The snow crunches underfoot as the spikes grip the snow and propel us forward across the lake.
Before us stretches North Nokomis Lake, roughly 470 areas of snow covered, frozen water, just one of more than a thousand lakes near St. Germain in northern Wisconsin. On its shores sprout black spruce, tamarack and jack pine with an occasional cabin or residence sprinkled between them. Today, they are empty and abandoned -- frigid husks crying for the warmth of a fireplace while their owners remain comfortable back home in Chicago, Madison or somewhere south of the Wisconsin border.
At its deepest, the lake is seventy-three feet deep. I mention its depth because walking across unfamiliar, frozen water in the middle of February always makes my heart beat a little faster. Not only are you mocking Jesus, who actual could walk on water, but one can't shake the feeling that maybe we don't belong out here. Dismayed, I think to myself that Liz, snowshoeing a few feet behind me, would have a spectacular view as I fell through the ice, my arms flapping wildly , reaching desperately for traction before sinking beneath the icy water. At least with all this snow she wouldn't be watching me float beneath the clear ice for one minute before running out of air and sinking to the bottom. Today, it would be one big splash , and then nothing until spring when the authorities would scour the lake for my frozen body.
Why am I always thinking such thoughts?
"We have nothing to worry about," I say as I stop and turn to Liz. "It's been below zero for a week now and last night reached 15 below zero. I'm sure the ice is a good eight to twelve inches thick."
I watched as Liz, in her Columbia jacket with matching scarf and hat, let out a cloud of steam. Her breath quickly frosted the scarf and fogged her sunglasses. "I hope you're right," she says, removing the glasses and putting in an inner pocket. "My low opinion of you being right would take a big hit if we have to swim to safety. Besides, look at these snowmobile tracks, they go all the way across the lake."
We continued on, the large flat metal planks spreading our weight so we don't sink too deeply into the snow. "Good point. Let's stick to the tracks already here."
In my mind I figured a typical snow mobile would weigh about six-hundred pounds. Add someone riding at maybe another two-hundred-twenty-five pounds and you're well over eight hundred pounds sledding across this lake. Liz and I can't be anywhere close to that.
We've gone another ten minutes, with the hopes of getting a view around a tree-lined point when I notice yellowish-brown patches in front of us. The snowmobile tracks continue on the other side, so I step into fresh snow leading away from the discolored snow. As I do, I notice my poles are sinking deeper into the snow, leaving little discolored circles.
Before we continue any further, I look toward Liz and say, "I think we may want to head back the way we came."
"Yeah, have you noticed the different colored snow?"
I pull off my goggles and look behind us. Our trail of footprints, which used to be white are now a darker shade of gray, bordering on brown. "Um, yeah! I think I see water in the snow. Let's turn back and stay closer to shore."
And with those frosty words leaving my lips, I feel a large section of snow sink beneath my snowshoes...
A few months ago, my wife thought it would be a great idea to head north for Valentine's Day. The holiday landed on Sunday this year and if we took off Friday and Monday it would make a nice get-away. With COVID still making restaurants questionable, a road trip sounded like a good idea. It wasn't long before we mentioned the idea to friends of ours, Doug and Peggy, who were big into snowmobiles. With the words barely out of our mouths, they were up for it. As regular travelers to Wisconsin's Great North, they loved the idea of a couple feet of fresh snow and miles of groomed trails.
Liz and i who are not snowmobilers, would take our Christmas gifts to each other -- snowshoes -- and find trails of our own.
And when we weren't speeding across frozen lakes or finding our way through snow covered pine trees we'd settle down for a weekend of Mexican Train, Nines and Netflix.
So plans were made to find a place near Eagle River, WI for a long, fun-filled Valentine's weekend.
Little did we know the weekend would turn out to have some of the coldest temperatures of the year, dropping down to twenty-four degrees below zero. Windchills were expected to be forty or fifty degrees below zero making snowshoeing, much less snowmobiling a matter of life and death. Just our luck -- as if 2020 and the beginning of 2021 wasn't bad enough. The continued wreckage of COVID, the questionable presidential election, the Packer's loss in the NFC championship game, and now being stuck in a cabin up north surrounded by twenty inches of snow with nowhere to go.
That is unless we could dress for it, use hand and feet warmers, and make short trips in and out of life-renewing taverns. Sounded like a plan.
The bartender was telling us how the cash register was trying to kill her, when some guy behind us lets out a yell. "Yes! I won, I won!" he repeats standing next to a video display showing winnings of $250 from the video gambling game mounted to the bar's far wall. The smell of sweat and gasoline remind me that snowmobiling is best enjoyed outside with lots of fresh clean air. Outside, snowmobiles either thunder by or are parked haphazardly on all sides of the tavern.
Liz and I are sitting at the bar, adult beverages in hand, in Sister's Saloon and Restaurant in St. Germain. We've stepped in from the cold after a three mile trek through Fern Ridge Trail. The trail was awesome, with trails leading through snow covered pines, up and down ravines, crossing snow covered bridges -- as the occasional sounds of snowmobiles buzzed nearby. Liz said they reminded her of a swarm of bees, angry at having their hive knocked from a tree. Fern Ridge Trail didn't share the road with snowmobiles, but they did travel through the same neck of the woods.
"As I was saying before Tom got lucky," continues Sandy, our bartender for the afternoon. "That cash register has been trying to kill me all week! The drawer keeps popping open as I'm walking past, hitting me in the hip and arm. I should show you my bruises." She gives us a wink, then adds, "One of these days I'm going to throw the whole thing in a snow pile."
"Attacking" cash registers are not the only thing worth watching in Sisters Saloon and Tavern. Stacks of helmets are the first thing you see when walking in. All brands are there -- Ski Doo, Arctic Cat, Polaris, and Yamaha. My guess, is there are probably twenty-five people in the bar, almost all of them arrived by sled.
Behind the bar are signs informing patrons of the male persuasion how much it will cost for the bartender to tell their wives they aren't there. Another sign advertises a frog legs dinner for $15. Liz and I immediately think of Lydia, our Chinese student who is now attending Pepperdine University in Malibu, California. The ceiling and walls are decorated with tiny white lights, giving the place a North Pole feel. No one would be surprised to see Santa Clause walk through the door.
Today, a lot of other people are walking through the door. Liz and I have never seen so many snowmobilers. We have seen more sleds than cars. There is a constant stream of sleds on both sides of Hwy 70, some running parallel to the road, others are crossing the road at the first chance. And when they aren't driving their sleds, they are in bars like this one warming their insides with some alcohol or hot chocolate.
We've chosen the former as our way of warming up.
"I still can't believe we ran into water on that lake this morning," I tell Liz, who is taking a sip of her bourbon old fashioned. "When I felt the snow shift I saw my life pass before my eyes. Thankfully it just settled into some water on top of the ice."
Liz's face is still red from the frigid nine below temps. Her hair --the part not covered by a hat she refuses to take off -- is still sweaty, a sign of how hard she was working on the snowy trails.
"I never wanted to go out on that lake," she says. "I know Peggy said it was alright, but I don't remember seeing any sign or anything that said the lake was safe. I can't believe a snowmobile drove over it!"
"Yeah, we'll just stick to the wooded trails, over solid land." I can hear the bartender saying there were two fishing tournaments being held near St. Germain. Unfortunately, this year's Knocker's Bikini Relay was cancelled because of the cold... I could see CBS' Charles Kuralt bringing his "On The Road" production to St. Germain to do a story on bikini snowmobiling.
Think what you will of driving snowmobiles in the cold, in a bathing suit, but those women have to be tough. Or drunk. Or both.
Despite the absolutely cold temperatures over the Valentine's Day weekend -- minus 20 degrees on Friday, minus 13 degrees on Saturday, minus 22 degrees on Sunday and minus 32 degrees on Monday -- none of them set a record. I've done a little research on record cold temperatures for Wisconsin and found a few staggering numbers. Near Rest Lake, not far from where we were, a temperature of minus 51 degrees was recorded on February 25, 1928. But the all-time coldest temperature for the entire state of Wisconsin was recorded in Superior on March 12, 1948 when it hit 62 degrees below zero.
Makes me wonder why we were concerned about a measly 32 degrees below zero.
Actually, you don't need record temps to cause damage to your skin or much worse, your life. Frostbite is a condition in which your skin and tissues freeze. It usually occurs on your fingers, toes, nose and ears and can lead to permanent blood vessel and tissue damage.
Luckily for most of us, the chances of reaching that point are rare, and frostnip provides an early warning signal before it gets that far. Symptoms include red, tingling or numb skin. At that point, it's best to get inside or to keep yourself warm.
Hypothermia takes place when your body loses heat at a rate faster than it can produce it, and your body temperature drops extremely low. It can cause your heart, nervous system and other organs to enter a state of shock and ultimately lead to death. Symptoms include shivering, slurred speech, slow breathing, lack of coordination and confusion.
Silly me, I thought those were signs of getting old. Hello, sleepy Joe.
I open the door to the Toyota and slide inside, glad to see the overhead dome light still works. I insert the key and turn over the ignition hoping for the best. With a groan and screech, the engine starts, shaking the car to its core. Every component is cold -- no not cold, more like frozen. The seat, the dials and the wheel barely move in protest to my intrusion. Thankfully, there is little frost on the windows, so no need to go out and scrap it off.
The temperature gauge in the dash reads 24 degrees below zero. It feels much worse. I'm freezing, so I put the car into gear and back out of the driveway, heading toward the rising sun, which is nothing more than a strip of orange and yellow. This morning, I wouldn't blame it if it decided it was too cold and went back down.
The car crawls -- I'm not kidding, I could probably walk faster than the car -- past a large pole barn, one of many on the cranberry farm. A car is parked in front of one, its engine running. From inside comes the sound of equipment being moved. No one is outside -- if they are, they are not moving.
We've spent the weekend on this farm, called Lake Nokomis Cranberry, Inc. Our cozy retreat is located above the gift shop and winery, although I'm not sure there was much activity due to the cold temperatures.
Despite my foot on the accelerator, the car maintains it's slow march toward the ribbon of light rising above the horizon. I thought driving the car would keep me warm, but I'm miserable because of the cold and it will be at least five minutes or more before the car warms up enough to stop my shaking. Eventually, the car rolls to a stop just short of a sign that reads "No Vehicles Past This Point." Because of today's frigid conditions, it's not advisable for any warm blood human to go beyond this point.
Despite that thought, I stop the car and step outside to photograph this morning's beautiful sunrise. The snow literally pops as I walk to the edge of the road and fumble with the camera, realizing I have to remove the camera lens cover. Quickly, I remove my glove and tuck it under my arm while I remove the cover and put it into my coat pocket. Already, my hand is burning, so I focus on the expanding light coming from behind some trees and shoot.
Despite the conditions, the camera takes the photos I want. I shoot a few more and walk back to the car and jump in, slamming the door. "God Almighty, it's cold!" My breath painfully floats around the interior before giving up and settling on the car seats and floor.
As I back the car into its overnight "stall" (a bumpy patch of snow), I put the car into park and sit feeling the leather seats warming beneath my butt. Strangely I don't leave the car, instead I look around, putting to memory my surroundings. It's hard to believe it's over. My mind wanders to the events of the last four days and I smile, enjoying the images of snowshoeing around Shannon Lake, or our first night playing Mexican train with Doug and Peggy, or stopping for lunch in Wausau, or having our valentine dinner at Whitetail Inn with its roaring fireplace, or the memory of our waitress who found the courage to call me Gestapo Guy because I had crossed my arms while eating at the table. Or best of all, the memory of Liz's touch as we kissed each other and said "good night."
Despite the wicked cold, this weekend has been a blast. Good friends and hearty outdoor exercise had kept our blood flowing and belly laughs coming. As I turned off the car, my final thought is not whether this weekend was a good idea, but when we would be coming back for more.
Hopefully when the temps are above zero.
