I spew water, coughing and retching. The cold burns my skin like fire. My face dips below the surface again. I tamp down panic, kick harder. My face scrapes ice and emerges. Reaching out, I grasp the edge of the ice. It breaks off in my hands. I make another wild grab. It holds this time and I cling to it.

It takes precious seconds for my brain to kick in. I try to remember my cold-water rescue training. I roll onto my back. Night sky overhead. Clouds rushing past a hazy moon. I’m shivering so violently I can barely maintain my grip on the ice. I know my strength won’t last long.

The opening through which I fell is about three feet in diameter. I raise my right leg, try to get my foot out of the water and onto the ice, but my boots are too heavy, filled with water. I can’t reach down, so I use my foot to remove the other boot.

My strength is waning at an alarming rate. If I’m going to survive, I have to get out of the water. Turning, I locate my tracks, the last place where the ice was strong enough to support me. Sliding my arms across the surface of the ice, I kick my feet as fast and hard as I can. I’m hampered by my single remaining boot, but it can’t be helped. Kicking, kicking, I claw at the ice. An animal trapped and fighting for its life. Slowly, my feet rise so that I’m belly down and nearly horizontal.

Then my chest is on the ice’s surface. I reach out, hands scrabbling, sliding, fingers digging in. A flurry of kicks and I’m facedown on the ice, wet hair in my eyes. Violent shivers rack my body. I don’t have the strength to get up. Even if I could, the risk of falling through a second time is too great. Instead, I do the only thing I can—roll.

A few feet from shore, I get to my hands and knees and crawl. Frozen cattails scratch my face, but my skin is numb. I don’t stop until I’m on solid ground, where the bank slopes steeply up. I collapse, coughing and choking. I rest my head against the snow. My hands and legs are numb. Oddly, I’m no longer cold. My thoughts slog through a brain filled with cotton.

I think I hear the engine of a snowmobile. There’s nothing I can do about it. I’m physically spent. I know if I close my eyes I’ll tumble into a waiting darkness.