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How many strawberries grow in the salt sea?
Not counting the drive-by occasional glimpse, I had not been to the Mystic since the early part of the summer, before I got really sick. The afternoon was brilliant blue and white with snow and sunlight, so I layered up and headed out.
I was dressing to leave when I was struck by the capture of one window's view through another. With additional reflections.
I like this little channel of a not-quite-alley for no particular reason. This afternoon it looked like a canal of sky.
Outside of a few doughty locals shoveling out their cars, I met almost no one on the way to the Blessing of the Bay Boathouse. The sidewalks were everything from snowblown down to concrete to untrodden knee-high drifts. I walked in the street half the time without incident except slush. Behold the frozen Neva, I mean, the Mystic River.
I did not walk out to the dock across the ice, but it was a close thing.
I suppose frost fairs can be held only during a little ice age.
I decided against the full loop of the river-walk based on the short daylight and stuck to my side of the banks despite the temptation just to make a dash across the snow-covered river. There were wind-waves on the frozen land.
Almost no one had broken the snow beyond the very narrow path trudged out from the bike lane. I had to wade out if I wanted to get closer to the water. I hope this tree is climbed frequently in season.
The boardwalk that runs under the Wellington Bridge.
The Wellington Bridge, with waterfowl.
Wind-waves on the frozen water.
Self-portrait as a shadow with white water of ice. For no obvious reason, more people passed me standing on this boardwalk than at any other point in my journey. None were masked. One did say encouragingly to me, "Beautiful, right?"
The other side of the Wellington Bridge, with different waterfowl. I could not photograph—and did not try to—the swan that launched itself over my head, absurdly streamlined and countershaded gold in the setting light.
The Orange Line crosses both ways over the Edward Dana Bridge.
I took almost no pictures while returning home; the temperature was dropping, the streets were icing up, my fingers were getting stiffer and more blanched each time I took the camera out. I finished the cloverleaf of the boardwalk, considered returning home via the Fellsway, decided I would rather look at as much of the river as I could. Everything was very attractively lit, even cars in a mist of road slush.
I left my boots in the hall on account of road salt and other substances insalubrious for little cats and fed said little cats as soon as I got back in. As far as I'm concerned, the best thing about John Sturges' Ice Station Zebra (1968) is Patrick McGoohan's self-described "sneaky bastard," a nervy veteran of ungentlemanly warfare with his hands shaking around a cup of coffee and whisky as he details with rapid-fire bitter precision exactly how he would have sabotaged the submarine had it been his brief to do so, which for all we know it may yet be, but once we hit the half-burnt, shell-shocked Arctic research station with its frozen corpses and paranoia of moles and double agents, I couldn't see how this film, no matter its faults, wasn't an influence on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982). I may still try to track down Alistair MacLean's Ice Station Zebra (1963) on the understanding that much of it is extremely different.
I was dressing to leave when I was struck by the capture of one window's view through another. With additional reflections.
I like this little channel of a not-quite-alley for no particular reason. This afternoon it looked like a canal of sky.
Outside of a few doughty locals shoveling out their cars, I met almost no one on the way to the Blessing of the Bay Boathouse. The sidewalks were everything from snowblown down to concrete to untrodden knee-high drifts. I walked in the street half the time without incident except slush. Behold the frozen Neva, I mean, the Mystic River.
I did not walk out to the dock across the ice, but it was a close thing.
I suppose frost fairs can be held only during a little ice age.
I decided against the full loop of the river-walk based on the short daylight and stuck to my side of the banks despite the temptation just to make a dash across the snow-covered river. There were wind-waves on the frozen land.
Almost no one had broken the snow beyond the very narrow path trudged out from the bike lane. I had to wade out if I wanted to get closer to the water. I hope this tree is climbed frequently in season.
The boardwalk that runs under the Wellington Bridge.
The Wellington Bridge, with waterfowl.
Wind-waves on the frozen water.
Self-portrait as a shadow with white water of ice. For no obvious reason, more people passed me standing on this boardwalk than at any other point in my journey. None were masked. One did say encouragingly to me, "Beautiful, right?"
The other side of the Wellington Bridge, with different waterfowl. I could not photograph—and did not try to—the swan that launched itself over my head, absurdly streamlined and countershaded gold in the setting light.
The Orange Line crosses both ways over the Edward Dana Bridge.
I took almost no pictures while returning home; the temperature was dropping, the streets were icing up, my fingers were getting stiffer and more blanched each time I took the camera out. I finished the cloverleaf of the boardwalk, considered returning home via the Fellsway, decided I would rather look at as much of the river as I could. Everything was very attractively lit, even cars in a mist of road slush.
I left my boots in the hall on account of road salt and other substances insalubrious for little cats and fed said little cats as soon as I got back in. As far as I'm concerned, the best thing about John Sturges' Ice Station Zebra (1968) is Patrick McGoohan's self-described "sneaky bastard," a nervy veteran of ungentlemanly warfare with his hands shaking around a cup of coffee and whisky as he details with rapid-fire bitter precision exactly how he would have sabotaged the submarine had it been his brief to do so, which for all we know it may yet be, but once we hit the half-burnt, shell-shocked Arctic research station with its frozen corpses and paranoia of moles and double agents, I couldn't see how this film, no matter its faults, wasn't an influence on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982). I may still try to track down Alistair MacLean's Ice Station Zebra (1963) on the understanding that much of it is extremely different.
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I'm glad!
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I feel I should offer fair warning that this movie also makes several fairly silly decisions regarding the plot, but McGoohan is great throughout; all scenes stolen in high style and one of the best lines I have ever heard about Operation Paperclip.
I should rewatch The Prisoner. I kept meaning to when Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling were active. I haven't seen it since high school, at which time I loved it.
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I also watched it for the last time in high school and I've been glad to see that it really holds up. I'm showing it to a friend who had never seen it because I commented on the influence of The Prisoner when we were watching Farscape, and she has been liking it too. Not all of the effects have held up (I realize now that they were trying, and failing, to do day-for-night a lot) but it remains oppressive, creepy and intense on the whole. I will say, I think The AV Club viewing order listed on Wikipedia is now my personal favorite, it makes slightly more sense than the order from the A&E DVD boxset (which I own without the box, thanks to a local indie video store going out of business years ago).
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They were one of my favorite local bands from 2010 until 2016 when they relocated from Somerville to L.A. and stopped being local; I saw them live every chance I could get, including two of their release parties. Their video for "Episode 1: Arrival" is delightful.
I also watched it for the last time in high school and I've been glad to see that it really holds up.
I had always assumed-to-hoped it would, but I'm still glad to hear it! It was my introduction to McGoohan as well as a whole lot of British character actors, some of whom only became important to me years after the fact, and permanently affected the way I feel about weather balloons.
I will say, I think The AV Club viewing order listed on Wikipedia is now my personal favorite, it makes slightly more sense than the order from the A&E DVD boxset (which I own without the box, thanks to a local indie video store going out of business years ago).
So noted. We owned the series on video. I have no idea what order that means I watched it in.
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I read MacLean avidly in my teens and remember loving Ice Station Zebra, but I haven't seen the movie. I think we might have discussed The Secret Ways at some point, but I might be mistaken.
P.
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Thank you! The scenery did most of the work.
I read MacLean avidly in my teens and remember loving Ice Station Zebra, but I haven't seen the movie.
Well, if I ever see a copy, I will pick it up.
I think we might have discussed The Secret Ways at some point, but I might be mistaken.
You are not mistaken! You recommended it to me when I was complaining a few years ago about not being able to find a copy of The Guns of Navarone! Now I just feel really bad about not buying the entire shelf of novels by MacLean when I saw it. I couldn't afford them all at the time, obviously, I came home with one, but I don't know when I am ever going to see the inside of a used book store again.
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Thank you! I have really been missing just walking places.
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Is it rare for the river to freeze, or relatively common?
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Thank you! I had a great time.
Is it rare for the river to freeze, or relatively common?
To be honest, I don't know. It feels normal to me, which means it is almost certainly less common these days thanks to global warming. I was used to the Arlington Reservoir freezing all throughout my childhood.
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You're welcome. I wish I could get to the sea in this weather, but it would have been a much longer walk and I would have run out of sun, also possibly fingers.
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McGoohan is usually the best part of whatever he's in.
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Thank you!
McGoohan is usually the best part of whatever he's in.
I still need to rewatch and someday write about All Night Long (1962), where he is such a frightening and talented Iago.
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It was! (It is!) But beautiful.
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Heee.
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I am a big fan of Ice Station Zebra, both the novel and the film, but it's true that they have very little in common besides the basic premise and the tense atmosphere.
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I will still accept another recommendation for the book!
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You probably COULD have walked across the ice.
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Oh, neat! (You should still post about it and Seven Hills. Life doesn't really let up on the happening thing.)
You probably COULD have walked across the ice.
Dammit! Next time.
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Well, "Next time when it's been below freezing for a solid week"
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And now you've said it, there has is no way to unsee an Ice Station Zebra influence on The Thing (when fed through a blender with Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness).
* For certain values of middle.
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I expected more people the Sunday after a storm! There weren't even skiers. Just their tracks.
And now you've said it, there has is no way to unsee an Ice Station Zebra influence on The Thing (when fed through a blender with Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness).
I wonder if there's criticism on it. There must be. It's had forty years.