There was only an inch or so of additional snowfall overnight, so the early morning chore of clearing snow consisted of sweeping the deck and stairs and passing the snow scrapper over the driveway. I then put on an extra layer and took a walk downtown to the marina, where I took a few minutes to look out over a blue gray lake. The wind had enough bite in it that standing didn't feel like the thing to do. I also am not in a position to argue with the wind.

As I walked through the marina parking lot I passed through numerous sailboats asleep in their cradles wrapped in white or blue shrinkwrap or tarps, I imagined that I was walking along a much more primitive lakeshore guarded by stately cedars and regal hemlocks.  As with any conifer forest, little snow makes it to the forest floor.  Here and there, I dodged a rudder, not unlike a lowhanging branch.  A choir of overhead riggings were singing in the wind--a wind from which I was protected by hulls huddled together, not unlike muscular unbranched trucks. Unsecured corners of tarp applauded--I am not sure--rigging songs or my passing.

The slips in the marina were empty; their summer occupants in cradles. There were three commericial fishing tugs tied up at the City Dock. They don't take the winter off, at least not until the lake ices over and holds them fast. Today they appeared to be waiting for their captains to go out to lift nets.  Maybe today is an off day; the nets are not to be lifted until tomorrow.  I don't know. Two out of three tugs were ready. How do I know? They had warning fires. Fishing tugs typically have two smoke stacks or chimneys--one for the diesel engine and the other for a stove.  Diesel fuel is temperature sensitive; in cold weather, a warming fire is necessary once the engine is shut down for the day, if one wants to head out again tomorrow.

Sailboats are summer barks; fishing tugs ply ice-free waters--even then their captains push the limit on how much ice is too much in which to operate.  Fishermen? They are a resilient bunch; they leave the tug behind, walk the ice, and set their nets beneath it.

I can welcome fishing tugs and hardy captains into my fantasy of a primitive lakeshore more than I can comfort those summer barks.