Pondering the existence of creatures encased in frozen waters

A howling wind blew millions of snowflakes around my dog, Mutt, and me as we hiked down the road towards Limekiln Lake.

Mutt didn’t seem to mind the intensity of the wind as it carried along lots of good smells with it.

She stopped often, lifting her nose up to take a whiff of whatever animals might be in our vicinity.

I spied fresh rabbit tracks cutting across the road and stooped over to examine them.

I could tell exactly where the rabbit had taken a pause to take a look down the road before continuing on its way.

Mutt and I covered the next hundred yards of our trek pretty quickly as my snowpants swished rhythmically with each step.

Mutt scrambled down a short rocky bank and was the first to see the lake blanketed in a thin white sheet.

She tested the icy coating with her front paw, but to her surprise she broke through and unveiled the blackness of the water beneath.

She decided instead to venture down to the beach which was hidden under a foot of fresh snow.

I trailed behind her and walked as close to the icy shore as possible.

I especially enjoyed Limekiln Lake when it was so quiet that the only sound to be heard was that of boots crunching across a shelf of newly-formed ice.

However, Mutt broke the silence when she caught the scent of something in the air.

Her hunting/tracking skills kicked in and she bolted through the brush, leaving me alone to ponder a multitude of questions regarding my hidden lake.

How long does it take the lake to make ice?

What are the fish thinking as they become covered by a blanket of snow and ice?

These were just a few questions my eight-year-old self wrestled with.

I squatted down, pulled off one of my mittens, and took a closer look at a piece of ice I had just stepped on and broken.

It was smooth on the bottom but encased within was a bunch of pine needles.

I gave the ice chunk a Frisbee-like toss towards the lake. It made a really cool sound as it tumbled along.

Mutt must have heard the unusual noise from a distance as she came bursting through the frosty underbrush quickly, almost bowling me over.

We continued along on that snowy afternoon, poking at the slowly freezing lake water that was preparing to hide itself from sight for the season.

Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com