My boots break through the thin crust, increasing my chill rate. If I keep walking, toes will stay warm, but this is a waiting game. Iced feet are a small price. I will stand still in the center of the marsh, hopefully blending with the old stumps and logs that surround me.
The English say “A bird is the hand is worth two in the bush,” the Germans: “Der Spatz in der Hand ist besser als die Taube auf dem Dach. (The sparrow in the hand is better than the dove on the roof.) I ask, “What about the bird on my shoulder?”