So we did. These were the last of the canvas covered canoes, so we tried to keep them balanced on the keel so we wouldn’t take off more of the paint that waterproofed the canvas. But they weren’t hard to move.

When we were about half way across we saw that the eastern edge was some distance from the shore. At least half a mile. Apparently the wind kept pushing the ice to the west, opening a wide channel on the east side. That same wind kept the cracks closed and the soft ice packed tight on the western edge.

As we got near the eastern edge, the ice started getting soft. Cracks trrough it. If you put your foot on the wrong place you’d break through. Step on a pan, and it would slowly sink, with ice water flooding over the top of it.

The pace picked up. “Cashman, get off that rope and get by your seat”
Everyone else, get by your seat. Grab the gunnel, not the paddle. Make sure you have nothing in the way.

Faster now. We were moving at a slow jog, the boat rocking a bit as people leaned on the gunnel to make a leap over badly broken ice.

“Okay when we get near the edge, we jump in in pairs. Two steps between pairs”

We were at a run. The bow started to break through a crack, First two in. Second two in. My partner and I in. The boat lurched. One gunnel dipped a few gallons of icy water.

We paddled to shore and had lunch. Then we had time for the shakes.
If we had dumped we’d have been in a heap of trouble. Ice water. Shore a half mile away. No wood. Ice too broken to climb back out on.