered bridge once more.

I mean, at least I could only fall on the river, not in it - it was frozen solid at the banks.

When I reached the bridge itself, I ran across and back again, discovering that it's lit up at night with lights that sweep cascades of colour down its length!

Poorly captured by my cellphone's camera, but super neat to see!

The lights aren't very visible from the outside at dusk, though.

So I didn't spend the extra time away from work improving my run fitness, or chasing a spreadsheet - instead I had some fun and learned new things, while spending some extra time with the man I love. That may not sit well with the Type A crowd who think days off are some sort of weakness or personal failing, but like I said: I'd like to think I've learned not to take myself so seriously anymore. 

And cheers to that!

The final weekend of the 100 in 100 is upon us now; the challenge ends Monday. I've already equaled my prior best of 111 as of Thursday, so now the question becomes...do I put in a final push, or just cruise it in? 

Hmm...I wonder what flavours No Udder is scooping this weekend?