|half mile of ice, 25% grade|
|FREEZING COLD Holler - it is zero degrees|
|Bubbles of ice, moving beneath the hard surface|
|New solar fence charger|
|Trout, not getting fed|
Witnessed a coolest, prettiest thing ever this evening, but no pictures, so I'm compelled to use words. There's a thin veneer of thickening ice on the trout pond. By Sunday morning, it'll be three inches thick. But today, after a cold night in the teens and then a 45 degree afternoon, it was paper thin. I tossed a quart of food across the top, and the rainbows hit it. The big 16+" trout would crash through, gulping food and opening basketball-sized holes through which their large bodies and residual food would fall. Below, the 115 smaller, foot-long fish would circle and nab sinking pellets or more cautiously hit the broken surface. The ice created a sort of dark glass window through which the fish were clearly pictured, surreal, elegant, cold and distant from my own comfort zone, dancing beneath the surface made transparent by the absence of wind-driven or splashy ripple and usual reflection.
|Ice on the cabin|