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The historic Polar Vortex of 2013/2014 had invaded my small Indiana hometown, dropping inches of snow and plummeting temperatures to well below zero. From the comfort of indoors, the icescape was a breathtaking sight: Pristine, unperturbed snow glistened like so many crystals in the afternoon sunlight, causing my eyes to squint. It was one of those winter days when blue sky and bright sun were paradoxically juxtaposed against icy snow and frigid winds. The silky fondant blanketed the world; rolling drifts buttressing trees, cars, and houses; the air devoid of falling flakes apart from those caught up in the Charybdis-like winds.
Weathercasters had insisted that everyone stay inside that day, but I was determined to experience the marvel, beauty, and wildness of the wind and footprintless snow. I had to be careful though — reports stated that any exposed skin would frostbite in under 15 minutes — so I had to dress well-layered.
It's important to remember to lace up your boots before donning gloves. On too many occasions I've forgotten and stubbornly attempted to maneuver the slender strings in my mitted paws, only to realize its futility and remove the gloves as I should've done at the very beginning. This time, though, I remembered. Layered head to toe in a balaclava, cinched hood, ski goggles, down coat, long Johns, and snow pants, not a millimeter of bare skin was exposed.
My pipe couldn't be layered however. I hoped that the burning tobacco would protect the briar from the external barrage of wind and cold, but I would've been lying had I said I was confident the extreme temperature variances wouldn't damage the bowl. It was an experiment, of sorts, not dissimilar to me layering up, crossing my fingers it would be adequate protection.
I clenched the bent Dublin through the face mask's slit, lighting the tobacco thoroughly before finally putting on my gloves. Perspiration had already developed underneath all the insulation, and my heart's steady rhythm quickened in anticipation of the frozen world just beyond the front door. Turning to the mirror, I imagined myself an intrepid Arctic explorer, a team member of Nansen or Shackleton, seconds away from stepping off the boat and into an unfamiliar tundra. I was Neil Armstrong about to grace the moon's surface with its first footprint.
I could hear the wind roaring outside as I twisted the doorknob. Freezing air swept around me through the opening, and I turned my back, buffeting the maelstrom away to close the door behind me. The wind waged war, fighting against the closing door, beating my back, attempting to invade my home and extinguish the warmth within. Even as the winter wind raged, though, I couldn't feel it. I could feel the pressure it exerted against me, but there was no temperature. My layering had succeeded. A cocktail of confidence and adrenaline bolstered my resolve, and I raised my head and turned around to explore my wintery domain.
"Son of a..."
Ash and unburned ribbons of tobacco, now stuck in the thread fibers of the face mask, were all that remained of my once burning bowl of tobacco. The wind mocked me — foolish man to think this was his domain. I may have dressed warm enough to endure the cold, but I had underestimated the wind's force and neglected my pipe. Maybe a windcap could've helped, I mused, but even then, it probably would've done little to resist the rioting gale.
I stood on the porch cursing the wind and kicking myself for lack of foresight. Thankfully, I was alone in my embarrassment, everyone else tucked cozily away in their homes, but my plan for an adventurous, pipesmoking walk through the snow was now utterly foiled. I pocketed the briar and shuffled shamefully, head lowered in defeat, to the end of the driveway, my tracks the only disturbances in the otherwise glassy sea of white. Looking out at the cul-de-sac and surrounding neighborhood, I realized the truth: this was no place for man to be. Nature was harsh and unforgiving, and the wind ruled this world.
Without purpose, I absentmindedly checked the mailbox, knowing full well that no post office would dare deliver today yet wanting some excuse to justify my disappointingly short walk, and then traced my steps back to the house.
My mirrored reflection met me once the door shut against the still tumultuous wind. Nansen? Shackleton? Armstrong? I more resembled the Michelin Man or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man than I did a brave explorer. The mirror pointed and laughed at me, just as the wind had.
I traded out my snow pants for sweats, down jacket for a hoodie, and methodically built a fire beneath the living room mantle, arranging the wood and kindling tight enough to burn well but with enough air to remain lit. Sitting back, I sunk into self-pity, wallowing in my foolishness and misplaced confidence. But then I remembered the pipe still in my coat pocket, and a smile crept up my cheeks. My pipesmoking plan wasn't busted after all, merely altered. The house was cozy, comfortable, and, most importantly, windless. Why had I even considered a stroll earlier? This is where I should've stayed all along.
Rising and returning with the briar, I packed the bowl, pressing the tobacco tight enough to burn well but with enough air to remain lit. The ignited ribbons rose and glowed in tandem with the hearth, puffs of smoke filling the room, and I finally relaxed, the disappointment from earlier fading away as I propped my feet up in front of the fire. Outside the wind howled against the house. It could have the outdoors, but inside was my domain.
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Comments
Trying to smoke a pipe outdoors in windy conditions is futile. I’d opine that 32o, even without wind, is the lower limit for a somewhat enjoyable smoke. It’s doable with a bit of shelter from a deck or porch. Personally, I rescued a perfectly good chair my wife discarded and put it in the basement with an ashtray stand, plus a pile of old P&T magazines I was being urged to recycle, plus a bottle of Irish whisky. Of course, if you have a fireplace and a sensible spouse, there’s no need to brave the outdoors or improvise other arrangements. This past Winter, a piping Codger housed in an assisted living arrangement in Minnesota sat outside in arctic gear. A guard checked on him now and then. That’s dedication.
I'm up in Sherbrooke, Quebec. Before living here, it was Queens, NYC. The wind ruins it for me. I have been outside smoking a pipe in all kinds of cold weather, dressed for it, even an electric blanket once. If it's windy, it just sucks. Tobacco blowing out of the bowl, it's even colder, and the taste is hard to discern.
Here in England it can be chilly but winter is mostly wind and rain. Nothing a Mastercraft Sparkproof can’t deal with along with a bowl of Ogdens Mixture . And yes I am banished to the porch !