I
stood on the Merrimack Essex Bridge in the rain and
watched the ice break up and flow downriver. The rain and
warm temperature is turning the snow cover into fog.
Thick white fog enough to get lost in. Enough that I
actually did get lost for awhile. Enough to make the
river invisible from the roadside. If there were any
waterfowl in the river between Haverhill and Amesbury I'd
have to have had special fog-penetrating binoculars to
find them.
Even at the bridge, the visibility
is so limited that birds have to be right in front of my
face for me to identify them. The landscape looks like a
stylized Japanese print with carefully arranged rocks and
conifers floating on a neutral background. It's difficult
to tell the sky from the river without a landmark to
orient myself. The ice floes look like clouds and the fog
looks like ice. A lone great cormorant sits motionless on
a rock at the tip of a little peninsula that sticks out
to the side of Deer Island while chunks of ice break off
the shore and slide into the water. The current whirls
around in a powerful eddy there, trapping some of the ice
floes and circulating them around and around before they
either spin out of the eddy and float downriver or crash
back into shore.
The amazing thing is the variety of
ice sounds. Like all New England kids I know well the
booming sound of ice expanding and cracking on skating
ponds at the coldest part of winter. And I've heard
icebergs calve in Antarctica. But the range of the
soundtrack of this spring's ice-out surprised me.
There's a tinkling jingling sound
when the ice breaks off the rocks on shore and slides
into the water. It's almost like glass breaking followed
by a whole lot of small splashes.
Then there's a roaring and a
scraping when the big slabs of ice from further up river
slide over the smaller chunks whirling in the
eddy.
The big ice floes grind down the smaller ones. The
roaring is all out of proportion to the visual image.
It's just ice. I can see through it to the smaller ice
floe it passes over. Yet it sounds like a train rumbling
past.
One really big ice slab makes a
loud crashing sound when it hits the tip of that little
outcropping on the island and breaks into two pieces. The
larger piece floats off downriver. The smaller one stands
on end against the rock where the cormorant was sitting.
The cormorant has gone to roost on the I-95 bridge, which
looks like it is suspended in the sky with clouds above
and below it.