The temperature, minus six degrees, bites at Eleven Mile Reservoir, a frozen man-made body of water near Lake George. The sun cuts through the crisp morning air just after 7 a.m., casting a pale gold glow across the smooth expanse of ice.

Wispy ice crystals, called frost flowers, pepper the reservoir’s frozen surface. These bouquets of icy flowers, about an inch high, grow in clusters, adding to the lake’s ethereal beauty. 

Every few seconds, the ice creaks and moans like a haunting whale song, shattering into the sonic blast of a Hollywood laser. To Laura Kottlowski, it’s a familiar tune. The ice is alive deep beneath the surface, and she feels at peace here.

Kottlowski is bundled in a bright red life vest, winter jacket, down skirt, ski racing pants and white skates, chipped from years of wear. Her long blonde ponytail whips behind her like a flag in the wind, while a coat of frost frames the hairs in front of her face.

She’s a tiny dancer on a stage of ice, six inches deep. On one leg, she balances in a sit spin – one of her favorite moves – rotating in a tight circle. Skating on thin, metal blades comes as naturally to Kottlowski as breathing. She glides across the glassy surface with fluid grace.

It’s a solitary ballet – just her, the ice and the sky. Her sharp blades carve delicate, swirling patterns across the frozen landscape. The metal slices the surface, an echoing dialogue between Kottlowski’s skates and the ice.

What makes Kottlowski’s relationship with ice so captivating isn’t just her skill – it’s her understanding of the ever-changing, untamed surface beneath her. Colorado’s frozen lakes can be as dangerous as they are beautiful. For Kottlowski, each journey across wild ice is a dance with calculated risk – one she takes pride in helping others navigate safely.

A resident of Idaho Springs, Kottlowski’s journey on ice began 34 years ago. She first laced up her figure skates at age 6 in Pennsylvania, twirling and gliding across the Zamboni-smoothed ice of an indoor rink.

As a competitive figure skater for Penn State University, she honed technical precision that would one day serve her on the vast, unpredictable frozen lakes in Colorado.

In 2007, Kottlowski moved to Colorado, and a year later, she stumbled upon Lost Lake during a snowshoe hike in the Never Summer Wilderness. Though she hadn’t packed her skates, the glistening, untouched surface was a siren call she couldn’t ignore.

Later that season, she got her first taste of wild ice at Emerald Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. The moment her blades met the glassy surface, she felt an electrifying pull – one that would never let go.

Over the next few years, Kottlowski trekked across remote mountain trails in Colorado to explore new lakes to skate. In 2017, she became the first known person to skate on Pacific Tarn, the highest named lake in the United States at 13,420 feet above sea level in Tenmile Range near Crystal Peak, southeast of Breckenridge.

“I’m on the search for the most beautiful lake to skate in the world,” Kottlowski said. “To me, those are the high mountain lakes and natural arenas within a bowl at the top of a mountain.”

Fortunately for Kottlowski, Colorado is home to more than 2,000 alpine lakes that fit that description.

While she often seeks picturesque scenery, she’s also drawn to the challenge. Alpine lakes, categorized by their high elevation, require rugged, mountaineering approaches often involving miles of trekking through deep snow.

Larger bodies of water, like Eleven Mile Reservoir, Grand Lake and Blue Mesa Reservoir, offer a different kind of thrill. On these expansive sheets, she explores with a fervent, childlike wonder, gliding over ice that reveals drifting carp below and mesmerizing bubbles and icicle formations from uneven freezing cycles.

She calls herself an “ice nerd” for the way she studies ice. “It’s just part of the fun of wild ice skating. There are so many unknowns, and I get to see and assess it all firsthand.”

The wild ice season is fleeting. High-elevation lakes typically freeze over by October and remain skateable through spring. Kottlowski skates nearly every day in the winter. On a good day, she averages 26 miles – a “marathon day” – skating from sunup to sundown.

Compared to rink skating, Kottlowski describes wild ice skating as “freeing,” allowing her to test her limits in speed and endurance.

Her favorite conditions are fresh, black ice – the kind that’s clear, glassy and pristine. The sweet spot is ice that has been frozen for three days – solid enough to support her but not yet rippled by wind or obscured by snow.

Fresh ice is 2 to 2.5 inches thick – enough to hold a person’s body weight but risky for novices. Four-inch-thick ice is standard for safety, though it’s often rougher due to exposure to the elements.

“Sometimes, nature makes better ice than a Zamboni ever could,” she said.

Kottlowski follows strict safety protocols. She tests ice thickness by throwing a 3-pound rock high in the air – a solid thud with a bounce means the ice is safe. She also drills into the ice with a 4-inch ice screw and watches for water spewing from the hole. Finally, she taps the ice with a Nordic pole, gauging its strength with each strike. 

Despite her experience, wild ice has surprised her.

On Feb. 5, 2022, she was skating with seven others on California’s Stampede Reservoir. The ice was 4 inches thick – typically considered safe.

As the group skated, they noticed the ice had taken on a spongy, crunchy texture, like skating on Rice Krispies. Sensing danger, she picked up speed toward the shore.

In an instant, four skaters behind her broke through the ice into the frigid water. Kottlowski was the only skater wearing a life vest.

Her training kicked in. She tossed a rescue rope to a friend but then felt the ice collapse beneath her, plunging her into the freezing depths. Buoyed by her life vest, she calmed her breathing and jabbed her ice picks into the surface. With the ice not supportive, she bashed through 50 feet to assist three friends out of the water.

Another skater broke through 200 feet of ice before Kottlowski could help her onto firm ground. Seven skaters made it to shore, though not unscathed – most suffered cuts and bruises, and one woman dislocated her shoulder. By the time a rescue helicopter arrived, the skaters had already changed into dry clothes.

One skater, a 72-year-old man, did not survive. An experienced wild ice skater, he likely suffered a cardiac event from the cold water before anyone could reach him.

This tragedy compelled Kottlowski to study the science of ice – how it thaws, freezes and changes under fluctuating temperatures and sunlight. She also vowed to only skate with partners who wore safety gear and knew how to use it.

Drawing from her background as a figure skating instructor, she created a first-of-its-kind course – akin to an avalanche safety class but for wild ice skating. As part of her healing process, she launched “Learn to Skate Outside” later that year.

Now considered a pioneer in wild ice safety, Kottlowski continues exploring while teaching others how to navigate unpredictable conditions. “Learn to Skate Outside” remains the only course of its kind in the U.S.

In her indoor classes at Apex Center Ice Arena in Arvada, students learn to test ice with rocks and ice screws, interpret cracks and analyze snow and weather patterns. They also practice self-rescue techniques before venturing outdoors.

Beyond in-person workshops, Kottlowski shares her expertise with over 700,000 social media followers. Since posting her first video in 2020, she has built an extensive online library of safety tips, historical insights and real-time discoveries.

Her training extends beyond technical skating to continuously refine her rescue skills. She submerges herself in frozen creeks and ice baths, fully clothed with skates on, practicing cold-water breathing exercises.

Since the accident, Kottlowski has only fallen through the ice once more – but this time, her training had her out in seconds. The experience has only strengthened her resolve to skate smarter and safer. Though wild ice holds an inherent risk, Kottlowski’s passion for it remains unshaken.