SagadahocStory #73:1/3/99
Fresh Smelts
Finally got some serious winter. SixEight inches of snow to cover
over the old year and an Alberta Clipper to make it crunch. Now
another storm is turning to freezing rain. Start asking for real
weather, and you might get it.
The skiing was terrible after the first decent snow. No base,
and deep fluff to dog your heels. Just the same, CC and I slogged
around a short circuit. Down the gullies, up to Frank's logging
roads, along the powerlines to the airfield, and home. Looked
like everyone had taken an airing to blow off the holiday gas.
We crossed Richard's snowshoe trace, and touched tangents with
another skier along the runway. Big kicker: his distance between
polemarks was twice mine, even going uphill. CC and I rode the
snowbanks to Earl's and crosslots home.
A big chill blew in for New Years, and the smelt boys are dancing
on ice. Thirty below wind chill. Brent, Jimmy, Guy and Dr. Bob
clustered up next to the Frenchman on the Abby, and I stuck my
head in yesterday AM to see how they were catching. NADA on the
morning rise, but the winter light shining though plastic shanty
walls and the brittle stillness opens into a crystalline space.
And if you stand still to enjoy it, you freeze solid.
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Abby Camps 99
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Brent assembled his skylit camp by a full moon Friday, and was
first on next morning. By midday he was ready to light off his
big bonfire. All the scrap wood on his place was getting underfoot,
and he'd built it into a towering mound on the brink of a gully.
Called Frizzle for a go ahead, and me for a ritual companion.
I skinned off the Xmas bush and stuffed it in the Owl. Planted
it on top of the bon while he tucked old Maine Times up under
her skirts, and sprinkled some varnished gas liberally. We've
been in the habit of sharing celebratory fires on 12th Night,
or thereabout, usually in the circle of poles on our patch. With
a mess of ice promised today, Brent wanted to torch all that dry
wood before the storm. His ladies and the dogs gathered round.
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A beauty. Best bon yet. The gully slope created a natural chimney,
and the fire got right into the heart of the pile early, driving
us back steaming. All the surrounding snow wicked up into bristles,
leaning toward the blaze, and the encircled trees shivered in
the updraft. Something cleansing about a ritual fire in winter.
Your face smarts like sunburn, but the sweat on your back freezes.
All the old junk oxidizes. |
Back out in the cold, I was too chill to go skating at sunset,
which was my excuse for staying off the untraveled river. The
ice was clear by Jimmy's, and he was shoving camps on and stringing
out the power, but I went home to check the patient, and play
with my paintbox. She's doing dandy.
It snowed again in the night, nice granular coating, and I couldn't
stand it any longer. There was enough cover on the road for fast
skiing, and I slethered out to Wallentine's to check the river.
They were having tractor trouble at River Bend, and I jawed with
Phil and Bert while they poked at the machinery. Bad enough to
have a short season because the ice is late, without losing days
this way. They only had four camps on, with the ice between 5
and 7 inches. Andy was down on the river hauling shanties with
the little garden machine. I skidded down to check it out.
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Tractor Jump
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Once I was on the slick skiing my anxieties about thin ice evaporated.
With 8/10 inches at Jimmy's, I figured the road between would
carry us. And CC wasn't showing a trace of nervousness, which
may or may not signify. It was mid-tide with open seeps along
the marginal heaves, but not a sign of wet in the main channel.
I avoided the places where it's been thin in previous years, I
hoped, but I didn't stop to contemplate the scenery until I was
on Jimmy's turf.
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He and Frank were manhandling his sixth shanty into place, and
the customers in Camp 1 were wailing them. CC and Shadow snuffled
at frozen perch they'd tossed out the door. Eagle snacks. Yesterday's
evening tide had been full of running smelts, and everyone was
into them. Brent brought home a feed from the Abby, Jimmy's trade
was happy, and Fowler and Chris stayed at it til midnight, above
the bridge, hauling in big fat fish. When I saw them this afternoon,
they gave us a mess of fresh ones for supper. Rolled in cornmeal,
fried in oil, mmm.. nothing as sweet as the first fish of the
season.
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No telling what this ice storm will do to the river, but the promise
is more deep freeze behind it. Snow or ice, guess CC and I'll
get to burn some sugar. And get out into the quiet. Something
about how the heavy air squeezes you, tries to nose into your
clothes, that startles you alert. And the deep throated boom underfoot
as the ice moves gets your lungs working. It's been 10 years now
since I snuffed my last cigarette, and I'm still surprised when
I can sprint across thin ice without getting winded. Is that trading
one foolishness for another?
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Speaking of weather related foolishness. You Bowdoinham taxpayers
will be glad to know that Gordon and the public workers are going
to be right up to the minute on the weather report. The town has
had Casco Cable run a line in to the new Works garage at the old
mill, so they can get the weather channel, right on the job. I
was told it only cost $1500 to put cable into the garage. Is that
road budget, capital improvement, or employee benefits?
| You'll also be relieved that Frank got the new town privy all
closed in and painted before the snow flew. I'm not sure but what
we're the only town in Maine that's built a civic outhouse this
era, and it's gorgeous. After they clearcut the landing and moved
the sandpile, the waterfront was bare as a baby's bum. But we
now have a miniature replica of a railroad station to cover our
embarrassments. Not a minute too soon, as the Waterfront Committee
has cleared away all the puckerbrush, and the resident Blow Brothers
("We're #1 in the #2 Business") PortaPotty didn't have the kind
of historic charm we're aspiring to. Now we've got a fancy town
crapper. It's nice to have something to brag about |
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Porta Potty
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It's a new year, and you can tell right off it'll be exciting.
The fish are running and civic amenities are piling up. Chubby
got all his camps on the Abby yesterday, and Chico's got the lot
cleared at Little Fish. Bloodworms are available, and you can
borrow a skillet at River Bend. If you need a destination resort
in January, come on down. |