He hoisted the auger into the tray of his pickup, transferred his firewood to the ice hut and stacked it under the potbelly stove. He had installed his old, cast-iron kitchen stove during the summer. It made the hut a little heavier, but it sure would make this year more comfortable. His friend Ted, who worked at the mill, had fashioned a gleaming, stainless-steel flue for the stove, and capped it with an elegant top hat, that swiveled with the wind and prevented snow or ice from blocking the flue.
It was a pleasure studying the design and craftsmanship of his grandfather’s hut. During the summer it sat slightly high up on its waxed, redwood rails, tilted down towards the water. When he released the chains that held it against flood waters, it slid down on its polished curved skis and skidded out on the ice – yet another graceful launch. Leroy knew to be ready when it moved, and quickly joined with the momentum of the slide, pushing vigorously to keep it moving. If it didn’t stop on the ice, it might take only ten minutes to reach his auger hole and position it perfectly for the peaceful solitude of his winter fishing.
Leroy understood the physics of ice skis and so did his grandfather. The narrowness of the skis, combining with the weight of the hut created high pressure where the wooden edges met the ice. The localized pressure melted the surface, reduced the forward resistance, and with a whoop of joy, Leroy set out across the frozen Yukon. If he didn’t let the hut stop on the ice for even one instant, he would be gliding his winter abode to a halt above his auger hole in just a few minutes.
The crampons fitted to his winter boots seemed to be making a softer crunching noise this year, but the skis emitted a satisfying hiss as Leroy leaned for all his worth on the push handle, positioned exactly at the hut’s centre of gravity. With a flurry of feet and ice, the hut glided gracefully across the frozen river and disappeared around the horseshoe bend towards the waiting auger hole.
Perhaps it was the extra weight of the stove, the texture of the ice this year, or just Leroy’s anticipation of some extra effort, but hut and man picked up excessive speed, slid wide and were at risk of missing the auger hole completely. But he realized early enough and shifted into a higher gear. Seen from a distance, Leroy’s frantic leg motions looked more like an excited dog chasing a ball on the town’s frozen pond than an experienced ice fisherman guiding his hut into position. With a pounding heart and a wounded ego, Leroy managed to arrest the speed, correct his wayward trajectory and finally guide the hut and himself to rest, dead centre above his auger hole.
