February came and went with very little affair. Work was work, the apartment remained a sort of escape and cell all at once, and the weather made being outside very attractive. My third month here would be full of days resting between -10C and 10C, which in the North is rather nice. On several occasions, conditions here were far greater than home... one aspect of being here had to be, right?
I spent more time on the river and in the woods with Carter throughout February, as well as squeezing in a day of snowmobiling. The great outdoors of the Great White North have called and called again, and most days I’ve answered.
With Carter, the simple pleasures of the outdoors are tended too. We hit the river and get into a game of fetch while we trek a few kilometers to a side trail, then I put the ball in my pocket and we hit the woods. It never fails that for the first 5 minutes he is right at my side, sometimes jumping almost my height in an impatient desire for me to throw the ball again. Eventually he settles down, takes to sniffing the trails out, and just scampers through the brush. If you do not own a pet, you do not know the simple joy of watching your dog just explode with excitement as he discovers a new piece of wilderness. I also revel in finding these little patches, but regard them with little more than a smile and a warming heart.
One day, however, discovery came fast; at times nearing 100km/h on the snow. I had borrowed a snowmobile from the owner of the hotel where I am working, and was extremely excited. I could not hide the growing grin as I suited up, and the twitches of thrill hit my spine here and there as I got ready to go. After a brief re-familiarization with a type of machine I had not commandeered for over 10 years, I set off.
At first, I stuck to the patch of trails around town, stopping for gas and picking up some snacks. Within minutes I was comfortable with the sled and aware of where my limitations of control stood, so I got a bit gutsy. I hit the open river and turned up under the Old Town Bridge, let the machine wide open, and cut along the river branch behind the airport. Not too long after, I was sitting on the expanse of Great Slave Lake, enjoying coffee from my thermos and the greatest cigarette I have ever had. Rarely have I felt such a sense of “being here”, and I could never say for sure I will again.
I then decided to head up river, back away from the lake and explore beyond my furthest point from an earlier excursion around Boxing Day. All along the river, houses and side trails awoke my fancy. I imagined living there, hiking there, and just tried to feel a sense of immersion vicariously through factors I would likely never be effected by. As everything from shacks to mansions flew by in my peripheral, I decided the houses were mere fantasy, but these trails could be tackled today, and so I chose a few.
The first trail was a fairly sheer uphill entrance into the bush. Heavy on the throttle up the initial incline, I let off at the trail’s apex and found myself on a little patch of heaven. What appeared to be woods was actually long, natural clearing which started about 10 meters beyond the trees along the shoreline. The clearing had a trail that ran on either side from the river to a road about 1km along, a generous depression in between, and a small stream bubbling unseen below two feet of snow and ice. I followed to the road, sat there for a few minutes, and then was alerted that possibly I ought to move on. I had actually found myself on the local reserve, and one passing truck slowed just enough for the driver to give me a “you took the wrong fucking trail, boy” look. I turned around, and quickly got back to the river.
Continuing up river, I passed under the Pine Point Bridge, and here came my folly. I wanted to take a few pictures of the bridge, a photogenic maze of metal, and darted the machine from side to side for different vantage points. I crested another steep incline and just as I came over the hump on to flat land, another snowmobile was coming toward me. Wanting to turn around, I saw that the same trail this rider was coming down would suit as a place I could get to an adjacent road to spin back. I pulled into some soft stuff, waved them past, and they continued on without performing the courteous act of assuring I was out of my spot.
With the rider gone, I was very much alone out there and wonderfully stuck. My machine had sunk through some powder onto ice, and also lodged itself on a root. I tried for over an hour to free the sled, wrenching it from side to side, digging around it with my hands, and any number of other tactics. I had decided that after another few tries, I would use what little network reception I had to call my boss to come give me a hand.
Adhering to the “you sweat, you die” mode, I sat on the machine and removed a few layers, taking in the beautiful weather. Honestly, I could not have picked a better day to get stuck. The sun was shining, wind was minimal, and I had a clear mind. I sipped on some juice and started in on a sandwich, taking in the surroundings. About five minutes shy of giving the situation another try, two very large dogs of a Rottweiler mix breed appeared 50 yards away, inspecting me. I love dogs, and having a Rottweiler of my own, do not normally fear unfamiliar canines. These two, however, looked mean. I forfeited my lunch to them, tossing my other sandwich and a full bag of beef jerky to them, and took out my knife to have it at the ready. I pulled out my phone and called for a hand, and throughout the wait for assistance kept a close eye on the dogs until they lost interest and left.
Curtis arrived swiftly 25 minutes after I called him, and he was able to help me free the machine. Back on the river, I shot back to town at a blazing speed, the throttle to the pin almost the whole way. The 600cc engine whined high and mighty, and with the hand warmers on, I was able to make town without stopping in less than 10 minutes. Back within town limits, I stopped at the pub and had a coffee, then scooted around town once more before retiring for the day.
At the apartment that night, I debated what my next adventure would be. Should I take to the trails for a night of winter camping? Perhaps I could procure the machine again at some point and go for a two day trip to a neighboring town? Any option brought excitement as February had been a rather dull month all things considered. Eventually, I decided that while I had hardly had my fill of nature, taking in a town would be more fun. And what could be more fun than a town? Why, a city of course!
To cap off my third month in the North, I went further north. I was off to Yellowknife to see February out and ring in March.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment