The morning I found myself on thin ice

‘Go check out the ice while we go back and get the goal.” I can remember my teenage friends saying that as they dropped me off by the edge of Fresh Pond in Fort Salonga. Growing up on Long Island in the ’60s and ’70s, my friends and I couldn’t wait for school recess between Christmas and the new year.

It was time to get out the ice skates and play hockey. Back then, in December, many ponds and lakes would freeze. One of my favorites was Blanchard Lake in Northport, or what we called “the cove.” It would get too crowded, though, so we’d go to Centerport’s Mill Pond, which looked like deep water, but it wasn’t.

The problem with Mill Pond was that sometimes if you missed a pass with the puck and had to retrieve it, you’d have to skate for what seemed like a mile. Another favorite was a spot at what is now called Partridge Pond in Huntington Station. Not too many played there, and it wasn’t too large a space — a perfect place for practicing hockey.

Back to that morning when I was dropped off at Fresh Pond. My friends and I realized that we forgot to bring the goal to shoot the puck into, so while they went back, I was going to test the ice. I started along the edge and felt it was solid. We had just had a cold snap for a few days, so I didn’t think there would by any problem. As I ventured farther out, the ice got clearer, and it was exciting to see underwater plants under the ice.

Suddenly, I heard a massive cracking sound that seemed to be all around me. I instinctively bent to my knees to not break through the ice like a vertical torpedo. It was too late. Before I knew it, I was in the water with just my head sticking out and my arms flailing while still holding my hockey stick. No one was around except one person at the far end of the pond who couldn’t hear my cries for help. I was hyperventilating while trying to solve my crisis.

Using all my strength, I hammered the blade of my stick into the ice ahead of me to create some kind of anchor so I could pull myself out of the cold, watery hole I had created. As I pulled my chest onto the ice, it broke as I fell back into the water. I tried again, and it kept breaking. Again and again, until I finally could get to ice that could support my chest.

The calamity, however, wasn’t over. Funny thing about ice: When you put water on top of it, ice becomes especially slippery. This became my new problem when I finally emerged from the water. I couldn’t stand! So I crawled along the ice until I got to a spot I had skated on.

Then another strange thing happened. My body, instead of being ice cold, was now becoming really hot! I stripped off my coat and sweater and finally made it to shore just as my friends pulled up with the goal. They took me home, where I took a nice, lukewarm bath.

In the warmth of my home, my mother told me that Fresh Pond is fed by warmer underwater springs and I should never try to skate there again. Now she tells me!

Reader Matt Reuschle lives in Northport.