Ice Safety

northstaradventure3
Dec 7, 2025
3 min read

Skating on Wild Ice: A Personal Journey Into Beauty, Freedom & Safety

Every winter, there’s a day when the lakes turn still and glassy—so smooth they look like portals into another world. That’s the day I lace up my skates. Wild ice has a way of pulling you in with quiet confidence. The sky reflects beneath your feet, colors ripple across the surface, and your skates whisper a soft swish that feels almost meditative. The lake moans, cracks, and groans from deep within, not in warning but in conversation—reminding you that this playground of glass is alive.

But for all its magic, wild ice demands respect. The best days out there begin long before you take your first glide.

Before You Go: Preparing for the Adventure

I always start with the basics. The Department of Natural Resources’ ice-thickness guidelines are my compass:

Less than 3 inches: Unsafe—stay off.
4 inches: Safe for walking, skating, skiing.
5 inches: Snowmobile or ATV.
8–12 inches: Small car.
Double the thickness for white or snow-covered ice, which is weaker than clear blue or green ice.

On most days, local anglers have already drilled holes and can tell me what they’re seeing. But if I’m the first person on the lake, I check it myself. I don’t own an auger, so I use a handheld drill or a sturdy chisel. Ice can vary wildly from one spot to another—so I check in several places, never assuming uniform thickness.

Reading the Ice Like a Map

The ice tells stories if you know how to listen.

Clear blue/green ice: Strongest and most reliable.
White or opaque ice: Weaker due to air pockets and snow trapped inside.
Pressure ridges: Beautiful but potentially hazardous—approach with caution.
Large cracks and slush pockets: Signs that the ice is shifting or warm underneath.

Some of my favorite sights on the lake are methane bubbles—perfect, frozen spheres rising like jellyfish suspended in time. They form when leaves and plants decompose underwater and release gas that becomes trapped in layers as the lake freezes. They’re mesmerizing, but they can signal areas where the ice structure is different than the surrounding sheet.

When Things Go Wrong: Rescue & Survival

No one wants to think about falling through the ice—but if you spend enough time on wild lakes, you owe it to yourself and the people you’re with to be prepared.

If someone falls in:

Call 911 immediately.
Reach—don’t walk up to the hole. Use a stick, branch, rope—anything that keeps you on solid ice.
If they’re too far: Throw something that floats or something they can hold onto until help arrives.
If it’s you who goes in:Use your ice picks or claws to pull yourself horizontally back onto the ice. Kick hard, stay low, and crawl the direction you came from—the ice behind you was strong enough to hold you.

Preparedness isn’t fear—it’s respect for the environment and gratitude for the chance to keep coming back.

What I Bring on Every Trip

Over the years, I’ve pared down my pack to the essentials:

A rescue rope
Ice claws/picks for self-rescue
A life jacket or lightweight flotation layer
A cellphone in a waterproof bag
A friend—because wild ice is not the place to be alone
Warm layers that wick moisture and trap heat
A plan: someone always knows where I’m going and when I’ll be home
Knowledge of local lakes—avoiding inlets, outlets, and narrow channels where currents sneak beneath the surface

I stick to daylight hours and clear conditions. Reduced visibility steals the beauty and raises the risk.

When Two Wheels Meet Ice

Some days I leave the skates behind and take out my mountain bike. Riding on a frozen lake is its own kind of thrill, but it requires studded tires and traction on your boots. I learned this lesson quickly. The first time I tried it, I went to brace myself with a foot—only to have it slip instantly. Down I went, bike and all. No harm done, just a reminder that ice doesn’t negotiate.

The Final Word: Magic With Boundaries

Wild ice delivers a rare kind of freedom—gliding across a glassy lake under a wide winter sky feels like flying. It’s peaceful, humbling, and deeply human.

But no adventure is worth taking if you’re unsure of the conditions. If something feels off, listen to that instinct. Stay off. The ice will be there another day.

And when everything lines up—when the lake is strong, the air is crisp, and you push off into the quiet—you’ll feel that familiar spark. The magic of wild ice is waiting.