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Molecules and Stuff
by: Mike Lushington
On mornings such as this, I stare out my window as I search for an idea
for this column. I could have worse places to look to for an idea; my
window allows me to see across the river to Escuminac on the far side. It
is an altogether spectacular view at any time of the year. That view is
what prompted me to establish my "office' here in the attic of the old
house. It compensates for the fact that the attic is often extremely hot
in summertime and, on very brisk January mornings such as this, bracingly
chilly in winter.
For the past few weeks, I have been preoccupied, whenever I look out,
with the progress that the ice is making in the estuary. On still, cold
mornings, I can see a film of new ice extending across the whole stretch
of water - a distance of about eight kilometres to the far shore. Then the
tide will shift, or the wind will pick up, and open patches appear and I
realize that it will be some time yet before I can start watching for the
big smelt fishing rigs to be set up out in the channel. Around the New
Year, we had a stretch of unseasonably mild weather and the ice all but
disappeared. For several days I could see decreasing amounts of it flow
down the channel on the falling tides until even the large sheet that
usually covers Escuminac Cove at this time of year practically
disappeared. (On the Friday after New year's Day, I drove up by Shaw's
Cove; there was nothing but open water anywhere. I couldn't believe it
when I saw several people and a shanty on the same stretch of water the
following day - a small pan of ice had formed with the return to colder
weather overnight and they apparently thought it safe to set up. They were
wrong.)
On this morning though, there is ample promise that the river may
finally lock in. The water has been super-chilled for some time and is
just waiting for an opportunity to freeze and the cold overnight has
provided much of that opportunity. If the forecast is correct and we get
the hard cold that is predicted for the next few days, it should make,
even if there is wind.
The whole process is fascinating to me. On such a large, salty body,
the water actually has to be colder than freezing temperature for ice to
form. It starts in the little coves and other places sheltered from the
prevailing winds and begins to inch out from there. Finally enough ice is
formed that even as it breaks up with the winds and tides, it clogs the
waterways sufficiently that the wind (in particular) no longer has the
same effect. If we experience sufficiently low temperatures during a time
of relatively low tides, it is a foregone conclusion. I remember one time
a few years back. I was down on the shore, looking for birds, on a still,
cold day in early January. I could actually watch and hear ice form, see
the water transform from liquid to solid and hear the snap of (I would
imagine) air pockets as they were entrapped by the solidifying
molecules.
This morning, though, the wind blows and I have this column to write. I
am content to sit here, in my relatively comfortable little aerie (I have
had my heater running for an hour) and imagine the processes taking place
before me. It may be just my imagination but it really seems to me that
there is more ice out there now than there was when I started a little
while ago. Time will tell. In the meanwhile, though, I am content to
watch. Unlike those unwise smelt fishers of last weekend, I will be in no
hurry to test my observations first hand. I leave that to the younger and
more foolish, or to the older and much wiser.
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