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!