My idea of perfect ice is an ice ball that won't crack beneath your feet.
One of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen was clear black river ice - it must have been two feet thick, and captured in it were air bubbles and great swirling ribbons where the ice had cracked and refrozen. Looking into it was like looking into space, with stars and galaxies.
Every now and then the river would shift and crack as we walked over it, with a noise like a deep guitar string being pluced.
Plucked.
So much for waxing potetic.
I know that sound we would spread out on our bellys and make way to shore