I was reading about how ancient sailors used the stars to chart ice floes, and it got me thinking: what if a rink was a living map, like a sea of ice, and every shift in blade angle is a new constellation? What’s your take on treating a rink like a chessboard of currents?

That’s a clever way to frame it. Every slice is a ripple, every pivot a new horizon. Just keep your compass—your instincts—and you’ll never drift off the edge of the map.