Guest Column: An old ode to iceboating in Orient

With iceboating returning to Orient’s Hallocks Bay this winter for the first time in more than a decade, thanks to sustained freezing temperatures, Orient residents John and Joyce Holzapfel were reminded of a poem by the late East End schoolteacher Walter Lloyd Kluge, first published in The Suffolk Times in 1946.

Mr. Kluge died in 2019, but his words still resonate nearly 80 years later.

“Iceboating”

Most every year when the snow disappears,
The fields are brown and ice appears.
The days are chilly and the nights are cold,
They shake men’s bones, both young and old.
The men gather round and begin to say,
“I guess iceboating is on the way.”
The ice on the bay is soft and sleek,
Where black ducks feed in the saltwater creek.
The ice gets hard and, with some rain,
Which freezes on your window pane,
The bay will be hard in no time at all,
Where the Old Squaws played in the early fall.

Iceboats in barns are covered with dust,
Some runners are spotted with thin coats of rust.
With the help of sandpaper and a coat of paint, too,
The iceboats will soon look as good as new.
The sails are rigged with bright new rope,
And the hearts of men are filling with hope.
The boats are out on a bright, windy day
And taken by truck to Hallock’s Bay.
The wind is cold and nips your nose,
And people around are all half-froze.
Young and old gather round and say,
“I guess the ‘Eagle’ will sail today.”

Those long, slender runners, back and side, too,
Are shaped as good as they were when new.
Peak halyard, throat halyard, tiller and bow stay
Are familiar expressions we again learn to say.
The sails are lashed with new cotton twine,
While the winds in the stays whistle and whine.
We’ll hop on the “Red Wing” with Ed King at the tiller;
The ride he will give us will sure be a thriller.
As we turn into the wind and then come around,
Away on the next lap we are soon bound.
As we glide to the shore with the ride at an end,
Our dreams have come true — “Iceboating’s here again.”