Too Cold to Remember

The wind coming off the bay that morning could cut through anything. The windchill in Sturgeon Bay on January 18, 2025, reached -37°F, a cold so sharp it burned the air with every breath. It was too cold for an aerial view via drone, so a fat tire bike with studded tires was the only option. The sound of the studs biting into ice echoed through the harbor, steady and metallic, matching each push of the pedals. Progress was slow, every gust of wind heavier than the last, and the weight of photo gear made balance a guessing game. At one point I caught myself wondering, is the ice really three feet thick?

Out near the ships, the M/V James R. Barker was arriving for winter layup, assisted by the Coast Guard cutters Mobile Bay and Mackinaw. Another large freighter had come in before it, and together they worked carefully into position as the ice cracked around their hulls. Each movement sent a tremor through the bay, the sound carrying across the surface in strange, bending tones. The ice flexed and sang like a sheet of aluminum being struck, producing that deep, resonant booiiinggg that seems to come from everywhere at once. It is a sound unique to frozen bays, caused by the ice sheet vibrating under stress, high frequencies racing across its surface faster than low ones. The noise feels alive, like the bay itself is groaning and finding its voice in the cold.

The James R. Barker has been a familiar sight on the Great Lakes since 1976, one of the thousand-foot self-unloading freighters that keep the region’s steel and energy industries moving. Each January, ships like the Barker return to Sturgeon Bay for winter layup at Bay Shipbuilding. The engines go silent, the decks gather frost, and crews shift from navigation to maintenance until the ice breaks in spring. It is part of the peninsula’s winter rhythm, a pause between seasons when the harbor becomes a resting place for giants.

By the time I reached the ship, the light had softened into a pale blue haze and the air felt almost hollow. The freighters towered above the ice, framed by frost and low steam. My hands were numb, the camera stiff, but I took the shot. Photography on days like this is not about comfort or convenience. It is about showing up when most people would not, trusting the ice beneath your tires, and listening to a frozen world make sounds no microphone can truly record. The image is proof of the ride, and the ride is proof of the work.

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