Mysticicle

The lake stretched out ahead, snow covered and untraveled. It was 10 below but I was dressed well and was comfortably heated from the exertion of snowshoeing a couple of miles.

I stepped out on the lake, feeling the ice under the snow with my poles and fell into a rhythmic swaying stride. I resumed my reverie, thinking of a movie where frogs fell like rain.

I tripped a little and snapped to attention. I was on the far side of the lake and my snowshoes were butting into reeds. They stretched across most of the edge of the lake on this side, and I looked for a path through them.

Failing that, I bent down and unlashed my snowshoes, attaching them to my backpack so they spread out like a pair of wings. I enjoyed having an angelic shadow.

I lifted my foot to step into the reeds and the ice let loose. Instinctively I fell forward, spreading my arms and grabbing the edge of the ice as my legs and torso plunged into the lake. The bottom was organic glop, offering nothing solid to stand on. I tried clawing my way out and the ice was too rotten to gain any purchase.

In desperation I pushed back and felt a solid edge of ice against my back, and in a surge of panic I flailed myself out of the water, ending up on my back with most of my weight on the spread snowshoes.

The cold was biting, and I could see the water on my boots already beginning to freeze. I gently rolled to the side and unhooked my snowshoe, and then ever so carefully put it on my foot. I unhooked the other snow shoe and torqued to put it on, sure that at any moment the ice would fail and dump me head first into the lake. Death by freeze brain!

The ice held, and I carefully rolled to my feet, first gradually walking and then moving to a full rolling run, scared that at any moment hypothermia would set in.

The run generated so much heat that I was trailing plumes of steam in the frigid winter air.

I was dry and laughing about it by the time I got back to my car.