CALL ME SNAKE

Some years ago, a friend of mine (Jungle Jerk, in fact) went on a kayaking trip up in Alaska and almost got trapped in an ice field near the mouth of a glacier. That experience (his, not mine) left a lingering impression in my mind. I never thought I’d see something like that right here on the Charles River near Harvard Square, and I didn’t exactly though I saw something that came sort of close. It was a week or so ago. I was biking along the river to make an appointment in Watertown. We were having a bit of a thaw after a cold spell, and the ice on the river was starting to break up. Somewhere between the “Quentin Compson” bridge (aka JFK Street) and the Eliot Street bridge, I saw a man in a small skiff stuck in the middle of the river, completely surrounded by ice–not your typical scene on the Charles.

An hour or so later, on my way back from Watertown, the man was still stuck in the ice but he’d made some minor progress toward Harvard Square. I thought of calling the Coast Guard but decided this wouldn’t qualify as “coast,” being several miles from Boston Harbor. I had to pick up my daughter at preschool an hour later, and I took the river route on my bike to check up on the man’s progress. There was no sign of him, so I gather he made it through the ice to a safe harbor of some sort–presumably one of the nearby rowing docks. Or else, instead of Charley on the MTA we’ve got “Charley on the Charles” out there, somewhere, still picking his way through the ice.

Some years ago, a friend of mine (Jungle Jerk, in fact) went on a kayak trip up in Alaska and almost got trapped in an ice field near the mouth of a glacier. That experience (his, not mine) left a lingering impression in my mind. I never thought I’d see something like that right here on the Charles River near Harvard Square, and I didn’t exactly though I saw something that came sort of close. It was a week or so ago. I was biking along the river to make an appointment in Watertown. We were having a bit of a thaw after a cold spell and the ice on the river was starting to break up. Somewhere between the “Quentin Compson” bridge (aka JFK Street) and the Eliot Street bridge, I saw a man in a small skiff stuck in the middle of the river, completely surrounded by ice–not your typical scene on the Charles.

An hour or so later, on my way back from Watertown, the man was still stuck in the ice but he’d made some minor progress toward Harvard Square. I thought of calling the Coast Guard but decided this wouldn’t qualify as “coast,” being several miles from Boston Harbor. I had to pick up my daughter at preschool a little later in the afternoon and I took the river route on my bike, which was a bit out of the way. There was no sign of the man. I guess he made it through the ice to a safe harbor of some sort. Or else, instead of Charley on the MTA we’ve got “Charley on the Charles” out there, somewhere, still picking his way through the ice.