Walking On A Frozen Lake
A trek on the ice in the night with falling snow is oh so worth it. Just make sure you’re comfortable finding your way home. - Jonathan K., Canada
If you asked me for a wonder off the cuff, this isn’t something I probably would’ve thought of—surely how interesting can just walking be? However, upon reflection, this is one of my most unique memories. I realized that there is a specialness that walking on ice has; it’s different than just going for a hike. I believe there are two main reasons for this.
Firstly, it’s just you and your companions—it’s inherently remote, even if you’re not that far away from civilization. You won’t see cars, and you probably won’t hear any either because the lake is quiet. It’s the exact opposite of a lake in summer when a whisper can travel a mile. On the frozen lake during a storm, a yell might not be heard at arm’s reach.
Second, it’s transient, though in a slower way. Where you’re walking might not be possible next week or next year, but you also know what you’re getting. You won’t have to worry about hiking up hills, but in the same token you won’t have any easy descents to help ease your way home. It’ll be a consistent one foot in front of the other, an ever-tiring trek through the snow, but there won’t be any surprises. It’ll be consistent for the duration, but something you can still appreciate as being a fleeting opportunity that might not be available to you another day.
Before I get into the specifics of my experience, I’ll start with some backstories that laid the foundation for why this walk was special, ones that I only realized later upon reflection.
When I was young, my dad and I once had to walk through a forest in the dark, with one candle stick. I don’t quite remember why we needed to do this, but we did. This was before cell phones, and I guess we didn’t have a flashlight available where we set out from either; we were just in that situation, but I remember the walk. It’s probably something a rational mind should’ve considered fearing, but it was just something we had to do. During the walk, the focus on shielding the light from the breeze overtook any thought of fearing what could’ve been out there.
Somehow walking on the ice reminded me of that. Deciding to go for the walk was a choice, but once the blizzard picked up, figuring out how to get back put me back in that same mindset. Getting back was just something we had to do.
The other memories that sparked for me were those of walking on natural ice while growing up, something I can only remember ever having done twice. Winters didn’t freeze the water thick enough where I grew up, except for one winter. That winter the local kids played hockey on a pond near my house and I still remember the trepidation of those first steps onto the ice, worrying that I might fall though. I figured that since the other kids were already on it, I should be fine, but there is still an underlying fear of going through. The other memory was from that same winter, when my dad took me to a flooded field that froze over, where someone set up some hockey nets. That time I didn’t have the fear.
Bringing it back to the wonder walk of adulthood, I realized that this time I set my own path, without a safety net of civilization being nearby. It was just my partner and me. In reality, we probably weren’t ever more than a mile from a house or road, but it felt desolate, isolated.
That feeling of isolation wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, I think that’s a driving force in why this walk was so impactful on my memory. It was nice; it was silent. It was a time I could be present, thinking only about the now, and not caring about anything else. To say that it was survival feels like a stretch—it helped me feel present in the moment, thinking about preservation.
I never had doubt that we’d make it back. I just didn’t know how long it would take or what shape we’d be in when we got there. The walk started out really fun. There was a light sprinkling of snow falling on us. We took some photos of us holding our LED light sticks, a definite technological improvement on that single candle stick of years past. We had snowshoes, warm clothes, and gloves. We were cozy and excited. We also knew that the ice was thick enough to safely walk on so there was no fear of falling through.
With the photos out of the way, we just started walking, in whatever direction our hoods best blocked us from the wind. On that night walk, it happened to be southeast. Earlier I wrote that there wouldn’t be surprises, but that wasn’t entirely true. We found new things to experience during the trek: slight crests where the ice fought itself into mounds from when the surface froze, the rare snowless patch of deep blackness where winds had kept the ice exposed, and varying depths of snow to snowshoe through. The last surprise was when the gentle tinkling of snow, what started out of as those sprinkling flakes we took photos of, changed and started to whip at us sideways. We found ourselves in a blizzard.
There was lots of good news. We were dressed warm. We had enough water. We had light sticks, plus tucked-away cell phone flashlights in case our light sticks went out. We were together.
The trickier thing was that we lost sight of how to get home and since we didn’t really plan our route, instead just walking in whichever direction the wind was least harsh, we only had a rough idea which way we should be pointed to get home. Knowing cardinal compass directions wouldn’t have helped us anyhow. With the wind picking up, it was also getting cold. We knew that we didn’t want to attempt to spend the night on the ice; we wanted to get home before things started to get bad.
The nature of our trek meant that our tracks were the only fresh ones. In fact, they were the only ones we could discern. Retracing our tracks seemed like the best approach. With some attempted communication by yelling and with some hand signals, we agreed to go the same way we had come. It might not be the most direct line home, but at least we had a path to follow.
What at the beginning of our night was excitement that kept us moving turned now into adrenaline for the sake of perseverance, preservation. The visibility was so poor that we couldn’t see land in any direction for most of that walk back. The stars and moon were obscured by the flurries so all we had were our light sticks, which thankfully were quite lengthy. We drooped them towards the ground to help make out our tracks more easily. That ended up sustaining us. The tracks admittedly were getting fainter and fainter throughout our walk back, but with ours being the only tracks there, any deformity in the snow caught our eye.
After an interminable amount of time passing on that trek back, at some point we saw a light post. Our light post. All the other abodes were blackened, probably with everyone sleeping through the stormy night, but we’d left our post alight. I think this was probably only because we figured that we could get some nice snowy photos at the beginning of our walk. It wasn’t for safety; it wasn’t planning. It was sheer luck that we’d thought to do that. That beacon was a deep breath of comfort, knowing that our minds could relax a bit. Soon our bodies would relax a bit. Thoughts turned from somewhat fretful perseverance to joyous achievement. Thoughts turned from defending against the cold to dreaming of hot chocolate.
That last part of the walk became easier as soon as the end was in sight. We didn’t have to worry about how long our stamina would last. We could just enjoy the blizzard and enjoy the luminescence of the lamp post. We made it back inside and readily warmed up with smiles on our faces and rosy cheeks.
The walk on the ice had a magic to it. Even when the skies turned, it was still magical, just tougher. From that elemental experience of nature, I learned a little more about the strength of the flame inside me. Perhaps that’s why it stuck with me as such a wonder. I experienced the world in a new way, and in doing so experienced what’s inside me.
A trek on the ice in the night with falling snow is oh so worth it. Just make sure you’re comfortable finding your way home.
More about frozen lakes from the Wonders Team
Lakes begin cooling in late summer as temperatures decrease and the cooler upper layers of water which are heavier and denser sink towards the bottom forcing the warmer lighter water to the top. This cycling continues until the water reaches a uniform 4° C at which it will be at it's maximum density. If a lake doesn't cool to that temperature it won't freeze over which is why some very deep lakes never freeze. Water molecules spread further apart as they freeze, making ice less dense than water. As a result, when the surface water cools below 0° C, the ice stays afloat and a frozen lake is only solid from the top leaving the bottom liquid where fish can still survive.
There are many variables which determine whether ice is safe to walk on including whether it's newly frozen (better), whether there have been large temperature flucturations, or whether there is moving water (unpredictable). The recommended thickness to support a person is >4 inches (more for snowmobiles and vehicles). Unfortunately, full freezes are becoming less frequent as the rate of warming increases. Freeze dates have been shifting later into the year and thaw dates have been shifting earlier.