Wishing for another week of winter

This Side Up

Posted 3/11/14

It looked like it might work, albeit a tight schedule.

There was a window of a couple of hours Saturday where I could fit in my first experience sailing an iceboat. Ice boating is something I’ve …

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Wishing for another week of winter

This Side Up

Posted

It looked like it might work, albeit a tight schedule.

There was a window of a couple of hours Saturday where I could fit in my first experience sailing an iceboat. Ice boating is something I’ve longed to try since I was a kid and learned to skate. It was the speed that has me hooked.

Iceboats are very fast, and although I can’t vouch for it as fast, I’ve been told they can sail at four times the speed of the wind and have reached speeds of 140 miles per hour. Even 20 miles per hour less than a foot off the surface must be exhilarating with an ice boat, which is actually more of a cross with blades and a blade off the stern to steer. Surely it can’t be a smooth ride, with the craft banging off cracks and the blades spewing a stream of silvery chards. Nor can it be a very settling ride, especially knowing that ponds and lakes have spots, where spring waters are only slightly iced over, or even open water. It’s not that you can stop on a dime and iceboats aren’t designed to float.

One of the first iceboats I saw was on a lake in upstate New York. It looked flimsy; a contraption of pipes where the sailor sat with legs stretched in front of him. It went like hell in short bursts.

I thought I would try the next best thing and returned that afternoon with a sheet, about the size of a sheet of plywood, nailed to some furring. The plan was to hold it up and see how fast the wind could blow me. I wobbled around on my skates before finally getting a corner of my makeshift sail off the ice. As soon as it caught the wind, I started moving. I gained speed before I could get it fully elevated. It’s then that I realized I hadn’t thought this out. How was I going to stop?

I could just let go, in which case the sail would probably fly across the lake on its own. I could turn my skates sideways, but then the pressure of the sail would probably pull me over. I didn’t have long to consider the options; my skate caught the sail and I went for a spill.

That must have been 30 years ago, so when Wayne McVay called last week and asked if I wanted to go ice boating, I didn’t hesitate.

From the sound of it, this was a bigger and far sturdier craft than I had seen in New York. He said three or four could ride at a time. He cautioned to bundle up and wear a helmet, as you don’t know what could happen.

Wayne has been out a lot this winter either on Webster Lake in Webster, Mass., or Wattuppa Pond, just on the other side of Fall River.

“If we luck out and don’t get a lot of snow, it should be good right through into the weekend,” he said. More than an inch or two of snow would rule out ice boating, although Wayne said he also has ski-like runners for the boat.

“I’ll send you a packet,” Wayne said, after we agreed to plan on Wattuppa Pond on Saturday at 10.

Packet? This was all sounding serious. Wayne made up packets with directions and sailing instructions? The event took on the air of being highly organized, but then I should have guessed that of a McVay. Wayne’s father, Ernest, played a big role in introducing me to sailing races on the Bay. He was an avid and super sailor who expected his crew, on a race that is, to stay alert and complete their job as instructed. Being a novice, my job was that of “rail meat.” As the term implies, the task consists of sitting on the rail, usually mid-ship, to counteract the heeling of the boat. He made sure I sat in just the right spot and remained alert.

I wondered if I might be doing the same thing on the iceboat, perched on an outrigger to keep us upright while skimming across the ice. If that was my job, I didn’t care. I would be ice boating.

My packet arrived last Thursday. Wayne had thought of everything. It included a map of Fall River; instructions on how to dress; contact information; and, in caps of large type, “There are no bathrooms at either location, so plan accordingly.”

I checked in with Wayne midweek and learned he had been out in less than 10 knots of wind and gotten the boat up to 28 miles per hour. I was psyched. I was going to be flying Saturday.

The forecast was encouraging. It was going to be cold and then warming on Saturday.

“That should be great. The ice should be hard and we won’t be freezing,” Wayne said.

Nonetheless, he advised to bring a heavy parka.

Saturday was a clear day; perfect, I imagined, for my ice boating debut.

But Wayne wasn’t happy.

“I don’t see any wind out there. It’s flat,” he said.

Wayne lives across the Bay on Narragansett Terrace and while conditions could be different in Fall River, it didn’t bode well for ice boating. He had more to report. He had been out Friday and, because of the snow cover, the ice was gravelly. It wasn’t fast.

“Well, maybe the wind will pick up,” I offered hopefully.

Wayne wasn’t encouraging.

“What about next week?” I said.

Wayne had checked the forecast. There was going to be some warming and freezing trends and there was the possibility of snow.

“It looks like next winter. I’ll get you on top of the list,” Wayne promised.

Why couldn’t it rain and freeze just once more, you know, like it has been for most of the winter? Maybe that’s what we’ll get, I suggested.

There was a silence on the phone.

And suddenly I found myself laughing.

What was I doing? Wishing for more winter when this season has already overextended its stay?

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