Good Cold Fun

Hours and hours out in the stiff wind and deep cold on Pewaukee Lake, with the grandkids climbing snow piles, ice skating, mini-snowmobiling, and playing with new friends, while Bri and Tony raced a few good races. Childcare honors to Mimi and Abby, with me as runner up. Ab put on and removed and re-put on and removed countless pairs of ice skates, all the while suffering from icicle finger syndrome.

It turns out that Wombat is not yet fast—needing shorter shrouds, better steering, runners with more rocker—and possibly a new sail. Solstice, on the other hand, is pretty quick.

There is a big 5-kid sleepover going on right now at Bri's house (at least we can hope they are sleeping), and everyone is hunkering down inside as the temperature drops through the floor. (Of course, it could be to watch the Packer Game.)

Wombat Lives!

There were problems getting her set up, of course, but actually rather minor ones, and it appears the boat still knows how to sail, and possibly even go fast.  We've been waiting almost a year to see if our purchase was a good move or a bad mistake.

Number 10, one of the earliest of Nites. I doubt we'll ever see a lower number on the ice. Wombat is a ridiculous name, but we are so used to it now— even the grandkids run around yelling "Wombat"—that it will be a hard name to change, though I thought "Perfect" might be perfect.

Ice On Mudge

Heard from Sailor Wolf who sent this shot of Mudge Bay, recently frozen over.

Warm today in Whitewater, actually above freezing, and it is amazing how warm 34 degrees seems after a cold snap. I had to remove hat and gloves, and unzip coat this morning as Pax and I did our half loop. 

Going to set up the iceboats on Pewaukee tomorrow in order to get a jump on the next artic blast, scheduled to roar in Saturday afternoon. This is the same blast that has postponed the Nite nationals because of extreme cold.

Dog Days of Winter

Cold and blowy, with a little graupel.

Nite Nationals, which were called on last weekend, were called off today. Forecast is for a high of 2 on Sunday, and 2 is below the required cutoff of 10.  Still, there will be club racing on Saturday, so go Wombat!

Last check with the rotator cuff doc today, and I have been cleared for iceboating, chain sawing, and tree felling.  Think I'll start with the iceboating.

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Cold, With Wind...

...which makes it really cold. 

Below zero tonight, again, which is good for making ice—though last night's two inches of fluffy flakes may bollix up the sailing. Tomorrow we will know if a regatta is arranged.

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Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

—Robert Frost

Nobody Knows, Tiddely-pom...

...How Cold My Toes, Tiddely-pom, How Cold My Toes, Tiddely-pom, Are Growing. 

It was a cold one. So, to be cautious, I slathered Pax's toes with Musher's Secret. And we had a couple of great walks in which he ran and ran. 

We were up on the hill in Starin Park as dusk was descending, just standing there as big feathery flakes sifted down on us, totally calm and quiet, and we were loving being out in the cold.

Thanks for the poem, Pooh. 

Too Cold For Comfort

Windy and cold, with the bottom falling out of the thermometer. Below zero tonight. Good for ice making but not much else outside. Pax and I got in a good morning walk, though on our brief evening outing he was starting to pick up his feet.  The bird feeders have been extremely busy, with many different species in attendance.

An old saying says that "If you can't stand the cold, get into the kitchen." Thinking of this, we went grocery shopping (out of town) before the Packer  game, and came home with more than we should have.

The Moment

The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,

Is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way round.

— Margaret Atwood

Becca's Birthday

Happy two, Becca

Doing math on Osmo

Fog

Rain and fog today, which is good because fog is not snow. Deep cold on the way, and if we can get to it without more snow will will be sailing pretty.

Here is a letter I sent today to the Manitoulin expositor: 

Threat of Great Lakes Water Diversion

The Department of Natural Resources of the State of Wisconsin has finished its review of the City of Waukesha’s request to divert 10.1 million gallons a day from Lake Michigan. It has recommended approval, and Wisconsin has now forwarded the application to the Great Lakes and St. Lawrence Governors’ and Premiers Regional Body and and the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence River Basin Water Resources Council (Governors' Compact Council). This is the first test of the Great Lakes Compact which went into effect in 2008.

The Compact says that communities wishing to divert water from the Great Lakes but lying outside the Great Lakes watershed must go through this process.

The eight Great Lakes governors (Governors' Compact Council) have the ultimate say on the matter and any one of them can veto the application. The premiers of Ontario and Quebec are part of the the Regional Body and have an advisory role.

Now, “the Regional Body and Compact Council have begun a review of the application. When the Regional Body's review is concluded (anticipated to be in April), it will issue a Declaration of Finding regarding the application’s consistency with regional standards. Under the Agreement that Declaration of Finding may be a denial, an approval, or an approval with conditions. The Governors’ Compact Council will consider the Regional Body’s Declaration and then issue the final decision on the application. If all members of the Governors’ Compact Council vote to approve or approve with conditions, the State of Wisconsin can then proceed with its regulatory decision making and permitting as appropriate. If there is a dissenting vote, then the application cannot move forward.” (http://www.waukeshadiversion.org/)

Waukesha’s diversion request is a real threat to the Great Lakes. Its outcome will be precedent setting, with many other communities poised to follow in Waukesha’s footsteps if the application is approved. An approval may also be the first step in cracking the Compact, thus opening Great Lakes water to thirsty regions far from the Lakes themselves.

It is unfortunate that the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources has recommended approval, but it is not surprising. Political power in the State of Wisconsin is in the hands of a virulently anti-environmental governor and state legislature. The director of the DNR is a apolitical appointee who has cut nearly two dozen science positions from the agency and has made it clear that the State is wide open to sulfite mining, high capacity water mining, frack-sand mining and mega CAFOs which are causing vast ground water contamination.

Waukesha’s diversion request should be denied for a number of reasons, among them:

• Waukesha has created a false need for water by including a proposed expanded water supply service area in its application (an increase of 40 percent) and has inflated future water demand estimates—all for the sake of industrial and residential expansion outside the city limits.
• There are other reasonable alternatives to pumping water from Lake Michigan—the water table has rebounded in the area and a few deeper wells mixed with the existing supply would reduce troublesome radium to acceptable levels.
• Waukesha has done next to nothing to conserve water and it’s conservation plan is inadequate.

The bottom line is that Waukesha does not meet the high standards set in the Great Lakes Compact for approval to divert water outside of the Great Lakes Basin. As this is the first test of the Compact, it is critically important that the Compact be upheld.

While the Premiers of Ontario and Quebec cannot veto the Waukesha request on their own, they can wield immense influence. It is important that the people of Great Lakes Canada let it be known that the Lakes need to be protected and that the Waukesha application should be denied.

In addition to working through political channels in Ontario and Quebec, Canadian individuals and organization can submit comments:

• By mail, at 20 N. Wacker Drive, Suite 2700, Chicago, Illinois, 60606
• By email at comments@waukeshadiversion.org
• www.waukeshadiversion.org/comments
• At the public hearing on February 18, 2016 beginning no sooner than 3:00 p.m. CST at Carroll University in Waukesha, Wisconsin

The decision of the Governors CompactCouncil is very much up in the air. The word from Canada may be a deciding factor.

Jim Nies

Kagawong, Ontario

Whitewater, Wisconsin

Cleaning Out Drawers

Sue came across a yellowed sheet of paper as she was cleaning. Since people who do a daily blog often get desperate for material, I decided to slightly update the find and make use of it...

In northern climes, January is one of the best times for sailing a good old-fashioned soft-water sailboat.

A dark evening, when there’s a brisk (possibly sleet-laden) wind shaking the shutters and reminding the dog that she needs to go out, is a perfect time to lift the hook and hoist the main.

Dog impatient, I zip my parka and we head out to sea. Our cruising ground is, of course, right on the nose. As dog falls off aft following the scent of rabbit long gone or just imagined, I pull my hood down about my face and set off close hauled on a long tack to windward. It’s choppy out here on the baseball diamonds and soccer fields. The spray flies back from the bow with a sharp sting, and the big brown shape casting back and forth in my wake must be the dingy making a hard go of it. But I know that I’ll be able to turn the corner soon, bear off, give the sheets a big ease, and coast home. A pot of coffee is waiting below. And the way I’m moving, no one will ever catch me; nobody’s even close.

On frosty February mornings when the dog and I make our early rounds, joggers leave us far behind—but they’re land-bound creatures running in circles, and I watch them pound off without the slightest wistfulness. I don’t have to do that. In a month or two I’ll be scraping, scrubbing, hauling, heaving hoisting, hiking. I need to conserve my energy.

Conserve it for spring when it’s time to wash and trim the dog, tune the mower, stake out a garden, fix he shaky shutters—tasks all worthy of a man’s time. But not too much of it.  For I have a boat. Better homes and gardens are fine for landlubbers with limited horizons. A sailor like me has better things to do.

Summer’s coming. I’ll be out of here. Off on a broad reach, riding the zeyphers from one lovely anchorage to another. And the dog will be able to swim.

Animal Dialogs

Pax and I are once again communicating pretty well, on the same page, enjoying each other's company. He is recovering from the gun trauma now that it is fading away, and he once again wants to walk and run and chase. I like having him back as a walking partner, and today we did the big loop for the first time in a long time. There were some loud bangs along the way as dump trucks slammed their tailgates, and construction workers discharged their air guns—but none of that mattered. 

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Even better, I suggest that before you read the next story, you open your door and walk into the woods where only birds and spying raccoons might see you, or into a desert of lizards and jackrabbits, if that is what is at hand. Paw up the dirt and taste it on your lips. Drink out of a stream or from the lucid depths of a bedrock water hole. Return to your house, where this book waits on a table. Pull up a chair and see what other wild creature comes to speak with you.

Craig Childs, The Animal Dialogs

Mostly Manitowoc

A visit with Aunt Janet and Buffy.

We surprised ourselves, arriving at her bright, sun-filled house ahead of schedule, allowing us ample time before lunch. Lunch was at Maretti's deli, which is an interesting and very busy place where when you have lunch know know you have had lunch. Today was Tortellini Tuesday, and when we combined that with olive/artichoke salad, tomato basil soup, home made garlic bread, and enormous sandwiches, we ended up wondering if we could possibly make it back to the car.

After lunch a visit to the marina where Pax got to run a bit, and then on to Festival Foods, more as a chance to walk off some of Maretti's than to think about food, although AJ did pick up a few items.

Beautiful ice in the harbor but none at all on the big lake. 

On the way home a stop in Fox Point, and pizza with Ab, Katy, and Will at the Roman Candle. That's a lotta Italiano.

Squirrel Tracks?

Totally sunny. Very good for any of us who suffer from light depravation. There are now actually 10 more minutes of light compared to the illumination nadir just a few weeks ago.

And, what's this? Micro-meteor impacts? Winter hail storm? No—no, something much more prosaic—squirrel tracks.  These little rodent dynamos deign to dig. At any one time there could be anywhere from half a dozen to a baker's dozen of them under and around the bird feeder. Every time Pax and I head out the door for a walk Pax has fun giving chase.

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In 1754, a belle-lettrist named Horace Walpole retreated to a desk in his gaudy castle in Twickenham, in southwest London, and penned a letter. Walpole had been entranced by a Persian fairy tale about three princes from the Isle of Serendip who possess super powers of observation. In his letter, Walpole suggested that this old tale contained a crucial idea about human genius: “As their highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of.” And he proposed a new word — “serendipity” — to describe this princely talent for detective work. At its birth, serendipity meant a skill rather than a random stroke of good fortune. 

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Now it means a nice little lane along the shore of Mudge Bay in Kagawong. 

Not Quite Ready

I know people were sailing today, I just don't know where. 

Lake LaBelle is 98.7 percent frozen but clearly treacherous.  

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Reading Andrea Wulf's, The Invention of Nature; Alexander Von Humboldt's New World . I know of Humboldt, but not much else. An aristocratic, well-off German who devoted his life to exploration and observation. Born in 1769, seven years before the American Revolution, he canoed jungles, climbed volcanoes, waked across Russia. His hundredth birthday (which he barely missed) was celebrated from New York to Bombay by hundreds 0f thousands of people.

His two major works were his multi-volume Personal Narratives, and his multi-volume Cosmos. Through these he had a major influlrence on Charles Darwin, Thomas Jefferson, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman.  Kind of important, I would say.

Here's the chronology:   

Thos. Jefferson: 1743
Humboldt: 1769
J.J. Audubon: 1785
Charles Darwin: 1809
Henry David Thoreau: 1817
Walt Whitman: 1819

I do not remember hearing a word of Humboldt in the Audubon biography, and now I don't know why. 

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 Humboldt wrote in Personal Narrative: 'The beasts of the forest retire to the thickets; the birds hide themselves beneath the foliage of the trees, or in the crevices of the rocks. Yet, amid this apparent silence, when we lend an attentive ear to the most feeble sounds transmitted by the air, we hear a dull vibration, a continual murmur, a hum of insects, that fill, if we may use the expression, all the lower strata of the air. Nothing is better fitted to make man feel the extent and power of organic life. Myriads of insects creep upon the soil, and flutter round the plants parched by the ardour of the Sun. A confused noise issues from every bush, from the decayed trunks of trees, from the clefts of the rock, and from the ground undermined by the lizards, millepedes, and cecilias. There are so many voices proclaiming to us, that all nature breathes; and that, under a thousand different forms, life is diffused throughout the cracked and dusty soil, as well as in the bosom of the waters, and in the air that circulates around us.

Rumors of Ice

Bright sun, but still below freezing. Rumors of ice, but no email announcements. I'll have to check the iceboat hotline later. (You would think ice boaters would not call it a hotline.) Regardless, the boats are as ready as I can make them.

Speaking philosophically:  for ice-boaters, every weekend from Thanksgiving to St. Patrick's Day has to be tentative. Weddings, funerals, and things like that have to be scheduled conditionally, depending on ice. Clear, hard, sailable ice only comes along every so often, and ice boaters have to be ready, ready to drop everything and head to frozen water.

It's a goofy sport. 

And, I can't wait to find out if we will be sailing tomorrow. 

Day One...

..of this year. Chilly, gray, below freezing all day.

Pax and I had a great walk on the empty campus early this morning before everyone who got guns for Xmas went out and started shooting. 

For dinner tonight, breaded pork steak and corn pone. (If you can believe it.) (A little touch of southern warmth?)

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 January

The days are short.
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

 —John Updike

Solstice and Wombat

Now side by side and ready for ice. Reports of a frozen Lake Como, and some chilly nights ahead, so sailing might be possible, soon. We are so looking forward to trying out Wombat, purchased almost a year ago and never yet sailed. Also looking forward to a little match racing, one boat against the other.

Happy New Year! 

The Bigger They Come...

The harder they fall... 

Go here to see some interesting action: https://my.playosmo.com/masterpiece/drawing/1nhmydfkiyo/

I don't know how to embed this link, so copy it, and then paste it into the search box of your browser, and then click on it. Very sorry for the inconvenience. I will figure a better way tomorrow.

Heavy Lifting

Freezing rain, sleet, then snow, topped with freezing rain, sleet, and snow (many inches deep) makes for serious shoveling. The snowblower, our Christmas gift of several years ago, earned its keep this morning. The road-plow must have been going fast as it came by in the predawn hour because it threw heavy frozen slush all the way over the terrace and onto the sidewalk.

As the shadows lengthened this evening our nocturnal neighbor emerged to attend to his driveway (Peggy having used her machine to clear his walk this morning when we were all out dealing with last night's deposit). He has since spent the past two hours chopping and scraping, using his own idiosyncratic method, and may finish his meticulous ministrations by midnight.

Sate of emergency in Missouri. The Mississippi River approaching (or possibly surpassing) the record flood level of 1993. Pretty much ditto England.

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From 'A Severe Lack of Holiday Spirit'
by Amy Gerstler

...People hit
the sauce in a big way all winter.
Amidst blizzards they wrestle
unsuccessfully with the dark comedy
of their lives, laughter trapped
in their frigid gizzards. Meanwhile, 
the mercury just plummets,
like a migrating duck blasted
out of the sky by some hunter
in a cap with fur earflaps.

Up to the Hubcaps...

...in slushy mud. Met Bob and Lou at Elizabeth's in Delevan for breakfast, then over to Lou's workshop in Walworth for iceboat shenanigans. Wombat is ready to go and the trailer almost so, and all is looking good. (Buddy Melges dropped by for a chat while we were dinking around.)

On departure, I towed the old trailer away and to the Mallard Ridge landfill just west of Delevan. The entrance road winds up the side of a beautiful oak-studded moraine, but once over the crest and on the flat in front of the big drop-off a sea of slushy mud with ruts like barge canals. It gave me pause, but the operator of the giant, spike-wheeled bulldozer waved me forward, so, in 4-wheel drive and a state of anxiety, I roared into the quagmire, did a quick half donut before the fatal edge, and came to a stop. Coming to a stop in that slop was against my better judgement, but necessary since I needed the help of the dozer operator to tip the now unwanted iceboat box and cradle off the still usable trailer. That done I scraped gobs off my boots, climbed back into the truck, and somehow got it to move forward, eventually onto solid ground.

The good thing about the drive home from there was that all the sleet, freezing rain, slush, and snowdrifts did a good job of scraping the truck clear of dump muck.

Now, as I type this, sleet is rattling against all the east-facing windows, and the storm continues, seemingly unabated. What a winter!?

In the image below, all the orange lines are areas where flooding is significant, with the red indicating severe. Apparently things are rather damp in England, too. I wonder how it's going in California?