Insight: Into the Deep Freeze

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

Stepping outdoors at this time of year can be a chilling experience but for me, the coldest conditions that I have ever been in happened to be when I covered sled dog racing in Laconia, New Hampshire for the daily newspaper there.

A musher guides a team of sled dogs during the World
Championship Sled Dog Derby in Laconia, New
Hampshire in 2015. COURTESY PHOTO 

In a tradition that harkens back to 1929, sled dog teams and mushers gather in Laconia every winter to compete in a three-day race in various classes on a 15-mile course around Lake Opechee and Paugus Bay. Some of the top sled dog racing teams from across the globe compete in what is billed as the “World Championship Sled Dog Derby.”

The first year I worked for the newspaper in Laconia the event was scrubbed because of a lack of snow and ice but by the time the second year rolled around, temperatures dropped below zero and there was plenty of snow to hold the races.

As the editor of the newspaper, I could have assigned a reporter to provide coverage of the sled dog races, but it was something I wanted to do myself. Being a longtime sportswriter, I had watched televised reporting of the 1,000-mile Iditarod sled dog race in Alaska through the years and thought it would be interesting to attend this race in New Hampshire and write about it.

On the day that the Laconia races were to be held, the thermometer started dropping and fell 13 degrees overnight. When I started my car in the newspaper parking lot to drive to the event, it was minus 18 degrees and sunny at 10 a.m.

I had been forewarned to dress warmly and so I was wearing thermal underwear, a heavy sweater, a wool cap, a scarf, gloves, and an insulated parka. But even that combination did not prepare me for spending time interviewing racing participants in that sort of cold.

In under 10 minutes outside, I was told by a race administrator to go back to my car to warm up. He suggested that I conduct interviews and photography for the newspaper in 10-minute stretches, and in the meantime, he told me to leave my car running with the heat turned on and to retreat back there when I needed to warm up.

First off, I decided to interview a racing team musher from Syracuse, New York. He and his wife and son had brought their six-dog team to Laconia for the event. It was the second time they had competed there. He told me that all his dogs were Siberian Huskies, and they had recently replaced the team’s dog harnesses.

He told me that racing sled dogs each wear individual harnesses and then what are called tuglines are attached to those forming a loop which connects to a master gangline for the musher to guide the team. To keep each dog in the proper position, they can also be attached to a neckline for maximum control by the team’s musher.

Not every dog racing team was made up of huskies. I found out that some teams had Samoyeds or Malamutes, while other had Chinooks or German Shorthaired Pointers. All the dogs competing on the Syracuse team weighed between 35 and 65 pounds and their lead dog, a huskie named “Bo,” was placed in front because he was the oldest and the strongest of the entire team.

According to the musher, the team had practiced on their farm over the summer and fall. Each of the dogs’ meals were calculated and maintained by a veterinarian to keep their weight under control and to provide the dogs with plenty of power and energy for the racing circuit. This particular team from New York state would travel to events in Illinois and Ohio and throughout New England and Canada every winter to compete in sled dog racing and in six years had won eight different trophies and cash prizes.

They drove to the events each winter in a pickup truck pulling a camper which housed their dogs in crates when they weren’t racing. He said that his dogs weren’t bothered by the cold because they were accustomed to sub-zero temperatures.

I also interviewed a race official who monitored the start of the races. He told me that there were two categories for racing teams with one being for six-dog sleds and the other being “unlimited,” containing between 14 and 16 dogs in each team. Because each race was 15 miles and compiled over three days, he said the winning team was trying to log the best aggregate time accumulated in that time frame.

By the time those interviews were finished, I was absolutely freezing. Despite the layers of clothing I was wearing, the cold still penetrated and each trip back to the car to warm up took longer and longer. I stepped to a position on a snowbank near the starting line and got photographs of dog teams and mushers beginning that day’s race.

Being outside in minus 18-degree weather was not something I would prefer to do again, and it was the coldest I have ever been in my lifetime, but experiencing the sled dog races and writing about it is something I can say can be checked off my bucket list.<

Andy Young: A job I could do

By Andy Young

There are numerous professions that for a variety of reasons I’d be a bad fit for.

Most of these jobs require having skills and/or personal traits which I don’t possess. I’m no good at sitting still for long periods of time, which would make me an ineffective office worker. I lack the patience necessary to do work requiring significant care to detail, making me ill-suited for anything involving working with my hands, and thus disqualifying me from becoming a surgeon, carpenter, jeweler, electrician, tailor, hairdresser or plumber, among other things.

Performing the same task(s) over and over again, like working on an assembly line, would probably make me (and many of those around me) crazy. I’ve always steered clear of anything requiring me to be in, around, or atop water, which eliminates the possibility of being a fisherman, boat captain, or lifeguard. And since I prefer having solid ground under my feet, airline pilot is out, too. There are also certain lines of work I couldn’t execute due to self-imposed moral limitations, including tobacco purveyor, sniper, drug dealer, casino operator, lottery spokesperson, and reality TV star.

I’ve also never been wild about exerting authority over strangers, which means I’d make a lousy police officer. On a recent trip to Canada, I observed another job I’d be ineffective at. When my son and I crossed into New Brunswick last month, a stern-looking customs agent, after checking our passports, asked if we were bringing any alcohol, drugs, firearms, or explosives into his country. We responded truthfully that we were not and after looking us over briefly, he waved us through.

We were being 100 percent honest, but how did he know that for certain? Border guards clearly have skills I’d be unable to master. (Thank goodness he didn’t ask if I were carrying some old Canadian coins, because I was carrying quite a number of those.)

But thanks to a memorable trip earlier this summer, there’s a job I know I’d be great at: Director of Tourism for the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador. I could go on for hours about how wonderful it is up there, and I probably saw less than one percent of what makes it so magical. True, getting there takes a great deal of time, and it’s probably less attractive in the winter. There are also a few smaller, trivial flaws which my conscience would require me to point out.

For example, every so often a moose wanders out into the path of a car going 130 kph down the Trans-Canada Highway, which results in the immediate demise of all involved parties. Also, no one accepts Canadian pennies there anymore, although that’s understandable, since the country stopped minting new ones in 2012, and officially took them out of circulation the following year. I also discovered one other imperfection, although it doesn’t impact everyone.

The American dollar is exceptionally strong in Canada these days and given the current exchange rate, I thought I might pick up a new pair of sneakers while I was there. But alas, I learned that either no one in Newfoundland takes a size 14 shoe, or the person who does had already purchased every available pair. I never saw anything above a twelve-and-a-half during my entire time in the province.

However, if what you’re looking for is natural beauty, fascinating history, and gracious people who’ll treat you like royalty, Newfoundland’s just the place for you. It’s got something for everybody.

Unless you’re looking for a pair of size 14 shoes, and planning on paying for them with a bag of Canadian pennies. <

Andy Young - Enough already; I confess!

By Andy Young

I owe northern New England an apology.

I’m the one responsible for the recent power outages, the sore snow-shoveling muscles, the non-working phones, the absent internet, the spoiled frozen (and refrigerated) food, and related misfortune(s).

I realize I’m putting myself at great personal risk by revealing my culpability. But if I take credit for everything I’ve accomplished so far in my life, like winning the Academy Award, the Nobel Peace Prize, and the Olympic Decathlon gold medal, well, it’s only fair that when I’m at fault for something, I own up to it.

I have a friend in Arizona who cannot understand how anyone can live year-round in frigid Maine, which he and his equally ignorant friends refer to as “East Alaska.” But that’s okay; I don’t understand how anyone can live year-round in a parched, oven-like state which my equally ignorant friends and I refer to as “North Hell.”

I gleefully called him a month ago to boast about our incredibly mild, just concluded (or so I thought) Maine winter. Generally, he’s the one calling me sometime in early March, right after I’ve shoveled another foot of snow off the driveway at 4 a.m. so I can get to work on time. And when he does, he really lays it on thick, describing the difficulty of enduring their frigid, humidity-free 55-degree nights.

But he knows he’d better razz me while he can, because come summer, which arrives around May Day down there, I’ll be giving as good as I got. I’ll tell him about needing a sweatshirt to stay warm on our chilly, humidity-free 55-degree evenings, and how difficult tolerating daytime temperatures that sometimes rise to a stratospheric 75 degrees can be. I imagine him, sweating like a bear, gritting his teeth during our summer chats the same way I do when he calls in mid-February to inform me that he’s outdoors wearing a red tank top for Valentine’s Day.

But this year’s unusually mild winter gave me the chance to get the jump on our annual climate-related conversations. I called to let him know that all the snow, including what always accumulates at the bottom of the driveway thanks to the town plow and my endless shoveling, was completely gone on March 12! Not only that, the only three times I used the shovels all winter was for pushing broom-style, rather than for any actual lifting and throwing. I also alluded, none-so-subtly, to the coming six-month heatwave looming for him and his fellow knuckleheads in the Valley of the Sun.

Apparently, that’s where I went wrong. I’d offended the Karma gods before, but on those occasions the only person whose backside got bitten due to my indiscretion was me.

But evidently, I went too far this time, and we’ve all seen the results. We’ve lost power in my neighborhood on three consecutive weekends, and it’s likely the last of the snow piles at the end of the driveway won’t disappear before May 1. And just in case I hadn’t figured out it was my crowing about our mild winter that was responsible for all the recent weather-related misfortune, I got irrefutable confirmation last Thursday when, during one of its multiple runs up and down our street, the town snowplow knocked over just one mailbox.

Mine.

I can’t undo the damage I’ve done, but I’m determined to signal the karma gods that I’ll never displease them again. I’m just trying to figure out how to get their attention. I’d try waving a white flag, but given all the snow still on the ground, I doubt they’d be able to see it. <

Andy Young: Good news or bad news?

By Andy Young

This Saturday, February 3, marks the midway point of winter. That means I’m 50 percent done with shoveling snow, driving with white knuckles, and despairing over the acceleration of the inevitable rusting of my car’s undercarriage. I’m not complaining, mind you; having a temporarily salt-covered motor vehicle is better than having knuckleheads who drive on icy roads the same way they do in midsummer to lose control of their car or truck and plunge into a ditch. Or worse, having such knuckleheads lose control of their vehicle and hitting me and/or my vehicle with theirs.

The bottom line: knowing it won’t be long before I can swap my Bean boots for some comfy sneakers and get my bike back on the road has me feeling energized!

But my reaction to passing winter’s halfway point is markedly different from that of a significant number of my friends and neighbors. For them the looming onset of spring means the days that they have left to snowboard, ski, ice fish, or snowmobile are numbered. Winter’s inevitable demise is also depressing for the people who run ski areas, not to mention pond hockey players and snowshoeing enthusiasts.

Commerce plays a major role in how or if someone reacts to knowing winter is more than half done. Individuals who earn money plowing snow and ice off parking lots and driveways know that those particular revenue streams will dry up once wintry precipitation ceases. The same, to a lesser extent, goes for those skilled in the art of curing sick furnaces and/or wood stoves. Keeping such devices operational is always important, but during months when the temperature stays under freezing and occasionally dips below zero, those who provide these services are in even more demand, and the rate of pay they draw when responding to emergencies reflects that.

A person’s reaction to realizing that winter is half over depends to a certain extent on geography. For example, in Vail, Colorado, Whistler, British Columbia, or Carrabassett Valley in Maine, knowing that winter is on the wane can be discouraging, if not downright depressing. It’s not that folks living in those parts object to more moderate temperatures, but a lot of people there make their living in the ski industry, and it’s tough to generate business when there’s no snow.

By the same token, people in America’s south will greet the news that winter is at its midpoint with a shrug of their shoulders, if they react to it at all. Below-zero temperatures are unheard of in San Diego or Phoenix, and as far as economic hardship is concerned, well, there aren’t any snowmobile dealerships in Fort Lauderdale that’ll need to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection.

For all I know people who live in winterless places may look forward to their non-summer months. Miami, Houston, and New Orleans are stiflingly hot for much of the year, so even though they don’t have what people around here think of as “winter,” they probably enjoy whatever respite from the heat and humidity they can get.

In the southern hemisphere right now, they too are halfway between the solstice and the equinox, but in their case it’s their summer that’s receding. I’ll bet surfers, jet skiers, and boaters in New Zealand and southern Argentina are experiencing the same vague foreboding that Maine’s snowmobilers are, knowing that in the not-too-distant future they’ll be putting their favorite recreational equipment into storage for eight months.

Outwardly the situation this week is the same for everyone. But whether the news is good or bad depends, as it does with determining visual beauty, on the eye (and attitude) of the beholder. <

Andy Young: Celebrating the changing of the clocks, while we still can

By Andy Young

Did I miss something?

In March of last year, the United States Senate unanimously passed the Sunshine Protection Act, a piece of legislation that would make Daylight Saving Time permanent starting in 2023.

I thought that meant the end of the tiresome but necessary chore of resetting every clock in the continental United States (aside from those in Arizona) twice a year.

Democrats and Republicans alike touted the legislation, citing, among other things, the potential for increased economic activity and a likely reduction of seasonal depression cases as rationale for their action.

Oops.

The House of Representatives still has yet to pass the bill before the president can sign it into law. And they haven’t. Which is surprising, given how efficient they’ve been lately.

But I digress. When life provides lemons, those of us with the correct attitude make lemonade. That’s why I’ve chosen to celebrate the fact that this coming weekend will consist of 49 hours, making it nearly 2.1 percent longer than 50 other weekends this year, and a full 4.2 percent longer than the weekend of next March 9-10. That’s when, barring Congress getting its act together, we’ll be setting the clocks ahead an hour to start Daylight Saving Time 2024.

What am I going to do with my extra 60 minutes this weekend? Well, while I’d like to try something exotic, one extra hour probably isn’t long enough to justify traveling too far from home to do so. For example, I probably won’t have time to check out the pyramids in Egypt, watch Old Faithful erupt in Yellowstone National Park, or run with the bulls in Pamplona. Or in Chicago, for that matter.

That’s okay because there are plenty of local options. If it’s warm enough I can take a bike ride. If it’s too chilly for that, I’ll indulge myself by walking, clad in my brightest blaze orange outfit, through some local nature preserve. I can take the kids apple-picking; nothing’s tastier than a crisp Macoun right off the tree. I can attend a Veterans Day ceremony, since the National Holiday commemorating those who sacrificed to allow us to live as we do falls on Saturday this year.

I can rake the leaves that have fallen over the past week, prune some trees, or cut back the dead vegetation that’s accumulating now that we’ve had our first frost(s) of the season. I can take the snow shovels out of mothballs or stow the lawn mower and the bikes away for the winter. Thanks to a couple of advances in technology that have occurred during my lifetime, I won’t have to change the storm windows or clean any wooden gutters, two now-obsolete chores that were necessary during my childhood.

And if there’s precipitation, I can catch up on correspondence, or log some quality time with one of the books I’ve been vowing to read one of these days when I have the opportunity. Which, for one additional hour this weekend, I will.

Inevitably some negative people will whine about the increasingly early afternoon darkness, the plunging temperatures, and the probable power failures that are likely to occur sometime in the coming five months, but I won’t. How can anyone complain when they’ve been gifted with not just a bonus hour, but a bonus weekend hour?

So what if I can’t be awed by the pyramids, see Old Faithful go off two or three times, or run with the Bulls in Chicago (or Pamplona)?

It’s a 49-hour weekend, and I fully expect to make lemonade.

Even if I have to use fresh-picked Macoun apples to do it.

Tim Nangle: Emergency energy relief is on the way

By State Senator Tim Nangle

In challenging times, it is more important than ever that we come together as a community to support one another. Mainers help Mainers; that’s just what we do. And in the harsh Maine winters, there is nothing more crucial than ensuring that our neighbors have a warm and safe place to call home. That is why I was honored to vote LD 3, “An Act to Establish the Winter Energy Relief Payment Program to Aid Residents with High Heating Costs and to Finalize the COVID Pandemic Relief Payment Program.”

State Sen. Tim Nangle

This bill, now law, will provide much-needed emergency energy relief payments to those struggling to afford heating costs or at risk of becoming unhoused. First, it allocates $40 million for heating assistance for households eligible for the federal Home Energy Assistance Program, as well as $10 million for emergency fuel deliveries. It also includes $21 million for emergency housing to help prevent Mainers from becoming unhoused or unsheltered during the frigid winter months.

This law also establishes the Winter Energy Relief Payment Program, which provides one-time payments of $450 to eligible Maine residents to help cover the rising costs of energy and heat. People who filed a Maine State income tax return by Oct. 31, 2022 and had an income less than $200,000 if filing a married joint return, $150,000 if filing as a head of household, or $100,000 if filing as a single individual or married individual filing a separate return.

These checks are expected to start rolling out at the end of this month and should be finished by the end of March.

Before I became your state senator, I knocked on hundreds of doors and listened to the concerns of my neighbors. I have heard firsthand the struggles many folks in our community face to heat their homes. It is clear that this is a real and pressing concern for many Mainers.

After a vote on the emergency energy relief plan initially failed, many of you reached out to tell me just how vital this assistance would be for you and your families. The people I’ve spoken with, who were concerned about staying warm this winter, did not care about the technicalities of how the emergency energy relief payment will be distributed – they wanted the peace of mind that they wouldn’t be thrown out on the streets or left to freeze inside their own homes.

It is a no-brainer to me that we should do everything we can to help our neighbors stay warm and safe during the winter. That is why I am glad that this plan could pass and take effect immediately after the Legislature overwhelmingly approved it and Gov. Janet Mills signed it on Jan. 4.

Overall, I am grateful that LD 3 will give much-needed relief to many Maine families. It's clear that this legislation was necessary to provide crucial support to those in need, and I am proud to have played a part in its passage. Mainers cannot afford any more delays to this life-saving support, and I am glad that we got LD 3 to the chambers and it was signed into law as quickly as possible.

If you or someone you know needs assistance, wants to discuss legislation, or needs help connecting with a state agency, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

My email is Timothy.Nangle@legislature.maine.gov, and my office phone number is 207-287-1515. Also, you can find me on Facebook at facebook.com/SenatorTimNangle. To receive regular updates, sign up for my e-newsletter at mainesenate.org. <

Andy Young: Dressing to Depress

By Andy Young

According to the calendar, Mainers have been enduring winter for the past nine or 10 weeks. But by late February it seems as though we’ve been sitting through the darkest, coldest season of the year for an eternity.  

The last time I remember the weather being anywhere near decent, people in these parts were primarily concerned with, in no particular order, Y2K, President Clinton’s impeachment, and when (or if) the perpetually snake-bitten Boston Red Sox would ever win the World Series.

I knew for a fact the doldrums were upon us last Saturday. I had just finished toweling off after my biweekly shower and was in the process of picking out my outfit for the rest of the day (and likely for the rest of the weekend).

After donning a T-shirt with no obvious holes and putting on a pair of nearly rip-free underwear, I pulled a clean pair of pants out of the bottom drawer of my bureau. I do this every so often, usually when my other two pairs aren’t just standing up by themselves but are threatening to walk away on their own unless they get their semi-annual trip to the washing machine.

 Stepping into them, I tugged the new-ish (probably less than 10 years old) slacks northward. Then, after some wriggling that involved a significant degree of difficulty, I zipped them up and snapped them shut. That accomplished, I put on my shoes and socks (though not in that order) and proceeded to the final piece of assembling my sartorial ensemble.

But then it hit me: that next step was completely unnecessary! My pants, which three months ago would have required a belt, some suspenders, or a moderate length of rope to keep from descending, are, at least for the time being, in no danger of going anywhere.

I’ve never pretended to understand why people dress like they do; in fact, to me the term “fashion sense” has always been an oxymoron.

When it comes to comprehending why people wear what they wear, I’m an equal opportunity ignoramus. I don’t understand backward baseball hats on youthful males any more than I grasp why so many young women pay outrageous sums for aerated blue jeans that come pre-ripped for the consumer’s convenience.

It’s not just an age thing, either. I’ve been clueless about people’s garment-related choices since the time I became old enough to begin selecting my own clothing.

Years ago, a friend I consider wise and worldly advised me that three flannel shirts and two pairs of pants were enough for any real man.  I’ve got the requisite amount of pants, but I’m still one flannel shirt shy of his recommendation.

I’ve compensated, though, by retaining the white, machine washable sweater I’ve had since high school. It’s still got the W.T. Grant label on it, though that’s literally hanging by a thread these days. But it’s always been a vital part of my wardrobe, since putting it on it completely conceals whatever is underneath it (usually a ratty old T-shirt with a frayed collar).

Oh, and for those PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Apparel) zealots: please don’t confuse the term “a frayed collar” with “afraid collar.” No article of clothing I own has (or will ever have) any need to fear harm from me.

But the winter malaise will be behind us in a few weeks. And with any luck, a month or so after that I’ll have exercised sufficiently to get my waistline back to its pre-winter measurement, so that a belt will serve as both a fashion accessory and a necessity.  <

Insight: Has spring officially arrived in Maine?

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

Before I moved to Maine, a friend told me he wouldn’t live here again because the state had nine months of winter every year. I laughed and thought he was mistaken, but after a few years, I recalled that conversation and wondered if perhaps his notion about Maine weather didn’t truly have some merit.

My wife Nancy is a first-grade teacher and on the day that her spring break officially began this year on Friday, April 16, we looked out the window that morning over breakfast to see that it was snowing once again. Mother Nature had seemed to not grasp the concept of “spring break” that day.

Just a few weekends before that sudden snowstorm on April 16, many Maine residents found themselves outside in relatively warm 70-degree weather, doing yardwork and enjoying not having to wear a jacket outside for the first time in 2021. Of course, there are always hard-core individuals who insist on wearing a T-shirt, shorts and flip flops while grocery shopping in Maine in January, but I think they would do that no matter what the weather conditions are any time of year.

As for me, despite seeing a few daffodils and crocus flowering in neighbor’s yards that same week the weather warmed up while taking our dog for a walk, I remained wary and thought that a nor-easter could spoil everyone’s early spring picnic plans if the wind picked up and I was right.

Just when you seem to think that spring has arrived and snow has gone away until the fall in Maine, it returns with a vengeance.        

A few years back, it snowed at our home the week before Halloween, and I ended up having to shovel the sidewalk so that Trick-or-Treaters could trudge their way through the white stuff to our front door. By my logic, if October counts as a snow month in Maine, certainly then November, December, January, February, and March also can be labeled as snow months here too. Through the years that I’ve lived here, significant accumulations during those months leave little doubt they belong on the list of official snow months for the state.

Since it snowed on April 16 this year and again the following day on April 17 this year, I can now add April to that list of snow months in Maine too. And, I’m not sure how many people here remember waking up on Saturday, May 9, 2020 and peering outside only to discover that  about 3 ½ inches of snow had fallen on Maine overnight that day.

While using the snowblower on our driveway to clean up the mess that storm had left last May, I begrudgingly decided to add May as an official snow month to my list as well. So now that list had grown once again to include October, November, December, January, February, March, April and May for a grand total of eight months in which Maine has received snow since I first moved to the state.

For those who are thinking that last year’s May snowfall was nothing more than a freakish occurrence or an aberration, the National Weather Service reports that since it first began keeping track of measurable snowfall in the 1870s for Maine, that on May 11, 1945, a total of seven inches of snow fell on Portland and the surrounding locations.

And although I wasn’t around in Maine on Sunday, Sept. 29, 1991, the National Weather Service reports that on that very day in Caribou, a total of 2 ½ inches of snow accumulated there during an early season storm that lasted for two days into Sept. 30, 1991.

 

Therefore, some may argue that technically, September should count as a possible snow month in Maine too. That would expand the list of snow months to nine, which is precisely the same number my friend mentioned to me prior to me moving here that I thought was such a preposterous statement.

 

Many of us would prefer to see Maine’s weather through an optimistic prism, harkening to painter Jamie Wyeth’s quote of “There's a quality of life in Maine which is this singular and unique. I think. It's absolutely a world onto itself.”

When it comes to finally accepting that spring has arrived and the snow is gone for good in Maine though, I tend to employ Ronald Reagan’s famous quoting of the Russian proverb of “Trust Yet Verify” following an arms reduction summit in the 1980s. Nudge me when it finally happens. <