65 degrees. That's what the weather report said this
morning.  65 degrees. Two words, 5
syllables. Just a speck of information. Why does it cause such an uneasy
feeling in me? 

Well, because it's March 5th, for one thing. And I'm in
northeastern Minnesota,
a mere 10 miles from the Canadian border for another. And it's the third or
fourth day of record temperatures in a row. Record, in this case means the
warmest temperatures recorded at this time of year since recording began, over
100 years ago.. Something is not right here. 

This unusual weather pattern brings up two fears in me- a
short-term fear and a long-term fear. The short term fear has to do with the
ice on the lake here, how thick it is, how strong it is, how long it will stay
thick and strong. You see at my roadless cabin up here at the edge of a 3
million acre wilderness, over the lake ice is the only way in and out of here.
Over the lake ice. If, for some reason, the lake ice is not strong enough to
support my body weight at a certain spot, and I step on that spot, I go into
the lake, into 33-degree water. Survival time? Oh, 15 - 20 minutes, may be
less. 15 -20 minutes before the icy water saps the strength from my muscles,,
erodes the control of my nerves, and 
immobilizes my body, leaving  me
helpless and dying in my favorite lake. 

Now normally at this time of year, such ghoulish thoughts
never enter my mind. The ice in early March is usually around 3 feet thick with
a foot or more of packed wind swept snow cover. People drive pickup trucks on
it. Not this year. The ice is only a foot thick near my shoreline, 2/3 thirds
of normal for this time of year. Oh, strong enough to hold my weight for sure-
if the weather doesn't weaken it beyond the point of no return, and that's.
where the short-term fear creeps in. The weather forecast is calling for more
record temps, and -in a day or two- rain. warm rain. Nothing can weaken , thin,
and destroy the ice cover like warm rain. the water finds minute cracks in the
ice, and running between them, melts the edges, and widen the cracks into open
leads. The runoff flows beneath the ice, warming and thinning it from below,
unseen. before long the ice can become honey combed, still a foot thick, but
fragile and -unsupportive. That's my small fear. I need to watch the ice like a
hawk for the next few days, cutting a test  hole, and keeping a sharp eye on the
thickness. I also need to worry about the ice on the other side, and in the
middle, where an unseen warm current can thin the ice beneath dangerously, when
I'm literally in deep water, far from shore, and help or rescue. 

Well, there's remedy for this fear. The old-timers, when
faced with uncertain ice, would put their gear and them selves into a canoe on
the ice. Then put a leg out of the canoe, and scooter like, kick them selves
and their gear across the span of frozen water. If the ice begins to break,
you're in the canoe ,although  I wondered
how they got to shore if the entire canoe was afloat in the middle of a ice
bound lake. waited for spring I guess. Better pack some extra pemmican and a
blanket.

The small worry I can do something about. the big worry is
more problematic. 

This isn't the first time I've seen an unusually warm
weather pattern in the past few years. In fact, unusual weather is becoming the
rule rather than the exception. 9 of the warmest years on record have occurred
during the past decade. 1998 was the warmest year in the past millennium,
according to natural archives, such as ice core samples. Wet regions are
experiencing more and longer droughts, while hurricanes, tornadoes and other
-deforested by straight line winds of 120 miles an h our. Whole forest
snapped  flat by an invisible weed-eater.
No snow until mid January this year in New England,
and no rain last April, May or June, usually our wettest months. You could see
the grand old pines near our house turn brown and die. All over the patterns of
weather ore skewed, out of balance. global warming?(or global climate change as
it is more properly known. It  could
paradoxically trigger a new ice age by blocking warm ocean currents). Perhaps.
Is there a remedy for this long-term fear of mine? 

 A few nights ago I
dreamt that it was 120 degrees outside in December. I remember commenting to a
friend that the global warming was really getting serious, and we better do
something about it. Of course, the funny part, is that by the time we have 120
degree days in  New
England in December, it will be too late to do much about it except
pray as hard as we can, and keep moving north. 

So what is the remedy for this long-term fear? What kind of
canoe can we use to take us across the lake of bizarre weather patterns, can we
get into if the ice suddenly breaks beneath our feet? 

Awareness, perhaps. The best canoe that will get me across
the lake of uncertain ice, is the craft of awareness. Knowing that the ice may
be treacherous, wakes me up, alerts me to the danger, and counsels me to tread
cautiously and with forethought across the ice. That's the canoe we must build
to cross the non-ice of global climate change. To raise our eyes from each
event (Hey! Another warm beautiful day out there!" the radio announcer
brightly chirps, never asking his listener why we've had successive record days
of warmth year after year, no! Just party on, dude!) To look at the long term
patterns, and use the good science and info that is already out there about CO2
concentrations and their causes. To insist that our leaders ratify Kyoto and push for
stronger CO2 reduction measures. To halt deforestation, use wood more efficiently,
and less of it to boot. 

To reduce our carbon footprint as much as we possibly can and then buy high quality carbon offsets for all othe rest of our footprint, to sequester the carbon we've released from fossil fuels. If
we're lucky the canoe might get us across the ice safely. If not us, then our
grand children, or their grandchildren. We must take our eyes off of today's
fears, and build the canoes for tomorrow's lakes and thin ice. Otherwise we
risk dropping through the thin ice we are creating into an unfathomable cold.

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