THEY approach their task with the solemnity as might a conclave of cardinals gathering to anoint a pope. And over the past century their deliberations have been required about as infrequently.

They are the Rayonhoofden, the "ice-masters," an assemblage of 22 Dutch municipal worthies whose grave duty is to determine whether the frozen waterways of Friesland are sufficiently sturdy to sustain the weight of 16,000 skaters eager to compete in The Netherlands' fabled Elfstedentocht, the rarely-mounted race connecting 11 settlements of the country's frozen north.

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

Photo by Eric Ellis

The Elfstedentocht has been staged only 14 times in 100 years (there have been just nine popes in that time) and the last was held in 1997. And after 10 days of sub-zero temperatures during Europe's Big Freeze, the prospects this year looked very promising.

So skaters sharpened their blades in anticipation. Poles were driven into canals to test the ice, with sometimes the eager testers following after them, to be rescued by ever-present police. Europe may be in crisis, but during much of early February, the Elfstedentocht was all Nederlanders seemed to care about.

Tradition and safety dictate that the ice needs to be at least 15 centimetres thick along the entire 200-kilometre course of the Elfstedentocht. So elder after elder ventured out on the ice, armed with primitive prods, high-tech sonar devices and all manner of measuring apparatus. The nation was gripped. Dutch TV carried breathless updates, 24/7. Rayonhoofden masters Jan van der Klis and Auke Hylkema and Jan Oostenbrug became household names.

But then, on February 8, came their news. Yes, it was cold, the shivering masters agreed - minus 15 to 20 degrees in some parts - and yes, the ice was promising. But, they gravely demurred, it wasn't solid enough. There would be no Elfstedentocht for another year.

Gelul! said Amsterdammers. Bollocks!

So, undeterred by the conservative rayonhoofden, they got their skates on anyway and took to the ice. Amsterdam's charming canals were transformed into a snowy playground. Families skated, hung out, made and drank gluhwein, fashioned impromptu hockey rinks for neighbourhood challenges or simply went on long strolls along the frozen grachts, seeing their city with a perspective they rarely do. Then they stopped for hot chocolate in ersatz on-ice cafes, or grandma's warming erwtensoep, the ubiquitous pea soup ladled from the canalside kitchen windows of marooned boat houses.

But almost as soon as the big cold started, it started slipping away. The snowy, five-below-zero weekend temperatures gave way to a relatively balmy five-above by the start of the work week. The ice turned to slush. But Amsterdammers will cherish this most marvellous of weekends, all so very gezellig - cosy - as the Dutch very much like to be.