Ice Ice Baby

Liam Lonsdale versus a frozen lake north of Beijing.

By Peak Design

Liam Lonsdale. A great name for a Chevy dealership owner. Liam Lonsdale does not own a Chevy dealership. But if you met Liam, you can bet your ass you'd be ready to buy or lease a certified pre-owned 2015 Silverado Crew Cab (with the off-road package) from the guy after about 5 minutes of conversation.

Liam is a photographer, climber, presenter, commentator, writer, traveler, and one hell of an entertainer. Last March he joined the Peak Design team at the UK Photo Show in Birmingham. We spent 4 days at our booth watching Liam draw endless crowds of people by demoing our gear in some sort of whimsical medieval gaelic language. We later found out it was just English, as spoken by a high-energy Northerner. So fascinating!

He then took the PD team on a camping and abseiling trip, because he's the best friend you could ever ask for.

Liam, showing a tight pair of pants who the boss is. It's Liam, FYI.

Naturally, people like Liam are prone to doing weird and badass things. So, when he told us about his slippery experience in China, we decided it was time to unleash Liam Lonsdale on you all. Enjoy.

i was the penguin

I struggled to steady myself, the surface of the lake, frozen solid; offered less friction than polished glass. My winter boots, alleged specialists in this terrain, were hopeless. It was seemingly impossible to find even the slightest amount of traction. I looked ridiculous. Standing, or rather, wobbling there, hoping to find my balance and failing. You know how penguins look when they're walking on land? Like they don’t belong...like they were badly designed for being there. Well, in that moment I was the penguin...

Nevertheless, looking good has never been an important factor to me when I have got my mind set on a location, or I am chasing light...getting “the shot” is the only thing that matters. Most of the time the shots I want come with some significant risks, but as a wise man once said, ‘one cannot refuse to eat just because there is a chance of being choked’.

Frozen Lake: 1, Liam: 0

I had spotted the motorized scooter whizzing across the ice from a few hundred metres away. The situation seemed preposterous, I mean, we are talking about a frozen lake here and someone is driving across it! Maybe the surprise was a British thing? Immediately I knew that there could be a shot here and like a bloodhound on a scent, I was on a mission; I just needed to work out how the hell to get over there, quickly.

Eventually I found my balance. Gradually I found my rhythm and using the ripples and dents in the surface began to shuffling; inching in the direction of the scooter until my shuffle became a glide and I was skating, all "Blades of Glory," a lone wolf, gaining confidence, my pace increased.

WHAM.

I'm flat on my back. Looking up at the sky above me, the haze and smog glowed with tones of orange and blue as the sun started to drop in the sky, ever closer towards the horizon. The ice around my aching head reflected the light and for a moment I forgot the pain. But only for a moment. Crap. That really hurt. I blinked and screwed up my face and rubbed my it with cold hands. My ribs ached. I would feel that one in the morning. It happened so fast.

My trusty 5D, still in my Sling, had somehow managed to rotate around me and had avoided death by crushing ... or more likely, avoided breaking my ribs on impact! I rolled onto my front, a little bit winded and a lot dazed, the frigid surface chilled my ungloved fingers as they began to support my weight. I pushed up onto my knees, downward dog onto my feet, forcing myself upright with the momentum. I let out a long, deep exhale...willing it to keep me upright. I composed myself and then I continued, slowly, in the direction of the men.

Huairou is a decent sized town north of Beijing, it gets cold here. Really cold. The massive body of water that I was currently stood atop, normally provides drinking water for millions of people...but now it was frozen and not going anywhere fast. I reckoned the ice must be a minimum of 6" thick; or at least I hoped so. I skated onward.

The few hundred yards of skidding and sliding across the ice had felt like miles. I was a fish out of water, falling down a grand total of three times before I had even got close to the guys. But then, eventually, I was close. And the men were right next to me, their scooter laden with nets and fishing gear. "So this is why they're here" I thought to myself.

down to business

“Nǐ hǎo,” I spoke with a polite tone, unsure of how best to pronounce the words I had only learned a day before, but still wanting to appear open and confident.

They responded with the same, barely glancing up at me as they continued going about their business.

The younger of the two men grabbed a long metal bar, one end was pointed like a javelin, but by the way he heaved it from the trailer, I could tell it was much heavier. Glancing around the surface of the ice, he chose his spot and raised the bar above his head. In one violent movement he slammed it back down, the point burying its head into the icy crust. The whole world vibrated, or at least that’s how it felt; the shockwaves traveling up through my feet and shaking my eyes in their sockets. The bar rose again and smashed down again, this time harder and faster, a hole began to take shape.

After 30 seconds more of the destruction, the slamming stopped and there was a hollow splash. It was through. The surface gave way and revealed a watery blackness below. Beneath the ice he placed a rocket shaped tool that would carry a line under the surface, sharp toothed wheels biting into the underside of the ground on which we stood. He released it and followed its direction from above until some 40 metres away; he stopped and began creating a new hole, slamming the metal bar into the ice to retrieve the torpedo and with it the line it had towed.

gnarly fingers

Meanwhile, an older pair of hands began to unfurl one of the large nets. Ungloved, gnarly fingers prised apart the mesh from the large coil of metal wire that tidied it all together. Attached to the now taught line beneath the ice, the net was fed downwards into the ice cold darkness, gradually spreading itself out, ready to catch whatever was unlucky enough to swim within its reaches.

All the while, camera in hand, I observed and watched and moved around the men. Tentatively capturing their every move as the setting sun continued to catch the smoggy air and worked its colorful magic. Clicking away: the bike, the nets, the water, the ice, the hills, the sky, the men. Everything glowed orange and blue in the light. Barely a word had been spoken, no words required between the two men, certain in their movements and their responsibilities. No words would be exchanged between us, even if they had I wouldn’t have had a clue as to what was said and apparently it seemed they wouldn't either. Several cigarettes were gestured my way, and politely declined, they chain smoked for the entire time I was there. I pondered over how they didn't seem to mind my being there, apparently not even curious as to what a white man with a camera and an over active sense of curiosity was doing their in the first place.

Bag pictured: Everyday Sling by Peak Design

what i live for

The sun dropped behind the hills and the gentle warmth it had offered vanished immediately, all that remained was a brutal chill that sought to penetrate my clothes and my skin and my bones. With no advanced preparation, no more layers to don, no warm drink to swig, no gloves to protect my already nipped tips, no torch to light my path home...I decided it was time to start sliding again, back to the shore, back to where I had started and leave the men to their business. My camera returned to its safe haven inside my sling. I checked the time, I had been following the men for almost three hours. I started to initiate a shuffle in the direction of dry land and out loud said to myself “I love my job.” This is what I live for.