Monday, February 2, 2009
ice fishing is much more romantic in theory, perhaps worth it when you actually catch something (no dinner tonight!) coffee and moonshine and quick runs helped, but perhaps scared the fishies away. the best part is boring holes in the ice, down to the breaking point. i imagine the pitch lowering as when sawing into a piece of wood until the moment of separation. saturday was magnus' igloo show next to a gigantic frozen waterfall, the applause for the organist, fiddler and girl in braids muffled by 100 pairs of mittens. the lodge was filled with sami scrimshaw and stuffed bears and lynxs, waffles and moose soup, the ice church with see-through sculptures and reindeer skins. monday i wandered out onto the frozen lake surrounded by perfect snowflakes until the ice was black, following patterns of ski crosses, animal toes, other wanderers. took stereo photos but they won't capture the feeling of being alone on a perfect pure white plane.