Footsteps on the Ice
Lake Mendota, in Madison WI
Every year, Lake Mendota freezes.
On average, the freeze starts to set in in December, and begins to thaw by the end of March. Having moved to Madison WI in November 2019 from CA, I wasn’t sure quite what to expect from the frigid northern temperatures Wisconsin had to offer. Early snows had forced me to very quickly get accustomed to de-icing my windshield each morning, waiting for my engine to warm, and coming prepared with gloves and jackets to suit the conditions. So by the time January came around Lake Mendota froze over, I wasn’t surprised.
When Lake Mendota froze, I was at first quite hesitant to step onto the ice. The fear of falling through was persistent, and it was only after I saw ice fishers drag toboggans loaded with tents, poles, beer, and other gear with large ATVs that I gained some modicum of confidence. If others were driving vehicles around on the ice, surely it would hold my weight. I waited a few more weeks anyway.
On a Sunday in mid-January, I finally decided it was time to give it a try. I put on my green felt jacket, a beanie, jeans, and my standard hiking boots. My apartment in Middleton is close to a boat ramp, so I carefully walked over, making sure not to slip on any ice on the blacktop. There were several cars parked at the side of the road by the ramp, and it was clear many others had walked out ahead of me.
The lake ice was pushed up against the shore, buckled and refrozen as it met the rocks. A beaten path of footprints led out into the lake. I followed them, the snow crunching beneath my feet. The snow was wet, as if some had melted, and the sensation was odd, if a bit worrying. With each step, my foot would break through the top layer of snow, fall two to three inches through slush, and meet the firm ice underneath. The slush invariably found its way into my shoes, and I soon realized my feet would freeze before I had covered any real distance. I returned home to put my Bean boots on and tried again. The advantage of the Bean boots is that they’re like rain boots - completely water proof and they reach much higher up my ankles. The boots were a bit of a loose fit, but far preferable to my normal boots. Soon, I was back out on the ice, timidly taking each step with the fear I might still fall all the way through. Worse still, the snow wasn’t consistent. Some patches were obviously more melted than others. I tested stepping onto each color of snow, and gained a cautious trust in it.
The ice fishers had drilled many holes in the ice. Cracks shot out from them, like petals from a flower. Approaching one, I found the ice wasn’t as thick as I had thought - and hoped - it was. Instead of feet of ice, I was greeted with a mere eight inches or so. Nevertheless, I continued. I wanted to reach the absolute center of the lake. My path took me beyond Picnic Point, giving me a sweeping view of all of Madison, including the Capitol building downtown.
I ultimately walked all the way to the Capitol. I had walked seven miles over the ice, and was cold, wet, and worn out. Looking back out the way I had come, a single set of footprints disappeared into the horizon. I couldn’t fathom making the return trip the same way. Instead, I walked to Capitol Square, found a nice looking steak house, and enjoyed a comfortable lunch, sheltered from the elements. I took a taxi home.
