hood and gloves and a combination of fleece and polypropylene long johns under the drysuit for layers of warmth. One might even call it fun and invite the opportunity and swim in 32.4 degree water. As kayakers who paddle in this weather and water temperature, swimming intentionally is a good thing to experience. It lessens the “unknown” factor should you find your self swimming at an untimely moment. So with giddy anticipation as we walked nearer to river, we slid our boats out onto the thinning ice. (important note: when paddling in cold water, ALWAYS dress for the water temperature, not the air temperature.)
Once past the snow formations and the debris the aforementioned storm had deposited, our mission we simple. Get into our boats, get onto the river. The ice along the shore presents a unique opportunity when launching our boats. To get to the water, it goes something like this: Get in your boat. Align it by pointing to a section of ice or a break in it that looks like it will set you gently into the river. Make sure there is no debris in your way! Break our paddle down, (most kayak paddles come apart in the middle for storage and transportation ease) push the blade ends into the snow, and give a push in order to glide across the ice until you near the water’s edge. This is done in a fashion similar to using ski poles to assist your self moving forward, but while sitting in a kayak! Be ready as you near the end of the ice to give a good shove so you don’t teeter on the edge. Teetering too long may result in swimming. While dressed for submersion in the frigid water, it would take away from paddling time. If all goes well, you will meet the river smoothly as you slide from the ice to the water.
Once on the water I was over whelmed by the beauty of the day, enhanced by the feeling of being back in my boat after a winter hiatus. In the close distance lay the islands off Fishers Landing. Between them and our group lay bits and pieces of ice. They varied in size from barely noticeable to the size of a football field. (give or take some) It was easy to maneuver in and out and sometimes over the ice. The sun was high in the late winter sky as we headed westerly towards Rock Island, up river. The river water in the St. Lawrence, which is known for it clarity is exceptionally clear this time of year. We could see clear down to 50 feet, in some places more. I could see the river bottom clearer while sitting in my boat this time of year then I am able to while wearing a mask and snorkel in July. The calm waters allowed for the reflections of the islands on the waters surface to be so vivid, had it not been for knowing which was up, it would have been hard to discern the reflected image from the real. The exception to this was the areas on the river which held bits of ice.
We passed shoals and small rock outcroppings that have been polished smooth by the glaciers a long, long time ago. At the western edge (up river) of these shoals and rock outcroppings were piles of chunked up slab ice, mixed with pieces of timber, sheets of twisted, warped aluminum siding, dock floatation, entire sections of dock decking and more debris from the recent storm. These scenes instilled a respect for the river, but in no way detracted from the beauty of it. It instead added to the awe of the day. As we made our way we had to navigate around or choose to paddle over bits and pieces of ice in the river. We were greeted by dozens of geese and gulls. A lone white bird swam with the geese. It size and shape was similar to the many Canada Goose that surrounded it. It may have been a wild swan, or an albino goose. I don’t know enough nor did we get close enough to the bird to know more than that as to what it was. The geese serenaded us was we made our way over the top of the river. Many geese were swimming and flying in pairs. Some rested on the ice and floated down river. I have never before seen two geese flying in such close formation, their wings seemed to touch as they glided over the icy waters below. I can only assume this was their mating season.
The ice came in many shapes colors and sizes. Some of it was clear as clear can be, and sculptured, its surface resembled the glacier worn rocks we had just paddled past. These pieces floated just below the waters surface, and were not easily visible, even when looking for them. Other pieces were mostly clear, with whitish lines through them. These were most intriguing. Imagine a pile of crayons, all the same length but with varying widths, and all with paper wrappers on them, piled up in the hot sun. The sun warmed the crayons enough to melt the wax so that the airspace between the crayons has vanished, and the crayons were no longer round, but they found their own shape, forming one big solid mass. Now imagine the crayons were clear, and the wrappers were white. I ask you to imagine this in order to explain the ice formation that fascinated me the most. These ice slabs varied in height from 3 to 6 inches. The “wax part” of crayon was clear ice, the paper part of the crayon was cast a whitish hue. This imaginary piling of melted crayons formed an ice slab. Attempting to pick up this type of ice, it falls to shards in your hand. It fractures along the “crayon paper” lines leaving shards of various shapes and sizes and a uniform length. This ice was so fragile it was a challenge to pick up a slab of it. Still more pieces of ice could have been hard packed snow, for they were white, and cast a bluish hue when piled high.
Our cruising speed allowed us to soak up all there was to see. We were headed to Rock Island, wanting to then go around the head of it, to then paddle further northwest toward the head of Wellesley Island. We got to the southern shore of Rock Island, followed the shoreline towards the western tip and found the ice flows were blocking our way. It appeared to be not much more than 50 feet of ice, then open water. There was only 50 feet of ice in front of us, but to our left, the ice pack was solid to the mainland shoreline. This was not solid ice, but pieces clumped together. As our adventurous leader attempted to break a path through to the open water, the ice started to move. It moved slow as we sat in our boats. But it moved toward us. It was a wise move to back our selves away from this massive pile of ice before it pushed us onto the aptly named rocky south shore of Rock Island. What has minutes before been open water was now clogged with sheets and bits of slab ice. We made our way out of the current, in the slower moving waters behind the island as this provided us with safer open water. It was a perfect time and place to pull ashore. Rock Island is publicly owned. In a sheltered bay near the a boat house the ice remained solid. Paddle hard, lean back and glide up on the thick ice. All a shore who’s coming ashore, and that best be all of us. As we exited our boats and walked up past the shoreline we were drawn to the southern edge of the island to watch and listen as the ice floated by. Being on dry land, looking out over the water, where only a few minutes ago it looked like we could sneak past the ice to the open water up ahead, there was now a solid ice jam. It had been a small rift to cross, but was no longer. We sat on the shore in awe of the movement on the surface of the river. Once the ice had been set in motion the currents of the river carried ice out from a bay on the mainland shoreline more than a half mile away. The ice just kept coming. We listened to it tink, and grind and growl. Ice bells some call it. The river was singing for us, and we appreciated the concert. After listening and watching for quite sometime, we got up to explore the island. We found a US Army Corp of Engineers Survey Marker (that I can not find in a reporting database anywhere), 15 - 20 feet tall piles of ice on the windward shore and the beauty of a lone light house under the bright blue winter sky with a bed of slab ice at its foundation. As we headed further west on the island, a grinding, growling, scarping sound could be heard in the distance. A green channel marker was under siege. A pack of slab ice was being carried down river by the current, and the buoy was in it’s path. As the ice was carried past the metal it tried to submerge it. The buoy won. The ice could do nothing more than push the buoy and creating a haunting, scraping growl as it moved with the current.
After exploring the island, we made our way back to the south shore, to see what we could see. The ice pack still clogged the waters surface. It was still flowing by, and still blocked our safe exit. It appeared that most the ice from the bay on shore had made its way across to the island then turned down river. It would not be long before the congested ice highway cleared itself and the open water would again welcome us. All we had to do was sit, wait, watch, listen and enjoy the day.
Once the ice cleared, we return to our boats, slid off the ice, onto the water again. We headed Northwest, towards the tip of Wellesley Island. The Boathouse Gazebo at Thousand Island Park was our destination. The beauty of an ice covered shoal attracted our attention and we had to change our heading.
The sunlight glistened and sparkled in every direction. It bounced off pieces of the slab ice that the shoal had caught. The Rock Island Light House was behind us, the Tower on Calumet Island was in the view in front of us. The river was ours for the day. I could not help but think, that in other seasons, for larger boats, this area of the river presents a danger to hull and propeller. For us in our kayaks, this time of year, this area of the river presented nature at it’s finest. Crystal clear water, ice that sparkled like a bed layered with diamonds, and crisp blue sky. Days like this are few and far between.
We floated around off shore from the gazebo examining the river bottom. The sun was casting eerie shadows on the surface of the river bed. One could see the shadows from created by the ice that floated on the surface, and one could see the shadow our boats created. As the day grew closer to its end, we headed back to shore. As we paddled with the slowly moving current the sun warmed our backs. The trip back to Grass Point was smooth and quick until we encountered the glacier smoothed rock islands near shore. The ice had built a bridge that we needed to cross. We decided to play ice breaker and cross it. The ice was the type I described earlier and basically fell into shards under the weight of our small boats. This made the crossing safe and possible, but not the easy. To get through the fifty feet of ice, we paddled hard on the open water, allowing our boats to glide onto the ice. This ice was 5 inches thick, but very fragile. The boats easily broke the ice, and we were again be floating on the surface, but with ice on either side of our boats. This does not allow for one to paddle easily as the blade slips on the surface of the ice. We dug and pushed to move along. It was slow going! We were cutting across the current, and the ice that we were breaking through was being pushed by the current and filling the void we had left. All this while trying just to cross to the other side. But then! from behind the first paddler came the second, and third and fourth. We grabbed each others bows and sterns, formed a sort of “chain of kayaks” and “sea-sawed” through the ice. Holding the stern of the boat in front of you, and the bow of the boat behind you, the rear paddler pushed the front boat forward, then that paddler in turn pulled the rear one forward. This was done in chain like format. Holding each others boats offered added stability as we made our passage across the ice flow. Once we were clear to the other side we turned around to admire the crisp winter sun bouncing its rays off the sheet of ice we had just carved through.
Our glorious day filled with scenery and adventure was coming to an end on the water. The shoreline lay ahead and the Mighty St. Lawrence lay behind us. As we paddled onto the ice for the last time this day, with out speaking, we collectively knew the day had been a winner. Mother nature had given us a day of spectacular beauty and we were fortunate enough to have been able to share it with her.
Photos by Jan Brabant, TI Adventures, Clayton NY © 2006, TI Adventures
Text © 2006, Kathy Kempson
