It’s April and the sun is out. I’d watched people walking on the lake all week. Now it was my turn. Ann was already waiting for me at the boat launch ramp at the Lake Laberge campground. I picked my way down the ramp, deep in snow and studded with icy patches, pale sapphires amidst the brilliant white. Ann beckoned me as I stepped cautiously onto the lake. My brain acknowledged that the lake was frozen – at least 3 feet of ice – but the mind is another matter.