For some strange reason, fellow Bowdoiners always seem to know that I grew up in Maine. How they learn of my heritage remains a mystery to me, but once they do, I encounter a blizzard of questions: Is there electricity where you live? Do you ever take your boots off? How come fishhooks and shotgun shells keep falling out of your pockets? Is that a hoof sticking out of your trunk?
Sometimes the question is earnest, simple and answered easily. Sometimes the question is stupid and demands a stupid answer; I zealously oblige. But there is one question that requires a sincere and thorough response. Inquiring minds most frequently request the secret to surviving Maine winters.
With the sleepy days and mischievous nights of Winter Break safely in the past, students return to campus for a semester that has been deceptively labeled spring. The first blast of frosty Maine is a rude awakening. With shivering muscles and prickling skin, lungs reluctantly allow the first frostbitten breath. The cold air assaults exposed flesh and seems to touch the soul. When it seems all warmth is gone, still thoughts can only wonder: Will I ever be warm again?
Old Man Winter's first embrace ends soon enough, but the memory is never forgotten, and chronic exposure to his frosty love can be debilitating. Walking to the hockey game or grabbing drinks downtown both become laborious tasks when icy winds blow. Most certainly, Old Man Winter is the enemy of fun, and like any enemy, he cannot be avoided, only conquered.
The following is a battle plan for Bowdoiners who are done cowering in fear; students who want to take back the winter and flourish in this frosty wonderland.
First you'll need proper equipment. Don't be tempted by L.L. Bean's bomber hats and awesome trout tank. The Bean Boots are just OK, and everything else is too expensive. Deep-pocketed tourists are encouraged to spend their money with reckless abandon, but students of modest means should hit Route 7 and get on the Moosehead Trail. Any variety store or bait shop can provide the essential equipment at non-tourist prices. When selecting winter gear, throw fashion out the window. Staying warm is always more important than looking cool. Uggs, polka-dotted rubbers, and designer jackets are quite rare in the woods of Northern Maine, a place where winter living is a lifestyle.
The first tip is obvious: layers, layers, layers. A few cheap shirts can do the work of more pricy clothing, and once you're out of the cold, you can shed layers to avoid overheating. And who will judge you for hiding pajamas underneath your pants? If your Timbs get soggy and cold every morning, a hairdryer and some beeswax will come in handy.
In a few hours, your incredibly manly boots can be invulnerable to slush and sleet. As for head garments, I'm particularly fond of ear muffs, but only because they were invented by a Mainer. The right clothing provides a good defense, but is not enough to conquer Old Man Winter.
Before you can think about offensive action, you need reliable transportation. The stress placed on vehicles by cold weather is unique, and many a motorist has been stranded by the mischief of Old Man Winter. With a few crafty measures, however, you can spoil his devious designs. Adding dry gas to your fuel tank would be a good idea and good tires are essential.
Always remember the second commandment of Maine driving when navigating snowy roads: Thou shall keepeth it between the mustard and the mayonnaise. (The first commandment is never to let a good roadkill go to waste.) If you do end up in the ditch, don't even bother calling AAA. The next half-dozen vehicles will undoubtedly stop to help, and they will have you on the road in a jiffy. That is, after they've carefully weighed the merits of using every truck present.
When a nor'easter blankets parking lots, it will take a bit of work to get your car free. A good scraper is a necessity and it would be wise to keep a shovel in the trunk. Live in Brunswick long enough, and you will inevitably find yourself shoveling through plowed-up banks or heaving on the bumper of some stuck sedan. As the wheels spin madly in self-made ice grooves, the car moves, like Sisyphus' stone, only to torment its pusher. Here again, a little Maine ingenuity can save you time and strife. Snap a few branches off the nearest deciduous and place them under the drive wheels. The tree will forgive, and its branches will provide traction.
Now that you have combat gear and a reliable winter transport, you will need to fortify the homeland against the cold. Old Man Winter is sneaky and ruthless. He slips into dorm rooms chilling bones and causing colds; before his wrath, even the Snuggie is a paper shield.
Fortunately for mankind, Tom Brady gave us a weapon against the cold when he invented fire. But for some strange reason, students are forbidden from kindling fires in our rooms, and my repeated requests to install a wood-pellet stove have been denied. And so, we find ourselves at the mercy of the heat givers: Facilities Management and the Steam Factory.
When metal clangs like bullets bang, that is when you receive your ration of fossil fuel. Awakened by mechanic clamor, you shiver softly and quickly recognize the sound. Like Pavlov's dog, you await the succor to follow its noisy herald. But with heat as violent as its harbinger, the furnace beast abides only its iron will. The hot, moist breath of the beast lingers only long enough to induce perspiration. You're awakened a second time, a cold, sweaty mess.
To have power over your environment you will need to learn how to tame the furnace. In a few instances, you will find an adjustable knob of some kind, but in most cases you will have to outsmart the unforgiving beast. Now, I am not suggesting that you take guerilla action against Facilities, but a trained gorilla could figure out the forbidden thermostat. Grab a thin pointy stick and see where that gets you, but be certain not to cause damage with your gorilla tactics; housekeeping will be on you like MSNBC on the Iraq War.
Skillful dress and mastery of the furnace beast will allow you to survive the winter, but mere survival is not enough. To truly prevail over Old Man Winter, Bowdoiners must bring the fight to his icy bastions; we must hunt for him in the unforgiving wilderness of Northern Maine, amid her snow-laden pines and on her frigid mountaintops.
Snowshoes open dormant trails, skis unlock hidden slopes, and resurrecting Frosty rekindles childish joy. Far from an obstacle to fun, snow can be its lubricant. Indeed, the Old Man's lemons are easily turned into lemonade by the venerable adventurer.
Winter in Maine is marvelous, but despite the world of opportunity the snow brings, cold, gray days cast a gloomy shadow over the campus. Students sleep like hibernating bears, leaving the cave only for class and a bag lunch. And if small talk around campus was annoying and predictable before, it is absolutely dreadful when anemic ninnies can only talk about how miserable they find the weather. It is as if each winter the campus contracts a seasonal disorder; symptoms include depression, alcoholism and the inability to be fun.
Somber gloom eventually permeates every layer of campus, sequestering socialization and silencing animal houses. In fact, our winter parties are so lackluster, that local cops get bored and must find new sources of adolescent fun to feed upon. But don't worry, once they sense the smell of Ivy in the air, we will have all we can handle of our curly-tailed neighbors. But the misguided war to stop college kids from drinking is not the subject at hand. The war against Old Man Winter causes many Bowdoin students to slip into the winter blues. Even first year boys get second thoughts about going to that social house party. If Bowdoiners desire happy winters, something needs to change.
It is a little known fact that the great Admiral Peary also struggled with Old Man Winter. In a journal entry of unknown date and veracity, the Admiral wrote, "All around me men are weakened by the cold. If something is not done soon, I fear the winter will eclipse even my own happiness."
Admiral Peary's solution to the winter blues was aggressive: He gave those malevolent polar bears a taste of Bowdoin pain. But now that slaughtering polar bears is taboo, students have to find new ways to enjoy winter. If Bowdoiners truly wish to shake off the winter funk, they will need to experience a time-honored Maine tradition that has, for centuries, provided Mainers with prosperous winters: Ice fishing.
Plot a course to the second congressional district. When the dooryards fill up with car parts and kids toys, you'll know you're getting close. If you come across a town with a store, stop and talk with the locals. Bait might be expensive on account of the poor smelt run, and don't forget to grab plenty of grub and a case of beer.
On your way out the door, ask the cashier if he knows of a good fishinghole nearby. He'll give you a list of ponds and the ice conditions on each. Follow the instructions, but if the locals figured out you are from Massachusetts, you might want to double-check the thickness of the ice before finding a spot on the pond. On second thought, you might just want to bring a friend from the area; ice fishing is an apprenticeship anyways.
To ice fish is to truly prevail over the frozen foe, to laugh at his pathetic attempts to afflict your will, to stare mockingly into his icy glare and see only fear. If ice fishing is not up your alley, you must, at the very least, reflect on the courage of Admiral Peary, and find your own bears to kill. Only when you desire not to survive second semester, but to thrive, will you know the secret to happy Maine winters.