From Wilbur M. Schurman’s I Remember, his chapter called, “The Thrill of a Lifetime”—here’s the short version of said thrill.
December 1933: Wilbur and his surveying colleagues Porter Schoff, Joe Whyte and Brad White were sent to the Second Connecticut Lake to measure the actual distance between two points visible from the air for calibration of ariel photographs.
All well and good. It was winter, a fair day. For measurement purposes they were using a 100 foot chain—which was actually a steel tape with a rawhide lace at each end for tying up.
The ice wasn’t all that thick, so Wilbur and Brad took the precaution of tying one of the rawhide laces at each end of the chair to each of their wrists, so if somebody fell through, they’d have something to hold on to.
Brad led the way. They started at 10 AM and by noon were about half way across the lake -- the warm sun was melting the ice as they went, making them a tad bit nervous.
Unbeknownst to them, during the night, the gates of the dam had been opened and the water level lowered, leaving about six inches between the water and the ice they were crossing.
Then comes the thrill. The two men were about 50 feet apart with the chain between them. When “all of a sudden there was a tremendous roar and a tremor like an earthquake. It was rumbling all around the mountains and the ice began to drop underneath us. I suppose,” Wilbur writes, “it dropped to the water level.”
Wilbur ran one way. Brad ran the other. When they hit 100 feet apart, the chain and laces held and they both crashed to the ice on their backs—much to the amusement of Joe and Porter, safe on shore.
December 1933: Wilbur and his surveying colleagues Porter Schoff, Joe Whyte and Brad White were sent to the Second Connecticut Lake to measure the actual distance between two points visible from the air for calibration of ariel photographs.
All well and good. It was winter, a fair day. For measurement purposes they were using a 100 foot chain—which was actually a steel tape with a rawhide lace at each end for tying up.
The ice wasn’t all that thick, so Wilbur and Brad took the precaution of tying one of the rawhide laces at each end of the chair to each of their wrists, so if somebody fell through, they’d have something to hold on to.
Brad led the way. They started at 10 AM and by noon were about half way across the lake -- the warm sun was melting the ice as they went, making them a tad bit nervous.
Unbeknownst to them, during the night, the gates of the dam had been opened and the water level lowered, leaving about six inches between the water and the ice they were crossing.
Then comes the thrill. The two men were about 50 feet apart with the chain between them. When “all of a sudden there was a tremendous roar and a tremor like an earthquake. It was rumbling all around the mountains and the ice began to drop underneath us. I suppose,” Wilbur writes, “it dropped to the water level.”
Wilbur ran one way. Brad ran the other. When they hit 100 feet apart, the chain and laces held and they both crashed to the ice on their backs—much to the amusement of Joe and Porter, safe on shore.
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