On ice safety, learn from my experience

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Having read your articles about the tragic losses across the state over the past few weeks due to thin ice along with the sobering account of Dean Paron surviving his plunge on Annie Battle Lake, I felt compelled to get over my embarrassment and share my own experience in the hopes a first-person account will help folks make better decisions than I did.

The week of Thanksgiving this year I’d watched the temps fall below freezing with excitement. I always love any opportunity to throw on skates and enjoy a Minnesota winter. Without any snow it was great conditions for wild ice. My favorite spot is Lake of the Isles in Minneapolis. It’s a shallow lake that freezes over quickly. The views of Kenwood mansions lit up for Christmas with downtown’s skyline rising in the distance makes it a magical experience.

My wife was hesitant to join and pointed to social media accounts of wild ice enthusiasts we follow who said it was a bit early still. Undeterred, I thought the week-plus of temperatures in the teens was plenty of time for smaller lakes to freeze. I was so confident I invited my brother and his two young sons to join me for an outing. For the sake of the boys we scoured the internet to confirm the ice thickness. Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board only said their rinks weren’t open yet. The DNR no longer gave estimates because they didn’t want to mislead the public into a false sense of security. So of course, we just looked elsewhere to find the answer we wanted. And according to someone on the social platform X, Lake of the Isles had four inches of ice. Plenty for skating.

Not entirely trusting that account, we decided to go see for ourselves. We drove around the chain of lakes and saw open water in the middle of Bde Maka Ska, but Lake of the Isles was indeed iced over. When we got to the north arm where the Park Board sets up their warming house, a half-dozen skaters glided by serenely. Young boys played tag. A speed skater zipped along the shore. A retired couple cheered us on. Feeling reassured, we joined the revelry.

We stayed on the north arm with the others for an hour or so. It was wonderful. It was my nephews’ first time and they loved it. My brother wisely stopped as the sun began to set to get the boys home for dinner. After helping them off the ice, I said I wanted to keep skating. He asked that I be safe and I reassured him I’d stick to the shore with the others.

Heading southeast toward the channel to Bde Maka Ska seemed risky. The lake opened to westerly wind and the channel likely had moving water. I headed that way thinking I could see danger before the sun set. After clearing the islands and a hundred yards from the channel, the ice buckled in a ridge where the wind had pushed it ashore and then ominously smoothed. This was a sign of fresher, possibly thinner, ice. Skating only a few feet beyond, the lake began to make pinging, creaking sounds as it reacted to my weight. I stopped, thought better of my route and turned around.

I made my way back to what I thought would be thicker ice, and entered a gap between the islands and a retaining wall topped by a railing on the western shore. The ice ridged and smoothed again but I kept skating this time, thinking I was much too close to shore and the nearby islands to be on thin ice. This time there were no warning pings. Simply a few sickening cracks and a rush of cold as the ice gave way to the darkness underneath.

After the first seconds of shock and disorientation, I assessed as quickly as possible. My chest and arms had slammed against the lip of ice but slowed my fall enough so my head stayed above the water. I couldn’t touch the bottom. My jacket and skates were waterlogged and heavy but I wasn’t sinking. It was cold but my fleece-lined pants and wool sweater made it bearable. I tried orienting myself. The ice around me felt about an inch thick and the island was only about ten yards away.

Every second mattered. I kicked up onto the lip of ice only to find it break apart under my weight. I tried again and it gave way a second time. Wheezing and groaning from fright and cold, panic set in as I struggled to find purchase. Then I heard yelling behind me. Two men with a dog were beckoning me back to shore which I realized was much closer than the island. In my confusion, I’d gone the wrong way. Feeling more secure under their watch, I kicked over to that lip and lunged again only to have it give way again.

I was close to the retaining wall when I noticed movement above me. One of the men had climbed over the railing and was about to step down onto the ice close by. Frantically I waved him off yelling for him to stay back. The ice was too thin for both of us. Climbing back, they tried throwing me their dog leash, but I ignored it. I couldn’t risk pulling them in.

I had managed to break through to where the ice was thicker but couldn’t get on top. I took precious seconds trying to remember what I’d read on the DNR website about escaping a fall through ice. I hadn’t brought ice picks but was able to swim. So I leaned on the ice in front of me and frog-kicked my legs to the surface behind me. Then I kicked hard and pushed up on the ice with my weight spread out wide. The ice held enough that I crawled on my belly toward the men.

“You cold?” They offered up. “I think I’m OK,” I sheepishly replied even though my jacket quickly stiffened from ice and my glove stuck to the railing.

“You want us to call you an ambulance?” I probably should have said yes but I was too embarrassed. My car was close and its heater seemed more attractive than waiting outside for an ambulance. I also was still debating whether I would tell my wife. A hefty hospital bill wouldn’t help that conversation. I told them I’d just skate to my car but asked them to keep an eye on me until I got there. They agreed and one gamely said, “I’m going to remember how you did that, just in case I ever fall through.” I hope he never falls through.

I got to the car and stripped out of my sopping clothes. I used a cheap emergency blanket to stay warm until the car’s heater kicked in. I did call my wife as I drove home. She put the kettle on and brought me dry clothes and was good enough not to say “I told you so.” I called my brother, too. I felt chastened for exposing his boys to such danger.

Once the adrenaline wore off my whole body ached, but especially my chest and arms which were bruised horribly by the ice. I felt stupid and lucky and just wanted to move on. The next day I read about a Duluth pastor disappearing in the ice near Superior. Then there were some teenage boys going under out in Woodbury. Then there were the ATV’ers up near Longville and Tower. All had died or were hospitalized. It was tough to read.

That night I biked back to Lake of the Isles to grapple with what happened. The hole had frozen over. A light dust of snow obscured the thin ice. On both sides of the hole were footprints of folks hiking the shore of the lake. One shuffled to the edge and then turned toward the retaining wall as if they had frightened and given up. The other simply went further out and around as if it didn’t occur to them what caused the hole or how recently the ice may have opened.

I hope that person gets a chance to read this and makes a better choice next time.

Sam Johnson lives in St. Paul.