Free Shelf Ice by Aaron Stander Page B

phones in watertight bags—they slid into their boats and secured their spray skirts to their cockpit coamings, creating a watertight unit. After pulling on thick neoprene mittens, they seal-launched into the water, sliding down icy banks. They carefully negotiated the twisting path the stream had cut through the shelf ice that extended more than fifty yards out past the beach. The forward edge rose more than ten feet above the water, built up by floating ice being piled up during violent winter storms. Finally they emerged onto the big lake, the enormous stretch of water, the curve of the planet visible on the vista where the dark water met the lighter sky.
    “Wow, this is incredible. The view always knocks me on my ass,” Hannah observed. “Where to, chief?”
    “Where do you want to go?”
    “You’re the guide.”
    “Let’s start toward that headland, Empire Hill.” Ray motioned with his hand. “That’s about 10 miles. We can turn back whenever you’ve had enough or it looks like the weather might be changing.”
    “What did NOAA say?”
    “For the rest of the afternoon, winds from the southwest at five to ten, waves one foot or less. But there’s a system coming in and things should start picking up before dark. As you can see, given the steep face of the shelf ice, there aren’t many places to bail out along here if the weather deteriorates. We’ve got to be vigilant.”
    “Does your radio have the ‘weather alert’ feature?” Hannah asked.
    “It’s turned on,” he answered. “That said, sometimes the weather is on you before an alert is issued.”
    They started north, moving quickly in the gentle swell. Ray was happy to note that Jeffers was a strong and skilled kayaker. He usually picked his paddling companions carefully, especially in conditions that might become challenging or dangerous.
    “I’d like to do a couple of rolls. Will you spot for me?” asked Jeffers.
    “Are you ready for an ice cream headache?” Ray responded.
    “I haven’t rolled in cold water for a while. I need to know that I can do it.” She pulled some nose clips from her vest, checked the position of the release strap on her spray skirt, and looked over at Ray, who had positioned the bow of his kayak a few paddle strokes off the center of her boat.
    “Ready?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he said, prepared to quickly move in and give her his bow to pull up on if she missed her roll.
    Jeffers sat up straight, slowly took a couple of deep breaths, then made a forceful lean to the right, capsizing the boat. She almost righted the boat on her first attempt, falling back at the last moment. Ray watched as she set up a second time and successfully rolled. “What’s the problem?” she asked, after coughing a couple of times.
    “You brought your head up too fast the first time.”
    “Damn, I always do that when I’m out of practice. I’m going to try a couple more.”
    Jeffers performed a series of smooth, elegant rolls.
    “Those looked good,” said Ray. “It’s a good thing to practice, especially in these conditions. It’s easy to ride up on some submerged ice and get flipped.”
      They headed north again, picking up the pace to warm up after her submersion in the icy water. They stopped along the way to explore some of the bigger ice caves, Jeffers capturing interesting configurations with her camera, Ray carefully checking for signs that Tristan Laird might have been there. He saw none.
    The hours quickly passed as they paddled and played along in the ornate ice sculptures. Suddenly, Ray’s radio came to life. He stopped paddling and listened to the alert, which was repeated several times.
    “I didn’t get all of it,” said Jeffers.
    “They’ve just posted small craft advisories, looks like that front’s coming in sooner than expected. We better get going,” Ray cautioned.
    They turned south again.
    A thin overcast had moved in dulling the delicate afternoon light, and beyond it Ray could see a long