North of Boston
THEY aint much happened sence the last riting. Little while ago the thermometer snapped to 25 below. Locked up a short section of the river that feeds a small mill I got an interest in. Stream froze from the bottom up and from the top down. But the river kept on flowing and freezing on top, till the water was spilling all over.
Took two men, a case of dynamite, rubber boots, and potato diggers to try to clear a channel to let the river run free. Lashed a charge to a long pole, cut a hole in the ice, lit the fuse and shoved the 60% way under.
They is a rumble. Ice and water hang up in the bright blue sky over the spruces. We take the potato diggers and rake the busted ice onto the bank.
Its slow work. If you slip the current may suck you under the ice. And you aint allowed but one mistake with dynamite. We blow and clear a two hundred yard stretch. Then we come to where the banks are high and the river is open.
I stand in the deep snow behind a big pine and flip four charges out onto the last ten yards of ice. The big fist busts everything wide open. Waters sprays up into the trees and freezes. The sunlight lays in, to make millions of diamond points. Dig frozen candy bars out of my pack. We gnaw them and watch the last of the ice go and the river roll free. Chickadees chisel a few bits of candy. Far off I hear the slam of a lone hunter's rifle. A snowshoe rabit hops past, very cautious. We pack the gear and head back to the jeep. Its one of those days that sticks in your mind. I do wisht sum of you fellers could of ben along. You might of liked it.
