lake monsters

After Monday's misadventure, I needed a redemptive ride. Weather reports called for warming temperatures, snow and even blizzard conditions for Wednesday. But is was also Jon's day off and possibly our last chance for an adventurous ice ride this season. After seeing a friend's photos of skating on Kenai Lake, we were sold. We had to go.

We loaded the car, picked up our friend, Alan, and headed south. As predicted, the wind was blowing in Turnagain Arm. Some snow was falling in the pass, but it was much warmer than it's been in a couple weeks, almost 20 above zero. We parked close to the Forest Service office on the lake's eastern shore and began getting ready. I was sitting in the front seat putting on my boots, but I had the car window open so I could listen to the sounds of the lake.

The ice was thumping like the bass in your neighbor's car stereo, but more drawn out, moaning. Two skaters headed for the ice and skated toward the center, quickly disappearing into the snowstorm. A few minutes later we heard a long rumble and a loud, explosive boom that sounded for several seconds, much like the sound of an earthquake whose epicenter is very near. I saw masses of ice rock when it broke, heaving the ice up, then back down, splashing water to the surface as it shifted. Some sections of ice were still rocking or shifting a minute later.

We couldn't see the skaters and once the ice stopped moving, we decided to go ahead with our bike ride. When I say "decided," I mean we didn't really discuss it; we just kept getting ready. We rode a short distance and came upon what turned out to be the main break in the ice. Alan stepped across and took off riding (that's him in the first photo). Jon rolled his bike across the wet gap then made a small leap over. Skeptical at first, I followed by aligning my bike across the break then using it as a pole vault to leverage myself across.

The skaters hurried back but had gone north around the lead to get to shore. We continued riding toward the western arm of the chair-shaped lake, keeping somewhat close and in-sight of the north shore as snow fell and blew around us. The gray-scale day was only brightened by some of our colorful gear: jackets, poagies, mittens.

Jon and Alan in the blizzard.

After following the north shore for a few miles, we turned around, crossed the lake, then following the west shore of the south leg of the lake. At one point during the crossing, I placed the camera on a thin layer of snow and set it to record in film mode, hoping to catch the continued groaning of the lake ice, which sounded like a distressed monster that was sometimes tapping the underside of the ice. The camera rolled, catching Jon and Alan and millions of falling snowflakes, but no ice sounds. We stopped to explore a campsite situated across the lake from the Forest Service office, then continued toward the Primrose trailhead where we had some snacks and hot tea.


The return trip over some refrozen jigsaw puzzle pieces of ice reminded me that the lake can break up any time, especially when the weather changes as it did on Wednesday. We pedaled north, following the eastern shore back to where we'd started, checking the open water before finally ending the ride.

We learned later that the skaters (or at least one of them) worked for the Forest Service and had just gone out for a lunch-time skate when all ice broke loose. The story even made a local online paper. Guess they didn't notice us riding out there. Or maybe they shook their heads when they saw us and hoped that we wouldn't need a rescue.

Jon at the open lead as our ride ends.

I sometimes wonder at things I've done. I don't think of myself as a risk-taker; in fact I think I'm one of the most cautious people I know. And, despite the ice break, Wednesday's ride didn't feel risky to me. I was with two other people. We had rescue gear and there was little chance of an avalanche pouring onto the lake to further disturb the ice. I felt more nervous on the drive home to Anchorage in the blowing snow on the Seward Highway. More people have died there.

icy rides

Bicycling on river ice is a bit like riding on the narrowest singletrack next to a steep drop-off, because for both, you don't want anything else on your mind. Just focus on the line. Where to ride. As soon as you stop paying attention, something bad could happen.

The worst thing that happened on my ride on Monday was that my toes got a little wet. But when the temperature is hovering in the mid-teens and you're maybe five or six miles from the car, the last thing anyone in a group wants to hear is: "Water got into my boots." Dang.

Following Jon up-river.*

It was my third ice-biking outing in four days thanks to the big melt that arrived with the new year. Snow had been blown away or melted as the temperatures soared into the 50s. After several days of warmth, temperatures dropped, freezing the mudflats and rivers. The cold refroze ice on Portage Lake that had begun to break up in the warmth. It's not unusual to get a few of these Chinook-driven warm spells followed by a good long freeze each winter, but I don't remember any last winter. That would explain why I did so much snow biking and skiing while my ice bike sat neglected until spring break-up.

On Monday, I was riding with Jon and our friend, Scott, on the Placer River. We'd started on the frozen slough between the two channels of the river that flow under the Seward Highway and into Turnagain Arm near Portage. We dropped onto the west channel, wary of the mirror-like reflection on the ice that made it look like it was still wet from a recent overflow event. Then we made our way up the river. An ice skater had been there before us which helped mark the sections of good ice.

River ice has so many different characteristics. Black or clear ice seemed to be the most solid. White ice was usually very thin and often suspended a few inches above the next thin layer which could have other similar thin suspended layers beneath it from the changes in the water level. (It reminds me of the dough of baklava which seems almost impossibly thin and flaky.) In a few places thick, clear ice held white shelves of ice in place beneath the surface. Sometimes bubbles were frozen inches below the surface. I could have spent hours just studying all the shapes in the ice.

On the marsh between the two channels of the Placer River.

Playing among the dead trees.*

Looking at all the layers and shapes, at the frost-covered plants and cracks could be pretty distracting if I hadn't always been aware that I was on a river where the frigid water could pull me under the ice and out to the saltwater. Nothing terrrible happened when I stepped onto ice that pancaked layer upon layer under my foot. The water went into the boot before I realized what was happening and had lowered my other foot. I climbed back onto the bank and stood there. Do I take off my boots and wring out my socks? Go immediately back to the car and get into dry socks and boots? Though I could feel the water settling between the toes on my right foot and barely drip onto the toes of my left, I decided to continue on, but promised to pay attention to my toes and to the ice.

Luckily, my battery-powered heated insoles were cranking out some warmth and both my sock layers were 100 percent wool. We kept riding up-river, over some crusty snow sections that had been tracked out by snowmachines before the warm spell. Finally we reached a section where the river was almost entirely open with running water rushing from the mountains to the inlet. After a snack, and studying the situation, we turned around, and with the sun at our backs headed down-river.

Open water on the Placer.

Riding where the water level has dropped.*

Sure, it's one of those weeks when the people with snow bikes are whining a bit, but having the option of riding the ice on studded-tires makes the cold days much more fun. I'd almost forgotten how much I love getting out onto the ice.

Me, Scott and Jon - soaking up the sun on the Placer.*

*These photos taken by Scott Christy.