Game warden Scott Fritz called me last week to put in an article about the dangers of thin ice.

The story brought back a few memories on that subject.

Most kids who grew up around water like I did in Brownsville fell through the ice at some point. It usually came in fairly safe spots, like on the harbor or the slough that fed it.

It was kind of a badge of honor to fall through. Youíd get soaked to the skin, your pants would freeze to your legs, and youíd walk home ñ quickly ñ boots a-sloshing, with your friends giving you a hearty clap on the back.

It always turned out OK, but it was very scary to feel the ice give out below you. Thereís no sensation quite like it, and itís not a good one.

But there were a few experiences that were not funny at all. One of them happened to my brother, Glenn. I asked him to recall it for me, so he sent me this email on December 8:

ìI must have been a sophomore in high school because I was taking metal shop. My project was to make an ice spud. I got an iron pipe and was heating and hammering a rod to put in the end of it. Then I ground it down to a nice chisel point. I think it was after Christmas, maybe the end of January or early February. We were walking on the ice just off the Sandbar. Iím not sure who was with me ñ it could have been you or Danny or one of the Brownsville guys.

ìAnyway, we were way out on the ice walking straight across the main channel, probably heading for one of the islands and carrying my ice spud along with the fishing gear. I stopped and wanted to see how good the ice spud worked. I figured the ice must be at least a couple of feet thick. I had my mittens on the pipe, with no safety strap around my wrist, and gave it a good hit right between my feet. The spud broke through and slid through my mittens and disappeared beneath the ice. It was probably 2 inches thick because it went through in one hit. Then I got scared and slowly walked back to shore, expecting to break through any second, but we didnít.î

That story has always scared the heck out of me. It was definitely one of Glennís nine lives.

I had a close call myself in about 1972. I was home from college over Christmas break, and decided to go skating in the Reno Bottoms. I parked the car along Highway 26 about two miles south of Reno, and found some beautiful ice on a creek that seemed good and solid. It was perfectly smooth, and no snow.

The creek fed into a larger slough, which kept going and going, twisting and turning the way the river bottoms does. It was a very beautiful and exhilarating feeling, almost like I was flying and seeing new sights at every corner.

I headed over a huge black sheet of ice, and glanced at my feet. I could see bubbles moving under the ice, and realized with a churning in my stomach that there was fast water flowing right below me. The ice was perhaps two inches thick.

I hate to sound dramatic, but my life flashed in front of my eyes for a split second. I knew if I went in the water there, with my skates on in a fast current, I was done. I slowed down and coasted in a slow circle back the way I had come, trying not to put any undue pressure on the ice.

I guess I was lucky because I didnít break through.

What almost happened to my brother and me occurred when there was plenty of ice. We just had a lapse in judgment, and almost paid for it dearly.

The ice should be getting good and thick by the time people read this. So enjoy it and the winter, and be careful on the ice.

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