One Mile Rock

The southern end of Long Pond stretches out between two low mountains: Beech Mountain on the east and Mansell on the west. Heading north the pond widens step by step along its western edge, before splitting into two narrow fingers of water divided by Northern Neck.

This morning I headed off along the western shore towards One Mile Rock, a smooth granite ledge sticking out from the shore and sloping down into the water. There were still some icicles clinging to the rocks in the woods above me, and a thin sheen of ice just along the near shore, where the shadow of the mountain had fallen on the water as the sun went down the evening before.

 In the summer One Mile Rock is a popular place to picnic or go swimming, but when I got there the entire scene was empty, quiet, and still. There was no cloud in the sky, no breeze, and the surface of the pond was smooth as glass, perfectly clear straight down to the bottom some eight or ten feet below. It was light out, but this narrow portion of the pond was still in the shadow of Beech Mountain across the water and as the sun rose higher I was witness to an extraordinary transformation. 

Even before the sun had crested the mountain, it was already warming the air trapped in the shallow bowl between the two summits. First imperceptibly, and then all at once, the rising column of air above the pond gently lifted away from the surface of the water, and the pressure holding the ice in place along the shore was released. Slowly it began to drift northward and, reaching the ledge jutting out from the shore, began spilling over into the small cove where the pond widened. The breeze was imperceptible at first, and the ice seemed to move under its own volition. The water in the cove remained smooth and the reflection of the trees was broken only by the layer of ice as it entered the cove.

As the ice came around the corner, parts of its trailing edge occasionally scraped against the rock with the faintest crinkling noise, like crumpled cellophane being stretched out and gently smoothed. The sun continued to rise, a light breeze picked up, and a junco began to trill in the top of the nearby spruce. The single call of a distant loon carried over the water and faded away.

Finally the sun began to peek the littlest bit over the crest of the mountain, and the ice was drawn back into the pond, merging with the surface tension of the water below it, gone in a matter of seconds. The breeze picked up and began rustling the tree tops and kicking up small waves that slapped against the rock. Compared to the silence just a few moments before, even these soft sounds seemed full of busy-ness. I got the impression that Mother Nature’s work is never done, even on Sunday mornings, and having just checked one item off her to-do list, she was bustling off to her next important task. It felt slovenly to sit there any longer, so I slung my pack back on and went off down the trail, trying to look as if I had something to accomplish myself.