Snow devils

We had finally gotten the majority of the cabin to a reasonable temperature. The ice had started to melt off the inside windows, only the bedrooms still had ice crystals on the floor, and it was comfortable if you were wearing long sleeves, a sweater, and some sort of shoe. We were a happy foursome, our friend B., who reminds me of Bear Grylls, having snowshoed over later that night.

DH braved the cold that morning to drill a hole through the ice so we could have water to wash the dishes. We were boiling snow to get drinking and cooking water. I had no idea that so much snow produced so little water. Talk about little reward for lots of effort.

B. and DH ventured out to start the sauna. Sauna is something my island friend had introduced me to back at the beginning of medical school. I fell completely in love with the whole concept, and fully intend to install one in my home at some point. The island sauna is an exterior feed, which means someone has to go outside of the building to put more wood in the fire. Another fabulous summer plan that is more challenging in the winter.

While they were working on that C. and I started cooking. Brie, fig preserves, and french bread made an excellent snack. Paella, homemade herbed bread, apple crisp with fresh whipped cream. We tucked the ragout de chevreuil (venison stew) in the oven. It called for a full bottle of wine, but we decided we would only share a cup of our wine with the stew. We had pulled that wine two miles across the lake. It was going accompany dinner, not be in the dinner. (All of the food was amazing, for those who wonder about such things.)

It is a tradition to wear bathrobes to the sauna, no matter how cold it is. However, it was also - 39F outside. In a concession to the weather, we put full winter gear over our swimsuits, and bathrobes over the winter coats. We looked ridiculous.

The sauna was a heavenly 180F. After about 10 minutes inside, I worked up my courage. I was going to continue the tradition and make a snow angel. I took a bracing drink of the cava we had stuck in a bucket of snow, shoved my feet in my boots, and ran outside. Steam poured off my skin.

Deep breath.

Jump.

That was a stupid idea.

I went first, but I was not alone. B. had decided to join me. He, however, was going to dive in head first. Apparently when he heard me screaming unrepeatable words, he thought a second too long about it. You can't think when you are doing something that ridiculous. You just do it. He did a nice normal jump in and promptly jumped back out. Didn't even wave his arms around. Wimp.

I sprinted back to the sauna leaving a perfect snow angel and a stream of vulgar language behind.

I really thought the snow would be warmer than the air. They claim that it's an insulator. I think they are lying. My skin didn't stop burning for almost thirty minutes. I suppose that's what I deserve for attempting a 220 degree skin temperature change in under a minute.

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(Just kidding, B. ~ He is much tougher than I am in the cold department. He's one of those Polar Bear Club guys. You know, the crazy ones who jump in the iced over lakes on New Year's Day. That is a whole different level of crazy. However, there are also trained medical personnel there to rescue you from self induced hypothermia. That makes it slightly less crazy. Only slightly.)

New Year's Freeze

New Year's Eve is probably the most over-hyped holiday we celebrate. Rushing from one party to the next, drinking bad sparkling wine while avoiding sloshing glasses threatening your outfit, crushing rooms full of sweaty strangers shouting resolutions for the next year which they will promptly break the next day. It's an exhausting night that usually has only a thin veneer of glamour left after the clock strikes twelve.

However, we are developing a new New Year's tradition. A dear friend of mine currently living in the Northwest has a darling island cabin in a lake near Canada. It is remote, secluded, and incredibly peaceful. It is also a two mile kayak or ski to get there from shore, depending on the season. In the summer, it's a delightful trip across cool glassy waters. In the winter, it can be a peaceful ski across expanses of white ice and snow. It can also be a bitter ski with howling winds, cracking ice, and dangerous conditions. My favorite New Year's was spent skiing across the lake, building a roaring fire in the cabin, making and eating a delicious meal, taking a sauna, and drinking champagne.

So when C. called and said, "Hey, I think I can fly in for three days. Do you want to do New Year's at the cabin?" it was the easiest yes I have said in awhile. Bear in mind that the weather forecast for the weekend was a balmy -17 F.

Groceries were bought, skis were borrowed, and we were set. I picked up C. from the airport and DH from his work. We got a slightly later start to the day than planned, so it was decidedly dark by the time we got to the lake. Not a problem. I've skied across this lake in the dark before. It was also -27 F without windchill. Slightly more of a problem seeing how I am a total wimp when it comes to the cold.

Three pairs of pants. Four shirts. Two pairs of gloves and a pair of mittens. Long underwear. Two hats. One scarf. Three pairs of socks. I was ready.

Fifteen minutes and about 1/2 of mile later, I was so not ready. Did I mention that it was FREEZING? Or that there was no wind block since we were skiing across a lake? Or that we had brilliantly decided to bring the dog with us, but the boots we picked up at Cabelas for her were too large, fell off, and filled with snow? Or that she was now refusing to walk because her paws were freezing and she was shaking? Or that we had to pull a sled across the lake with all of our supplies on it? Or that the lake was apparently only partially frozen so that every few steps you broke through the top layer of ice to water underneath which promptly froze when you pulled your ski out of the water? Or that this quickly built up to two inches of ice on the bottom of your skis? Or that it is difficult to ski with two inches of ice on the bottom of your skis?

I was pretty sure I was going to die.

However, I was not going to let anyone else know this. I refused to be the weeny who quit halfway across the lake. When my friend turned and asked if I was okay, I said, "Sure, keep going." At this point DH and I were taking turns carrying the dog inside our coats to help keep her warm. Thank goodness she's small for her breed.

We had made it about a mile and a half across when my fingers and toes stopped hurting. This was a big problem. For all you Southerners, pain is a good thing when you are cold. When the pain goes away, you have to start worrying more about frostbite. It's significantly harder to be a surgeon when you have no finger tips. I stopped to put in another set of hand warmers and check the color of my fingers. Still red, not black.

C. turned and started yelling at me. "We cannot stop again. You will die. Do you understand me? People die when it is this cold. YOU WILL DIE."

It is not good when someone else tells you what you have secretly been thinking for the past mile, particularly when it concerns your imminent demise. We pushed on. In my mind, I cursed her father for picking the island that was farthest away from shore. Remote is fine and dandy in the summer, but in the winter is a whole different story. We finally made it to the cabin, almost 2 hours after we started. Fire was built, cocoa was drunk, and heaters were lit. We found out the next day that the temperature got down to -40 F that night.

It was a heck of a start to the weekend.