The following account of the speed of an ice boat on the Hudson river in the vicinity of Staatsburg is given by the Poughkeepsie Eagle: — "On Thursday (19 February) the wind blew very fresh from the south, and the owner of the new ice bout Cyclone, determined to take advantage of the favourable opportunity for timing his yacht.  The Hudson at this point is very wide, and at the course selected its breadth is one mile.  Having made every preparation for the feat to be accomplished the reef points were shaken out of the sails, and every stitch of canvas spread to the gale.  With two men on the windward runner to keep the boat down to the ice, the helm was turned, the sails filled and in a moment, with every inch of canvass drawing, she was under full headway.  Like an arrow from a how she darted away on the course, clouds of pulverised ice following in the track of her runners.  As they hummed over the surface of the river, and in what seemed but an instant the river had been crossed and the mile accomplished in the almost incredible time of 31 sec. being at the rate of two miles in 1 min. 2 sec.  Persons on shore compared the speed of the flying racer to that of a meteor flashing through the sky, and watched her movements with eager interest.  Wanganui Herald (Wanganui, New Zealand), May 18, 1874

Editor's Note: It is an understatement to say that Ray Ruge was accomplished in many areas and lived a remarkable life. He was born on June 21, 1908, in New York City to Bernard Arnold and Beulah E. Ruge.  U.S. Census records show the family lived in Manhattan (1910), Bronx (1915), Tarrytown (1920), Carmel (1925 & 1930), and East Orange, Essex NJ (1940). Raymond married Valice Foley in 1942. 

For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to these websites:
White Wings and Black Ice,  HRIYC or Hudson River Ice Yacht Preservation Trust .

Editor's Note: The following text is from "Madison Day by Day", Wisconsin State Journal, Tuesday, Feb. 6, 1945 by Betty Cass.

In the February 10, [1945] Saturday Evening Post, which subscribers will receive tomorrow and which will appear on the news stands Thursday, is what is probably the best article on ice-boating ever written, titled, “Fastest Sleigh Ride in the World,” which is interesting for many reasons. 
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First, and perhaps most important since we have two lakes in our laps, it points out, and proves, that ice-boating, “once a rich man’s game, today is a sport for anyone who has seventy-five dollars, a craving for speed, and plenty of ice."
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Second, it gives many intriguing facts about famous old racing ice boats of Wisconsin, and brings to light (for practically all Madisonians except the few iceboating fans still left here) the fact that one of the two premier trophies of the sport, the Hearst cup, “now rests at Madison, jealously guarded by the 350 square-footer, Fritz, owned by Fritz Jungbluth and sailed by Carl Bernard.

Third, and most interesting, the article is written by a man now living in Madison but who didn’t live here when he wrote it.

This man, Raymond A. Ruge, of West Point, NY, now an architect at Badger Ordinance Works, landed in both the pages of the Post and in Madison by two of the most circuitous routes we've ever encountered. One of them is traced in detail in the Keeping Posted department of the Post:

RAYMOND A. RUGE says that the most remarkable thing about him as a writer is that he is not a writer and that, as a nonwriter, he has made both the Encyclopedia Britanica [sic] and the Post the same year - both by request. (He wrote the Britanica’s section about iceboating.)

We asked Mr. Ruge to tell us how he got to be such a successful writing nonwriter. “You have to be born in New York, move to Lake Mahopac, about fifty miles north of New York, when you're eight years old, go to Princeton, become an architect, forsake architecture for running a hotel and, to keep the hotel running, develop winter sports in the vicinity.” At least that’s the way it happened in Mr. Ruge’s case.

As a winter-sports lover, Mr. Ruge would have preferred to go to Dartmouth, but his headmaster at Pawling School thought he had better go to a college which didn’t have such pleasant winters. Princeton, Mr. Ruge believes, ideally filled this bill. He still remembers the Jersey winters, with their mud and fog, with a shudder, but he played ice hockey, and lacrosse in the spring. He picked up a Phi Beta Kappa key along the way.
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The depression by 1935 had made architecture a profession which men ‘used to follow,’ so Ruge took over the management of a country club hotel near West Point. Winter business was nonexistent, except when snow for skiing was on the ground. To bolster trade, Mr. Ruge built a couple of iceboats and introduced New Yorkers to the sport. When it snowed, the skiers came. When it didn’t snow, the iceboaters came. Mr. Ruge probably got the greatest bang out of the fact that a regular guest for the iceboating was a manager of the lordly Waldorf.  (Waldorf Astoria Hotel in NYC)

For more information on the Icicle:
An Up-To-Date Ice Yacht Using a Sail Boat Rig by Ray Ruge

To keep his hand in at architecture, Mr. Ruge designed a cottage-type summer resort at Lake George in 1939 and supervised the building.

“Starting with a hayfield, four ancient apple trees and a beautiful stretch of sandy beach on May first,” he said, “we set four contractors to work racing one another, and completed the place and were ready for business at four p.m., July first. By six p. m. there wasn’t an empty room.”

THAT, then, is the round-about way Mr. Ruge got into the Post . . that and being recommended to the editor of the magazine as being the man most likely to write a good article on modern iceboating. And THIS is the way he got to Madison:

When the war started, Mr. Ruge was engaged, as an architect, in slum-clearance work in New York. Since then he has been doing architectural work on war constructions, and as he sometimes has a choice of locations, he has made it a point to choose jobs which are in places which offer winter sports. Several of them have taken him to the west, one in particular taking him to the Canadian Rocky Mountains, near Lake Louise, where he did some skiing at 9,000 feet in a beautiful spot which could be reached ONLY on skiis [sic], or by snowshoes.

​When an opportunity to take a job at Badger Ordinance Works in Madison, WI, was offered, he chose it promptly, and last November landed here with Mrs. Ruge and their year-old son Peter, expecting a big winter of ice boating . . . expectations which have resulted in exactly one hour of the sport to date.

“I’m amazed at the apparent lack of interest in iceboating here,” he says, “In the east we travel 20 and 30 miles for a day of iceboating, while here, with two wonderful lakes at your front doors, only a handful of people take advantage of them.”

So sincere is Mr. Ruge in his enthusiasm for the sport and in his interest in helping revive it that he has become a member of the committee recently formed under the auspices of the Madison municipal recreation division which is planning a series of regattas here, starting Sunday, Jan. 21, on Lake Monona,  during which he expects to get in that long-anticipated iceboating on “the famous lakes of Madison” of which he’s heard so much.
 
Editor’s Note:  Badger Ordinance Works in Madison, WI
In the months prior to the U.S. entry into WWII, the U.S. government began construction of several smokeless powder plants to meet the increasing needs of the U.S. and its allies fighting against Hitler and the Third Reich. Ideas to build upon or extend existing production capabilities at existing plants were discarded in favor of building additional plants at new locations which provided greater safety from enemy attacks or sabotage. Spreading the workload out at several plants would also provide employment opportunities throughout the country. Badger was first operated by Hercules Powder which had a plant in Port Ewen, NY.
Badger Army Ammunition Plant Historical Overview 1941-2006

THE FALL of 1943 found me in Edmonton, Alberta, most northerly of Canadian cities (almost 800 miles northeast of Vancouver, BC), which enjoys the same long summer days — and the same cold winter — as does Moscow and the Scandinavian Peninsula. I was there on an assignment for the Army, but we did have one day off each week. Throughout the summer nearly every Sunday was devoted to 14-foot dinghy sailing with the Edmonton Yacht Club, and red hot sailors they were, believe me.

But now the dinks were laid away and the nights were clear and frosty. By the end of October, it was freezing every night and early duck hunters reported up to two inches of ice on sloughs a few miles to the north. One day, as if by magic, a thumbnail sketch of an ice boat appeared on my desk pad. It went into an envelope with the brief message: “If this interests you, call me up for lunch” and was dispatched to Dr. T. F. MacDonald, commodore of the Edmonton Y.C., figure skater, twice president of the Alberta Fish & Game Association, a real sporting man.

The phone rang next day before noon. The good doctor was not only interested, he was enthusiastic. “But,”said he, “no plywood, no dural, no fittings, no this and no that, how in the world can we build a decent ice boat now?” And the question certainly seemed sensible enough. But there was the lake, ready to freeze; there was the sail boat’s rig, ready to use; there were the tools and the shop to work in. So we just decided to start in and see how far we could get.

Within a week, the plans were drawn, with simplification and substitution the keynotes of the design. We settled on a simple type of bow-steering boat, similar in basic construction to Icicle (see YACHTING, December, 1936).

For the backbone, we had to revert from the modern built-up box fuselage, involving much aircraft plywood and Sitka spruce, to a simple solid stick; in this case, a 20’ piece of 3” by 10” Douglas fir. This was kept full size at the mast step, tapering to 3” by 5” at the bow and 3” by 6” aft, where it rested on the runner plank. All taper cuts were taken off the top, leaving the bottom perfectly straight. This stick was so stiff that no bobstay was rigged and no deflection could be observed even when sailing in a stiff breeze. The design called for a 24’ backbone, so we pieced out our 20’ stick with a ‘‘boomkin” made of two pieces of 34” by 6” screwed to the sides of the main timber and cocked upward at the proper angle to receive the after ends of the shaped side rails.
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These side rails were two pieces of 3/4’’ by 10” by 14’ spruce; they started from the backbone at the mast step, swung out 17” on each side at the seat, and met again at the extreme after end of the boomkin (or extended backbone). A floor of 14” pine boards was screwed to the under side of the center timber and the rails for 48” from the seat back to the forward spreader which also served as a footrail when sailing. To cut out what might have been a most uncomfortable cold breeze through the cockpit, we floored the rest of it forward of this spreader with the only plywood -available— 3/16” poplar, supposed to be for drawer bottoms, etc. If it doesn’t stand up, it can always be replaced since it is entirely non-structural and serves only as a wind-stopper. 

The seat back, framed of ¾” stuff, was shaped to a smooth curve from railtop to railtop and was carefully reinforced to take the pull of the sheet. A strip of 1⅛” by 2” maple was securely anchored to the seat back at the center of its upper edge and ran back to the tip of the boomkin, where it formed the center filler of a five-ply ‘‘squeeze”’ consisting of itself, the two pieces of the boomkin and the two side rails. This strip of hardwood acted as a ridgepole for the after deck covering but its main function was to serve as a secure anchorage for the sheet blocks.

The “dashboard” (for lack of a better name) was cut from a wide birch board of 1” stock. At each end, it was screwed to a filler block which in turn was securely fastened to the side rail by screws and waterproof glue. From the center of this curving member another ridgepole, this time of pine, ran forward to the mast step block. This served only to carry the forward deck and hence didn’t have to be of hardwood. The mast step was simply a birch block, slotted for the heel of the spar, and screwed to the top of the backbone timber.
With the curved seatback and dashboard and their two ridgepoles (running aft and forward respectively) as its only support, 6-ounce canvas was stretched and tacked to the above members and to the top outside edge of the side rails. A small hardwood molding covered the tacks in the rails, and those on the ridgepoles were hidden by arranging the cloth as shown in the sketch. The two-way stretch possible only with fabric enabled this canvas “deck” to take a most pleasing trumpet-shaped curve as it swept up to the dashboard. With no finish whatever, this canvas gave perfect satisfaction for one entire season, and should last for many years. It is easily renewable at any time.

The steering gear had started life in a small car of predepression vintage and was obtained from a local auto wrecker for a small consideration. It was mounted directly on the side of the backbone by a couple of 3/8” bolts running through that member. The gear was hung so that the pitman arm swung in a horizontal arc directly under the backbone. A similar arm, complete with ball fitting, was welded to the rudder post just above the fork, and the two were connected by the car’s original drag link, lengthened by cutting and welding in a piece of 3/4” pipe. The steering column was clamped to the underside of the curving dashboard in true automobile style and the entire assembly gave fingertip control and perfect service. Cutting away one section of the steering wheel’s rim gave a bit more room when getting in or out of the cockpit but we decided it wasn’t a good idea after all, because the sheet tended to get fouled in the cutaway wheel when sailing. Incidentally, to get a left turn by moving the top of the wheel to the left — as in a car — it was necessary for the pitman arm on the gear and that on the rudder post to project on opposite sides of the backbone. This meant that the long drag link crossed under the backbone from starboard to port when the rudder was set straight, and that it went through a peculiar twisting motion when in action, but it worked perfectly — so don’t worry if it happens to you!
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The rudder post bearings were simply two pieces of 3" steel channel let into the top and bottom of the backbone and drilled for a good fit on the rudder post. They were held in place by 1/4" bolts passing horizontally through their flanges and the backbone. They were used in place of the more usual flat plates because of the unusually narrow backbone timber. The rudder post was a short length of 3/4" shaft with a simple steel fork and the above-mentioned pitman arm welded on. A pair of heavy truck valve springs were slipped over the shaft between the pitman arm and the under bearing plate on the backbone; they gave a little shock-absorbing action that seemed to work well. All this miscellaneous ironwork was dug out of the scrap pile at a local junk yard.

We had a lucky break on the runner plank, finding two clear spruce boards 1 1/2” by 12” and 16’ long at a local lumber yard. These were glued together with about 6” crown when the clamps were set. After removal of clamps, the crown came back to about 4". The two boards were tapered to 1” thick at the ends before gluing, giving the plank a built-in taper which looked quite professional. The sections between side rails and runner chocks were then shaped out to a streamlined profile. Runner chocks were simply 11” pieces of 3” by 5” by 3/8” angle bolted to the plank. Because structural steel angles are not exactly true right angles, the under side of the plank was carefully planed so that the standing sides (the 5” ones) of the chocks would be parallel and give a good fit to the runners. These angles, too, came from the junk pile. The plank was attached to the backbone by a single U-iron or gammon strap, of ⅝” rod threaded on both ends and bent into a U that just slipped over the after end of the backbone timber and passed through two holes in the plank. There was no attachment of the side rails of the hull to the runner plank.
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For runner blades, we dug around some more in the junk yard until we unearthed some old T-section steel which looked as if it might have been a rolling door track in better days. It was about 1 1/2” by 2” by 5/16” in cross section. We had the top drilled and countersunk on 4” centers for No. 10 flat head wood screws, and the edge was rough-ground on a wheel to a 90° V. Later dressing with a file was tedious but proved to be feasible in spite of much advice to the contrary. The runner tops were made of oak, 1 3/4” by 4 1/2” in cross section, 53” long for main runners which had 48” shoes, and 41” long for the 36” rudder blade. The tops were doweled with machine bolts spaced 9” apart, running right through the oak from bottom, where the heads were countersunk, to top, where the nuts (with washers) were drawn up tight. These bolts prevent peeling off the runner shoes in a bad skid, and should be tightened up before each season, as the wood dries out and shrinks during the warm summer months. The blades were then screwed on, using 1 1/2” No. 10 steel screws. The sharp section of the blade was kept down to a mere 10” or so directly under the riding bolt. From there, running both forward and aft, the edge was made more and more dull, which served to put a slight rocker into it and also to give an easy entrance and exit, vital for speed. A blade without rocker can’t be turned and one that is sharp for any great distance forward of the riding bolt will grip and cut down speed a lot. All runners rode on 5/8” machine bolts, which were drilled for cotter pins. 

The hollow sail boat mast had no shrouds below the forestay, and the unsupported spar between the step and this point was too long to be trusted. Accordingly, a simple spar band with three projecting tangs was cut from 1/8” metal and held in place by a single 1/4” bolt running straight through the mast. The extra set of shrouds was made from odds and ends such as are usually at hand in any sailor’s slop chest, and ran from a point half-way between forestay and mast step. All stays terminated in rope lanyards, led to big 3” diameter iron rings attached to plank and backbone by eyebolts. Rope lanyards are not only a cheap and foolproof substitute for turnbuckles, they are also an easy way to piece out the sail boat rigging for the extra length that will be needed on the ice boat.

Blocks, like spars, were borrowed from the sail boat but we decided against light summer canvas and had a sail made. A local tent and awning maker undertook the job and did a surprisingly good piece of work. By designing the sail as a flat surface, with a roach on the luff and another on the foot, as well as the usual one on the leach, we succeeded in getting a fine-setting sail which was not too difficult to make. Full-length batten pockets were run parallel to the boom, and track slides were borrowed for the winter from the regular sail boat mainsail. Battens were ripped from a flat-grained two-inch oak plank at a local mill. This gave us edge grain in the battens, which were a full 1/4” thick at the after end, and were planed down to about 1/8” thick at the mast. Since most broken battens are caused by the whipping of the sail when coming about, we taped the three lower ones thoroughly from 1 foot to about 4 feet from the leach. The upper battens don’t get the whipping, and rarely break.
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Throughout the first winter of use, the sail boat mast stood up beautifully until sundown of the last day of the season, when it somehow contrived to come unstepped and broke when it struck the ice. A new spar was built for the sail boat and a letter received the other day informs me that the doctor has built a typical streamlined ice boat spar for the winter sailing. This stick has a groove plowed in its after edge to recess the sail track and improve the airflow, and it will be stepped on a trailer ball and hardwood socket to permit proper pivoting. The sketches show a typical cross section of the new spar and also the arrangement of the ball-and-socket step.

Several factors combine to give an ice boat mast far heavier punishment than is met by a sail boat spar carrying the same area of canvas. In the first place, the speed of the airflow over the ice boat’s sail may easily run from two to four times as fast with the same wind velocity, simply because the boat is able to move so much faster. This means development by the sail of four to sixteen times as much-power and, as a result, four to sixteen times as much induced compression in the mast. Practically. every ice boat mast that “goes” (from causes other than capsizes), buckles and “explodes” from excessive compression. Secondly, the boat cannot heel to every puff; it takes a really hard one to make her hike and, even then, the relief afforded the spar by the heeling action is negligible. Both shrouds and spar should be sized for stresses that may run a good ten times higher than those in a sail boat of comparable sail area. By the same token, the sail should, if possible, be made of heavier canvas and headboard and clew should be most thoroughly reinforced. The entire pull of the sheet, which is nearly always sweated in taut, is transmitted through these two corners of the sail. This is one advantage of the train of single--sheave blocks now standard equipment on ice boats, the sheet pull is spread along the boom and not concentrated at one point. The raked mast with tunnel or “Swedish track” contrives to spread the pull along the mast a bit instead of leaving it all to the headboard, as is the case with a vertical spar and sail track. In addition, raking the mast shortens the length of the leach, thus making it possible to keep the leach taut. The advantage when turning to windward is tremendous.
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To return to our Canadian boat from this brief digression into ice boat design:
In setting up the boat, backbone and runner plank were placed in position and joined by the U-iron (“gammon strap”). The two whisker stays running from bow to runner plank were then set up snug, using a steel tape to check the distance from bow to runner chock on each side until we were sure the plank was square with the backbone. The whisker stays should not be drawn more than snug taut, for they will bend the runner plank and cause the runners to toe in if set up too much. Next, the mast was stepped and the ‘shrouds’ set in approximately the proper position, with just one turn of the rope lanyards. Then the sail was bent and hoisted and the headstays adjusted until the boom had just a slight rise from mast to clew when the sheet was sweated in taut. Shrouds were then set up, but not more than just enough to take the excess slack out of them. Tight-set shrouds simply bend the runner plank, throw constant stress into stays, plank and mast, and may actually cause a broken spar in action on a puffy day. Ice boat rigging always looks sloppy to the racing sail boat man but rest assured, it isn’t that way by accident or from carelessness. That’s the way it should be. The lee shrouds are always very slack when sailing and here is another place where rope lanyards are superior to turnbuckles. The lanyards won’t kink when they go slack, as a turnbuckle or shackle will, and it shouldn’t be necessary to point out that they won’t strip threads or crystallize no matter how far the thermometer drops. Final clincher in these days, is the fact that you can always get some sort of line for lanyards but try to buy a turnbuckle! 

​Thanks to an exceptionally snowless winter, we had a fine lot of sailing with this boat, starting on November 21st and continuing, off and on, until Easter, April 9th. We wound up the season on the last day by sailing the entire twelve-mile length of the lake and back in a fine southwest breeze with the thermometer in the forties. One night of sailing by the illumination of a really exceptional display of Northern Lights was a thrill I shall never forget. Based on our experience, it seems a safe bet that, given some assorted rigging, a lumber yard, a well-stocked junk yard and a little determination, War Babies like this one are entirely feasible. They sure are a lot of fun!

Editor's Note: This article was by P.S. Wood and originally published in the US AIR magazine January 1985. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. 
​For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to these websites:
White Wings and Black Ice here.  
HRIYC here 
​Hudson River Ice Yacht Preservation Trust website here

What else could bring Charles Edward (Rock) Hildreth at the age of 48 to lay down his hammer and saw (he builds houses in the Hamptons, on eastern Long Island, where his family has lived for ten generations) a little early last Friday - or next Friday, or the Friday after - and hurry home to load up his 1977 Chevy station wagon? On a roof rack go the spars, planks, and hulls of two identical 12-foot DN iceboats. Sails, riggings, runners, sharpening equipment, other tools, and extra clothing are piled inside, until there is just room enough in the front seat for Hildreth and his similarly afflicted buddy, Tom Halsey. Halsey, like his brother John, whose whole family sails, is a potato farmer with 11 generations on the land. (Potato farmers with names like Hildreth, Halsey, and Topping still are well represented in the membership of the local Mecox Bay Ice Yacht Club, but besides the present Commodore, David Lee Brown, who is a sculptor, there are also painters, bank executives, test pilots, doctors, and writers. ABC anchorman Peter Jennings just bought a boat last year and joined the club.)

His car loaded, Hildreth then calls a special number and listens to a recording telling him where the action is that weekend—to wit: what lakes have ice and no snow (like as not somewhere deep in New Jersey). Then it's rising at 3:00 a.m., driving for five or six hours, unloading the station wagon, setting up their boats, racing all day, piling into a motel room somewhere for Saturday night, racing all day Sunday, and then driving home. And doing it, often, under arctic conditions that keep the saner segment of the population home by the fire. An affliction.
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In North America the true ice belt is no more than 150 miles wide. The sport has no true center. It hangs in a shallow arc from Cape Cod on the Eastern Seaboard out to the Great Lakes. On its way it passes through southern New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, the major eastern areas. Midwesterners congregate on the wide-open lakes of Michigan and Wisconsin, where winds sweeping off the plains are relied upon as much as winter thaws to keep the ice open. Europe's ice belt begins in Sweden, and reaches through Germany, Poland, and into the USSR.  Four out of the past seven years, Poles and Latvians have won the World Championship - the Worlds, as they are known, sailed in alternate years in North America and Europe in the same DN design boat that Hildreth and Halsey race.

With iceboating, as with icebergs, there is a lot below the surface. A great deal, for instance, goes on in Hildreth's basement. It is almost axiomatic that an enthusiast like Hildreth built his own boat. And along about Christmastime it was in his cellar that he set it up for this season - sharpening and aligning the runners (to a tolerance of a few thousandths of an inch), checking all the fastenings, touching up the varnish. In fact, like most ardent iceboaters who have pursued the sport for a decade or more, Hildreth has built a series of boats (six DNs in his case, and he is already planning a seventh, because there's a slight weight refinement he would like to make). Although it is possible to buy a ready-made DN (cost with mast and sail runs about $2,500, but $1,000 should buy a serviceable second-hand boat), a large part of the challenge and pleasure of the sport is in the building, whether it be within the strict limits of the DN design (more on this later) or some imaginative aberration. Hildreth actually started when he was 12 - not just with the traditional bed sheet, broom handle, boards, and old ice skates, but with hand-me-down parts from his older brothers' and their friends' boats.

Today there are dirt bikes and snowmobiles and weekend trips to ski country to sate a young boy's appetite for thrills, but when Hildreth was starting out, just after World War II, there wasn't much a kid could do outdoors in winter on the flat eastern end of Long Island except take an iceboat out on Mecox Bay when it froze. The boats Hildreth and his confreres sailed then - they called them A boats - were larger than DNs. They were gaff-rigged, usually carried a couple of passengers, and by today's standards were clumsy. But when wind and ice were just right, they went like the blazes and produced enough excitement to hook a kid for life.

Then, in 1933, a design breakthrough occurred as important to ice-boating as rocketry was to the aeronautical industry. Walter Beauvois from William Bay, Wisconsin, built what was, by the standards of the day, a mere toy. It had a 13-foot hull and a single, stiffly battened sail measuring 75 square feet. But the significant difference was that Beauvois sailed her backwards. That is, he turned the sail and runners 180 degrees so that now the steering runner was out front. The harder she was driven the more firmly her front runner held the ice. No flicker, though like any iceboat she still might hike a windward runner. And though far smaller than other iceboats of the day (and thus less expensive, more easily transported, and able to be sailed singlehandedly), Beau Skeeter, as he named his creation, outraced all comers. Here was a boat - the skeeter, as it would universally become known - that any man might aspire to own.
 
Four years later, at the height of the Depression, this democratization of a hitherto rich man's sport was completed with the appearance of the "DN." The letters stand for Detroit News, the newspaper that published the plans, following a contest for an easy-to-build, inexpensive iceboat of minimum size. The design - 12 feet long, 62 square feet of sail, single-handed - has become the world standard for racing.
 
The only significant inhibiting factor that keeps an iceboat from accelerating steadily until it reaches the speed of light and disappears into a time warp is what aeronautical engineers call drag. Drag builds with speed through a liquid or gaseous medium. It is the negative force that acts on the trailing edge of any surface, be it a car or a falling rock. Streamlining reduces drag. Even the most perfect airfoil, however, is subject to drag. When drag builds to the point that it equals the forward thrust, the iceboat has reached terminal velocity. It can't go any faster. What is intriguing to soft-water sailors is that on ice this natural speed limit is so much higher than in water. Even for a little DN, this may be as high as 80 or 90 mph, which, when one is skimming along on one's back only inches over the ice, gives an illusion of speed that transcends the supersonic, many times the six-mile distance. But the speed is real. Races, which begin with a running start, are three times up and down a mile-long course, set by a single leeward and windward mark. That is six miles by the tape, but a race may be over in minutes, even though the boats, dashing out on wide tacks, upwind and down, will cover many times the six-mile distance.

MORE than 100 years ago, people regularly congregated at the Hudson River for winter entertainment and recreation. It was not uncommon to see thousands of people gather on the frozen river for carnivals of music, dancing, food, skating and, most thrilling, ice yacht races. The enthusiasm for the sport a century ago is not surprising, given that the boats could reach speeds well above that of the trains running along the river.  

The sepia-toned era of winter sports on the Hudson is largely dead, not because of advances in home entertainment or newer extreme sports, but mainly because of a pattern of warmer winters, the river simply doesn't freeze over as often or as deeply as it once did. The long seasons of yesteryear, with dozens of ice yachts and large crowds of onlookers, has turned into the occasional weekend outing, with a small but dedicated group of enthusiasts keeping history alive. Nathaniel Brooks for The New York Times. February 12, 2009.

​For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to these websites:
White Wings and Black Ice here.  
HRIYC here 
​Hudson River Ice Yacht Preservation Trust website here​

The video below is from the YouTube channel of Hudson River Ice Yacht Club member Glen Burger at::  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqStQRB0uvQ53M2a0XKQrCw

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Let us now turn our attention to the hull, to see how to give our rig the best possible vehicle. Speaking in the broadest of generalities, the ideal hull would be strong enough to take all the stresses that may come to bear on it; light enough to be easily handled and yet not so light as to sacrifice momentum; easily and surely steered; comfortable enough to allow the driver to devote his attention to driving and none to hanging on, and shod with the fastest and most maneuverable runners for the conditions prevailing.
​
The principal hull member, running fore and aft, is variously called ‘‘keelson,” ‘‘backbone,” ‘‘body,” or ‘‘fuselage,” depending on its design and the word most common in local usage. Its functions are many; in fact, it is the boat. The rig drives it, and the runner plank and runners carry it. It must carry the crew with reasonable safety and comfort; it must contain the control elements — steering gear and sheet blocks. Finally, it must carry the mast step (except in the case of the lateen rig). The mast step is subject to terrific stresses which may easily be underestimated. 

​The backbone of the bow-steerer is fundamentally a simple beam, supported at its two extremities. This beam carries two loads — the weight and sailing pressure of the rig, at the mast step; and the weight of the crew, close to the rear point of support (runner plank). The mast load is highly variable, reaching a maximum whenever a strong puff strikes the sails. Since the mast step in a bow-steerer is usually located almost at the mid-point of the span between supports, the backbone must be carefully designed to take all the mast pressure without danger of failure. The weight of the crew is carried so close to the runner plank that it hardly stresses the backbone, and it is safe to assume that a backbone strong enough to withstand mast pressures will carry the crew without extra strengthening. ​

The single-stick backbone has been almost entirely abandoned by bow-steerer designers, and has been supplanted by the ‘‘box” or "fuselage" backbone. This consists of two side pieces, on edge, meeting at bow and stern, and spread apart enough to permit the crew to ride between them. They are spaced and braced by transverse bulkheads of plywood, and a plywood deck and bottom. This construction is rigid and non-twisting, a great improvement over the crazily twisting solid backbones which often used to toss the crew overboard. In addition, it affords the driver a safe, sitting-up position which increases his comfort and efficiency. Resistance to bending in such a structure comes from every element in it, for it is “welded” into a unit by waterproof glue at every joint. Nevertheless, the side pieces contribute practically all the resistance or ‘‘stiffness,’’ with some help from the crowned plywood deck. The deck would contribute far more than it does if the openings for the cockpits were not taken out of it but, after all, the skipper has some rights!

A good many fuselage boats are now equipped with windshields, exactly like those mounted on open airplane fuselages. It is significant, however, that not one championship winner in the Eastern Association and, to the best of my knowledge, in the Northwestern Association either, has carried a windshield. The answer is not that these boats are manned by supermen, who sail gaily on, oblivious of the biting wind in their faces. It is simply a matter of preference; the best skippers seem unanimous in believing that a windshield prevents them from ‘‘feeling” the wind properly. Goggles or face masks are often worn when the temperature is too low and freezing of noses seems to threaten. They are discarded the moment they can be spared in favor of the unimpaired chance to feel the wind. ​

And so we come to the steering gear. Here, again, tradition has hindered design tremendously. Because sail boats — even big ones — are steered with a tiller, ice boats were rigged the same way. No sail boat answers her helm as fast as the poorest ice boat; a sudden small jerk of the helm will probably not alter the course of the boat at all. In an ice boat, this can be fatal. The sharp steering runner provides absolutely instantaneous answering of the slightest twitch of the helm, and at a speed commonly ranging from 25 to 60 miles an hour. Imagine trying to steer your automobile at 25 to 60 miles per hour with a direct-connected tiller! You wouldn’t dare try it. And what have the automobile designers provided, to give safe, sure control of a fast vehicle? A neat, foolproof, worm-geared outfit, ideal for your ice boat. No need to get a gear from a big, heavy car; those used on Model “A” Fords of the early ’30’s are perfect for the purpose. Rig the gear so that it turns an arm or sheave connected by airplane cable to a similar one on the rudder post. 

There is one bad practice in bow-steering design which has caused some mean spills. This is the inboard tiller, entirely inside the cockpit, running up between the driver’s legs. The fact that such a set-up prevents sufficient turning of the rudder is adequately attested by the battered cockpit rails of every boat so rigged — mute evidence of the skipper’s desire to turn the rudder more than he could. It is a highly dangerous arrangement, because it prevents the quick turn to windward or to leeward which is the best way to “set her down” in a sudden hike. Many a boat so rigged has come to grief upside down; more than anything else, the limited throw of the tiller was directly responsible. ​

​In the days of old, before waterproof glue and lamination, the runner plank was often the most difficult part of the boat to obtain. Great pains were taken by the old-timers to cut just the right tree, to have the sawing done just so, to encourage natural warping and obtain a crown in the plank. Basswood, spruce and yellow poplar were used in various localities, and I have seen planks of ash, over 20’ long, and a full 6” by 16” at the center, along the Hudson River. Those were the days of tremendous boats, tremendous weight, and — tremendous inefficiency. Granted that these colossal old boats must have been awe inspiring, to say the least, their speed, except in a half-gale, was nothing to brag about. Here and there along the river one or two of them still appear when there is ice and, though it is a thrill to sit in the cockpit and see all that oak and iron out in front of you, it is no joke to have to push one of them through a six-inch snowdrift. Good planks, capable of carrying these boats and their tremendous spreads of canvas, were almost literally jewels of great price. 

The modern plank is far different. Almost invariably laminated, it consists of two or more boards — again Sitka spruce is tops — glued together and given the desired curvature before the glue sets. Once the glue has set, the crown is there for keeps.  Proper length of plank is vital to the success of the boat, as it has much to do with both stability and speed. Greater length of runner-plank gives: (1) Greater resiliency and spring for the same cross section; (2) a “stiffer’’ boat, less apt to hike; (3) a less favorable hiking-angle, making a bow-steerer stand on her nose or a stern-steerer rear over backward in a hike.
The final qualification for our ideal hull was that it should be “shod with the fastest and most maneuverable runners possible.” Materials used run from the tried and true cast iron shoe with oak tops to shoes of T-iron, angle iron, stainless steel and even bronze alloys. Cast iron, though prone to nick and hard to sharpen, still takes the finest polish and, in my experience, makes the fastest runner of all.

All runners are mounted on single through bolts, permitting up-and-down rocking as they pass over bumps. The proper position of this bolt in the length of the runner has a great deal to do with performance, and many runners are provided with two or more bolt holes, for use on various types of ice surface. The working principle is this: A riding bolt abaft (behind) the center of the runner will put more blade ahead of the weight, and hence will provide a longer lever arm for lifting that weight over each little bump. On smooth, hard ice (the kind we dream about and rarely see), this advantage may not be needed. 

Runners deserve good care. Their edges should be protected from nicking by canvas bags or wooden scabbards when not in use, and they should be removed from the boat, thoroughly cleaned, dried and the edges wiped down with oil whenever the boat is laid up for more than overnight. Remember to use light machine oil and to wipe it off before using the runners again. Heavy oil, when cold, is just so much sticky jelly; many a sluggish performance on snowy ice has resulted from the skipper’s neglect of this one point. Contrary to popular belief, runners treated and used with reasonable care require little sharpening during a season. Naturally, letting them accumulate rust, dragging them up on stony beaches and sailing them over stones and pieces of wire is going to make work at the filing bench — but don’t blame the runners! Filing runners is an art but, in brief, the basic “don’ts’’ are these:

Don’t file across the blade; always run the file with the runner.

Don’t work with a bad file or a bad vice. Use a good, steady vice or, preferably, a set of blocks with notches for the runner tops at such an angle that the blade faces will lie exactly horizontal.

Don’t file one side down more than the other; keep them even, to keep the edge on center.

Don’t use too coarse a file, and don’t fail to knock the filings out of it after every stroke.

Don’t be afraid to work; runner-filing is tough. Don’t expect the same care in a hired job as in one you do yourself.

The runner tops require little or no special care, beyond varnish or paint to keep the weather out. The stud bolts that hold the runner shoes to the tops should be taken up every fall, to offset any shrinkage of the wooden tops which may have occurred during the summer.

And so we have worked out a modern ice boat, from rig to hull to runners. She is about as fast and sensitive a machine as the average man can build for himself and, like anything fast and sensitive, she can be handled or mishandled with equal ease. THE END

Solid or hollow? Again a compromise, between lightness and stiffness on one hand and ease of construction, added strength and resilience on the other. Granted that the solid spar weighs a bit more, it is far easier to build if you are going to make your own, and it is far stronger in case your boat is a bow-steerer, and capsizes some windy day. A mast that will stay up there and prop up the boat after the spill may not only save boat, sail and rigging, but may also save you. As in all questions of weight, the ice boat does not pay anything like the penalty for added weight that the sail boat or the airplane does. The sail boat sinks deeper into the water for every pound added; hence a penalty in added resistance. The airplane must use a higher lift airfoil to carry added weight; hence a penalty in speed and fuel consumption. The ice boat, on the contrary, unless sailing in deep slush, adds practically nothing to resistance or to required draft of sail by the addition of a few pounds of weight. Where the gain is on the side of safety, there should be no question, particularly now that heavier-than-average boats have proved themselves faster in competition..

​First, when the boat started out, moving slowly, her full-cut sail, with plenty of draft, was just what she wanted — the high-lift, low-speed wing, if you will. Soon she was up to real speed. Another interesting result of this method of staying the spar is that the lower portion, below the stays, was bent to leeward but the upper portion was deflected to windward because of the stiffness of the mast and the small sail area up there. The two bends had transformed a straight stick into a beautifully curved and amazingly efficient wing edge.

Stay attachment to a rotating mast presents another problem - that of proper attachment to allow, or even encourage, the pivoting action. The best method is ridiculously simple. Attach the headstay to a single tang or to the bar of a small but strong boom-type plate fitting. Attach both shrouds to a single bolt passing through the mast, from side to side, and cross these wires over one another so that the port shroud leads up, across the front of the mast and around to the starboard end of the bolt, and vice versa. The pull on the weather shroud rotates the mast exactly as we want it to rotate. Wear and fatigue in the stiff rigging wire can be avoided by fitting the upper ends of the shrouds with short pennants of flexible wire. Sheathing the mast with thin copper or brass, and grooving it for the under shroud, are refinements which will help further to reduce chafing. The great advantage, aside from the help to rotation, is the absence of any special fitting, and the clean, uninterrupted wind flow around the spar. A saving in expense and a gain in power and efficiency at the same time should be convincing arguments.

A word about the rotating mast step before we go on to the boom. The simplest and best is the ball and socket type, usually a metal socket set into the heel of the mast, riding on a metal ball mounted on deck. One word of caution about this type of fitting: The socket should be a good inch or more in depth, to prevent possible unstepping of the mast while coming about on rough ice. Adjustable mast steps of this type have the ball casting arranged to slide fore and aft in a piece of dural channel mounted on deck. Several holes in the sides of the channel permit corresponding positions of the ball casting, which is held in place by pins through the holes. A satisfactory home-made version is a trailer hitch ball, mounted either on deck or in the heel of the mast, working in a metal-lined socket. No lubricant seems necessary in these fittings. 

The boom (horizontal portion of a boat’s rig) is far simpler than the mast, both in function and design.  Early plank booms were rigged with bulky wooden jaws, which were a loose fit on the mast so that some rotation was possible. A neater solution is to use a regular roller reefing gooseneck. This is a neat bronze jaw which hugs the mast and carries a rotating boom jaw on its after side. It is satisfactory in operation and accident-proof. The gooseneck fittings designed for Class E boats, consisting of a track on the mast carrying a universal-joint boom fitting, seem satisfactory for Class E and Class D rigs but are not recommended for anything larger. 

Now that we have our spars and standing rigging, the rest of our power plant is the sail, with its accessories, the battens, and the control elements, sheets and sheet blocks. Heretofore, sails have been cut ‘full,’ so that the wind would blow them out into the desired curve. Naturally, such sails hang limp and useless until the breeze strikes them. By contrast, the modern ice boat sail, rigidly set to the desired curve, wind or no wind, is a great deal more efficient. No time is lost when the breeze strikes; power is instantly generated without the wait for the sail to fill. The canvas should be much heavier than that used on a sail boat. The pressure of the battens (long, flat strips of squared wood or metal used to hold fabric in place) will soon ruin the shape of a sail made of light material, and the use of the battens makes light cloth unnecessary. The speed of ice boats and the vicious drive of the winter wind all call for good stout cloth.

When the breeze is lighter, the sheet (line attached to the lower sail) may be belayed (secured), and the skipper can loll in the cockpit and enjoy a fine afternoon’s sail — if he is that kind of a skipper. I have never seen one in an ice boat. No matter how light the air, the typical ice-boater is doing his best to get every bit of speed possible, whether racing or just sailing around. For this, playing the sheet constantly is essential. There is no “feel" of the boat through the rudder, such as that which the sail boat skipper uses to such good advantage. The steering runner has no grip in the ice equivalent to the grip of the sail boat’s rudder, and cannot possibly transmit any messages to the helmsman as to whether he is carrying a weather or lee helm. But “feel’’ via the sheet is another matter. The power and pull of the sail is directly transmitted to the skipper’s hand through the sheet and, through this instantaneous telegraph, he can tell when a shift of course has increased or decreased the power of his rig long before an appreciable change in boat speed is evident, and without any apparent difference in the set of the sail. The power of a violent puff, apt to cause a high hike or even a capsize, can be felt instantly and in ample time to ease the sheet a trifle. In fact, the whole business of getting the most out of your boat depends on a keen coordination of hand and eye to keep giving her the maximum possible drive without getting into trouble—and this makes constant sheet-trimming mandatory. 

I would like to open this discussion in true amateur fashion by stating flatly that the ice boat is a ridiculously simple affair, and that, in nine races out of ten, the only significant difference between the first boat and the  last is either better runners, better sails, better controls or, most common of all, a better skipper. 

I would add that excellence in all these four essentials is relatively easy to attain — with the possible exception of excellence in the matter of sails. Sailmaking is a fine art, and ice boat sailmaking is a specialty within that art. Nevertheless, an understanding of what a sail really is, and of how it works, will enable you to do wonders for the sail you have without having to dent the budget for a new one. One of the grand things about any kind of sailing is that the ability to write fat checks never made a sailor, and the wise old ‘horny-handed’s boys who build their own and patch their sails can still bring ’em home in front — because they know what makes ’em tick. 

​To start with the broadest of generalities, every ice boat is essentially a framework mounted on runners and propelled by sails. Her speed, unhampered by any appreciable resistance, is more like that of a small airplane than that of a sail boat. Hence, it is reasonable to suspect that there is more food for thought in the airplane field than in that of the sail boat when we get into matters of design. 

By and large, the general conclusion ran pretty close to the most obvious one: that, somehow or other, the reversed hull, with rudder forward and runner plank aft, was the key to the situation. Pinned down to paper and pencil, some of these theories were a bit weird. Here and there amid the tumult and the shouting was heard a still, small voice saying: ‘Forget about the d—- bow rudder for a while and take a good, long look at the rig.” … The Europeans insisted that the secret of the new boats’ amazing speed lay in their modern, efficient and powerful rigs. They pointed out that tiny little sails of only 75 square feet area on these boats were generating enough power to carry two men as well as the boat at speeds far above those of the older and far bigger boats. They also pointed out that heretofore no boat with less than 125 square feet of sail had ever been more than an impractical toy, with no performance rating whatsoever. That this raised a storm of dissension is putting it mildly, for not only did these newcomers run rings around us and make us feel distinctly old-fashioned and helpless, but they all sported that shameless and unscientific cat rig! 

Let us here continue to delve into the problem of designing a proper rig for our ice boat in the light of the fast, off-the-bow, air current that seems to be what she normally has to work with. On the ice, courses are seldom held for more than a few seconds; wind direction and velocity are constantly shifting. There is no time for delicate sheet trimming. With a one-sail rig, it is possible, by hard work and a quick hand, to keep all the canvas constantly drawing. But with a sloop rig, the wind in the jib is going to do just one of three possible things: (a) help to drive the boat; (b) backwind the mainsail because trimmed too flat (killing the drive in the big sail); (c) luff because not trimmed flat enough, upsetting the air flow to the mainsail and surely doing nothing to increase progress.

​It is interesting to note here that the generally unsatisfactory behavior of ice boat jibs was well known to the pioneers of the sport along the Hudson River in the seventies and eighties of the last century. They tried the cat rig, complete with enormous mast and heavy gaff, all stepped on the backbone, well forward of the runner plank so as to bring the C.E. (Center of Effort) up by the main runners and away from the rudder. The results are not hard to imagine: One after another of these juggernauts took a quick run to windward, all very fine, turned gracefully around the weather mark, caught the breeze from the quarter, lifted her rear end off the ice and went berserk. The final wind-up was sometimes a quick spin in mid-river, with the crew sliding off gaily over the ice. But more often than not it was a sickening crash as the whole works tried vainly to rearrange the solid rock ballast of the Hudson River Railroad. 

In the early 1880’s, Charles and William Merritt, of the little village of Chelsea, on the Hudson River, designed and built the first successful lateen-rigged ice boat. Her single sail, triangular in shape, was bent to two long slender spars, called “boom” and “gaff,” respectively, from their relative positions when hoisted.

​The C.E. was well forward, away from the rudder, and yet there was no heavy mast out on the nose of the boat to overbalance her and lift the rudder off the ice — the bugbear of the cat rigs of that day. Results were as they should have been — highly successful. After one season of scaring the daylights out of far bigger sloop-rigged boats, she was bought by Commodore John E. Roosevelt, uncle of President Roosevelt, and one of the greatest of all ice boat fans. He named her Eugene and for many years she sailed with the Hyde Park fleet. Later, she was sold and renamed Vixen, under which rakish title she still races regularly as the flagship of the Orange Lake Ice Yacht Club.

Other lateens followed immediately but the sloop rig was still in favor with the famous builder and designer, Jacob Buckhout, of Poughkeepsie, who, with his son George, built most of this country’s successful ice yachts until quite recent years. The Buckhouts turned the ice boat into the ice yacht, refined and perfected their basic sloop-rigged design until their products completely swept the field. In so doing, they swept the lateen rig, which had benefited from no such refinement, into the discard. Had the Buckhouts worked on either the cat or the lateen with similar persistence, they would, without a doubt, have arrived at the highly successful cat-rigged type now almost universal in Europe; an extremely light, hollow mast and Marconi rig to cut down nose-weight, and an exceptionally long backbone, extending several feet abaft the main boom, to keep the rudder on the ice and minimize spinning. But they stuck to the sloop, which thereafter remained the accepted rig until that fatal day when some “crazy Westerner" stuck a cat rig onto a reverse-English hull that steered from the front like Sister Susie’s tricycle — and, zowie! the apple cart was not only upside down — it was demolished.

When the wind is light, the larger boats carry enough sail to get them going, and speeds are not so great that skin friction and form resistance on hull and spars are major retarding factors. Hence, the big ones should — and do — win the races when the breeze is light. But, when it breezes up, the smallest racing class of all can — and does — show a clean pair of heels (and a taut, unflapping sail) to her bigger sisters handicapped by too much canvas. Even if they don smaller sails, they cannot hide their larger and bulkier hulls, or their taller masts, with resultant greater resistance, and the little ones gaily zip around and pass them with maddening consistency. 

A most interesting case in point was this year’s Open Championship of the Eastern Ice Yachting Association. (This race is a contest between the winning boats from each of six sail area classes, ranging from the 75-square feet “Skeeters” up to the 350-square feet Class A boats.) It started in a medium light breeze, which turned out to be only a temporary lull in a howling northwester. The big boat skippers started off in fine style, the three largest boats immediately walking away from the little fellows. And then the gale came back! All the boats started to go faster but the big ones were immediately in trouble; too much canvas. The only recourse was to luff, which they did, with a will, and managed to stay right side up. But what of the “BE” boat? No luffing there! She started out after the leaders like a shot out of a gun. She caught and passed all but one — and the skipper of that one can speak with feeling when he says that it was a steadily losing fight. 

And so we come to the end of this first powwow on ice boats, with a picture of the ice boat of the future gradually forming in our minds:

Rig: Cat (until someone works out a narrow, rigid jib that can be controlled by a mechanical device like a greenhouse window rig).

Type: Bow-steering (until the built-in contradictory forces of the stern-steerer can be eliminated by improved design or until the four-runner boat comes into her own).

Backbone: Long and relatively heavy.

Size: As small as possible, for strong winds — probably not over 175 square feet (Class C) in any case.

Shape of sail: Tall, narrow (2 to 1), and as smooth of surface texture as can possibly be obtained. Also, rigidly and stiffly arched into the proper airfoil curvature, either by full length battens in cloth sails, or by properties of the sail itself if we can get to metal or plywood sails. 
​(To Be Continued) Ray Ruge

Editor's Note: This article by Raymond A. Ruge is reproduced from the December 1936 issue of  Yachting​ magazine. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to White Wings and Black Ice here.  ​

In spite of all the progress toward efficiency and speed made in sailing yachts, the ice boat, the fastest non-motorized vehicle known to man, has remained until very recently the slave of convention and tradition. Improvements in materials, sails, runners, rigging and construction details followed one another in steady progression, but in her fundamental design, the ice boat of 1930 was the ice boat of 1870 — and she still retained the devilish habit of spinning. There was no escaping the tendency to depress the bow and lift the stern whenever a hard puff struck the sails. This inevitable result of the action of the forces driving her is familiar to all small boat sailors. In a sail boat, with her rudder buried deep in the water, it is not particularly annoying. But let an ice boat's rudder be lifted the slightest fraction of an inch and it loses its already precarious grip on the glassy surface, and away she goes, in a cloud of ice slivers and a roar of grinding runners, around and around in a double or even triple spin, completely out of control. At a speed of sixty to seventy miles an hour, which is common enough, and with a competitor driving hard only a few feet astern, the possibility of a nasty crack-up is not hard to imagine. 

​Once the simplicity of this, and the beautiful self-compensating relation of wind pressure to rudder-on-ice pressure, dawns on you, it seems too good to be true. While it is difficult to assign the exact credit for this brilliant solution of the ice boat's one great fault, it is safe to attribute the development and perfection of the bow-steerer to the famous Meyer Brothers, of Wisconsin. They built and raced the renowned Paula series of ice yachts, all champions but all experimental, each one eliminating certain faults found in her predecessor.

​As a result, the bow-steerer is now as safe as she is fast, and ice yachting is coming into its own all over the northern part of the country. For the bow-steerer won't spin. Her pilot need not ease her through the puffs — he can hold his sheets and let her go — and the fact that bow-steerers everywhere are consistently defeating older boats of far greater sail area is sufficient proof that she can go.
​
Convinced by the logic of this analysis of spinning, and of the bow-steerer as the solution, during the fall of 1925 I constructed Icicle. She carried the rig of my 18-foot one-design sail boat - about 190 square feet, in a conventional jib and mainsail. A club was added to the foot of the jib, both to keep it flat and to simplify the jib sheet. By using a club, a single sheet working on a traveler makes the jib practically self-tending, a necessary feature where the main sheet and steering wheel require constant attention.

The rig of almost any small sloop can be used on an ice boat if provision is made for the heavier wind stresses involved. Wintry blasts are heavier, faster and harder-hitting than summer breezes. Sails which have been discarded because they have stretched and lost their precious draft are just the ones to use on your ice boat for, contrary to sail boat practice, the rule here is ”the flatter, the faster.”

Icicle has a fuselage, or body, made of light frames and ribs, covered with unbleached muslin to which was applied airplane "dope™ and aluminum paint. This superstructure serves merely as a shield from the biting wind and is built around the traditional central backbone timber, made of an 18-foot 4" x 6" to which was bolted a 16-foot 4" × 4", over- hanging 6 feet aft. This composite timber rides on edge, with the 4" x6" below and toward the bow. The runner plank crosses under the extreme after end of the 18-foot lower member. The mast is stepped directly on the backbone, passing through a hole in the cloth deck which also admits the main and jib sheets to the cockpit, where they are controlled by jam cleats. The backbone also carries the steering gear and all fastenings for frame guys, so that the cloth super-structure is subjected to no stresses except those caused by wind pressure. This permits a comfortable, protected riding position, automobile steering, and a side-by-side arrangement of the two seats, all of which tend to increase the pleasure and reduce the discomfort of a day's fast sailing.

The runner plank shown embodies the latest improvements in design. First of all, those familiar with past practice will note the unusual length of the plank for the sail area carried. This serves two purposes; it prevents excessive hiking and makes for easy riding, both of which are aids to speed. By using waterproof casein glue, a laminated arched plank, light in weight and springy in action, is easy to make. The second departure from older practice lies in the extra foot of plank projecting beyond the runners. This carries on its underside a smooth, rounded oak sliding block which comes in contact with the ice when the boat hikes very high and allows her to slip sideways and come down right side up rather than capsize.

A good runner plank is essentially a broad, flat wooden spring. A stiff plank means a slower boat. The runner plank is fastened to the backbone by two pieces of 2-1/2" x 2-1/2" angle iron, drilled for bolts through the side rails and plank. A block of rubber under the bearing surfaces will absorb some of the shock when passing over rough ice.
 
The most vital parts of any ice boat, where the right thing is the only thing, are the runners. There are many types of runners in use, but the oldest is still one of the most satisfactory and may be sometimes acquired in good condition second, third, and even fourth-hand. This type of runner consists of an oak top piece to which is bolted a cast iron or steel shoe, sharpened to a "V" edge. It is in the subtle but all important rocker of the shoe and the correct angle of the ice faces, or the two sides of the "V," that the fast runner differs from the slow one. For an all-purpose runner, which will carry the boat through soft ice and slush as well as over hard, black ice, the faces of the shoe, called "ice faces." should meet at about 90° and be from ½" to ¾" wide.
 
The rudder is a shorter edition of the main runners but has little rocker. The rudder must be kept sharp for, if it skids, control of the fast-moving craft is, at best, sketchy. After the runners are mounted, oil the inside faces of the chocks, next to the runners. This is one spot that must not be varnished or painted. Graphite is often smeared over these faces to help the runner rock freely. Keep the runner shoes greased to prevent rusting; when leaving the boat for a protracted interval, it is well to remove the runners entirely and keep them at home, along with the sails, where they will be dry and safe from inquisitive skaters.
 
Allowing $40.00 for new runners, and the same amount for a fair suit of sails, the materials for this boat should total about $120. The yachtsman who has a sail boat with a suitable rig and the usual assortment of odd rigging, turnbuckles, blocks, etc., can cut the necessary outlay down to $75. Clear spruce is the lightest and best material for the spars, runner plank and back-bone; fir is second choice. Fir is easier to get and is cheaper but is apt to be heavy. Runner tops, chocks and knees are of quartered white oak. Plywood 3/8" thick is ideal for deck and bottom of back-bone. A few oak slats passing under the plywood floor from rail to rail will stiffen it sufficiently under the cockpit.
 
A boat of this type can be transported easily by trailer, and two men can set her up in an hour, provided that this has been already completely done at home before taking the boat to the ice. It is hoped that the success of the adapted sail boat rig may encourage other yachtsmen to build ice boats to carry the rigs of their sail boats. The most active ice boating centers in the East are all within fifty miles of New York and can be reached by car in a couple of hours. I know I can speak for the ice boating fraternity in assuring all of you a most cordial welcome to this king of winter sports.

Editor’s Note:  During the fall of 1925, Ray Ruge, at age 17, constructed the Icicle. 

Editor's Note: As mentioned in the 6/30/2023 blog, “Ice Yachting Winter Sailboats Hit More Than 100 m.p.h. by John A. Carroll, The Detroit Ice Yachting Club has fostered one of the more exclusive organizations in the world - the Hell Divers. To be eligible, a yachtsman merely has to take the plunge and survive to tell the story.”  It appears that Raleigh became a Hell Diver by his harrowing experience. 

To learn more about the fishermen who created the circles on the ice, go to New York Heritage HRMM Commercial Fishermen oral histories here.