A week ago Walden was covered in snow and ice. I had a wonderful Sunday afternoon cross country skiing with a friend through Walden Woods. We stopped to take photos of the sun sparkling through the trees or to discuss which of the myriad of criss crossing tracks we should follow. And at the end of our outing, following the ridge on the southern shore of the pond back to the main road, I looked out over the pond, which had been water until three days before.
“It usually freezes over by the end of the first week of January,” I remarked, remember all the years I had been coming to Walden, and the year, thirteen years ago, when I had been swimming until the ice took the water away.
But by the time I visited Walden again on Friday, the ice was all but gone.
When I walked down onto the sand I bumped into a swimming buddy who had just finished his icy dip! Mike had walked around to Red Cross Beach so he could avoid the wind, swum across the pond to avoid the ice. “It can cut you up pretty bad,” we exchanged thoughts on the matter. “And you can’t see it when you are swimming either.” I added, (having had the misfortune to have collided more than once with the sharp edge of the ice back in 2004). Mike had swum back to the beach on the other side of a large segment of ice that divided the pond in two parts.
I was impressed. Mike wasn’t “blue” and he was making complete sense. Even in November I would sometimes get so cold I couldn’t “get my mouth around my words” properly.
This morning, Sunday, I went back to Walden again. It was a chilly walk, especially along the shaded shore. When I was finishing my walk I found an unoccupied chair and swimming gear on the wall, the gathering place for all the swimmers in season. A small crowd had gathered at the far end of Red Cross Beach. Instantly I knew why. I strained my eyes and sure enough, a tiny black head in the water, watching where he was going arms rotating. It had to be Mike. And he had an audience.