A Rave That Has Nothing to Do with Either Reading or Writing
Earlier this week on a semi-clear but cold (16°F) day, The Engineer and I took advantage of the weather and went flying. Our airport boasts of its “weather-tight” hangars, so opening the doors to get to the plane required a mere hour of hard labor. We took turns scooping snow and chipping ice with the shovel and spud bar, which kept us almost warm.
Did I mention it was only 16°F? Yes? Well, I’m mentioning it again. It was cold!
Winter in Ohio can get dreary, especially when the excitement of the first snowfall is past, and the white stuff just keeps coming. Our world turns white and gray, which I try to tell myself is lovely in its own way, rather like a pencil drawing when you’re accustomed to colorful paintings.
I love how — unlike our eyes — the camera is able to catch the image of the propeller.
Above is a close-up of the part of the Detroit Sectional, which covers this area of Lake Erie.
We flew north around the bays and islands of Lake Erie, floating high above the tiny blue and black dots that were the ice fisherman. These anglers usually stick to the bays and near the islands, where the ice is more stable, but in 2009, an ice floe broke away, and 150 people had to be rescued. (Here’s a link to CNN’s report on the incident: http://tinyurl.com/k8mmxs8.)
According to one account, fishermen had fashioned a bridge out of planks so they could cross over a crack in the ice. The ice shifted, the planks fell in, and a large group of people found themselves stranded (http://tinyurl.com/mcfa9au).
And just last weekend, a truck fell through the ice (http://www.thefishingwire.com/story/310212).
I am not an ice fisherman and so not qualified to say if ice fishing is dangerous or not. My guess is, as with many pastimes, there are some who exercise caution, thereby limiting any hazards, and those who pay little attention to common-sense safeguards. I would like to note, however, that I’ve met many people who know little or nothing about aviation who exercise no such reluctance in voicing their opinion about the riskiness of travel via a single-engine plane.
Cedar Point was deserted, a barren wintry landscape of colorful steel tubing set against a leaden sky.
As dusk fell, we turned east, and then south, and headed home.