The storm of March 7 brought us more snow
than in all of the month of February. It was beautiful. Maybe
not so beautiful if you had to drive, and not so great if you
had hoped to spend the day skiing. But snowshoeing? There's not
much more wonderful in winter than snowshoeing in the midst of
a big white storm.
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MATHER |
We got out the maps and looked for a
destination. Maybe somewhere a little further from home than we
usually go. The long lake to the north!
While city folks toss their snowshoes into
the car to drive to their destination, we loaded everything
onto the back of the snowmachine. Allan, Kate and I piled onto
the machine, and we drove straight into the fierce wind of the
storm. It was bloody cold. We parked in a pretty little cove a
few kilometres north. Protected from the wind, we peeled off
the heavy snowmobiling clothes and clipped the snowshoes on.
Our destination lay straight up the
hillside, so we quickly warmed up as we
climbed.
The going was fairly easy through the open
red pine forest. We could hear the wind in the treetops above,
but the steadily falling snow drifted calmly around us. Up the
hill we went, then down the other side. Allan got a pretty good
lead while Kate and I followed.
We caught up to him near the little lake,
where he was hiding behind a huge white pine.
There aren't many trees in the forest anymore
where a grown man dressed in full winter clothing can hide. He
and Kate hugged the tree together, with their hands just barely
overlapping.
We walked out onto the lake, right back into
the fury of the storm. Huge waves of snow piled up on the lake.
I tucked into the hood of my coat, and marveled at the splendor
of this small lake. The far side had a very steep slope, with a
few cliffs along the way. Months of spring water seeping over
the rock had formed beautiful icefalls.
We crossed to a little valley with hopes we
could find our way to the top of the hills on the other side. A
beaver house lay tucked into shore at this little low area. A
few big cedars graced the shoreline.
Out of the wind and storm once again, we
stopped for a little snack. At our side, the vestiges of an
ancient pine stump emerged from the snow. Only about two feet
of the rim remained of the tree that must have been nearly four
feet in diameter when it lived here a hundred years ago.
Evidence of a long ago fire left charcoal on
the stump, and likely helped to preserve it.
We made our way up the valley, but didn't get
very far before it got too steep to climb. All the snow of
winter had accumulated in this protected little
dip, and very little of it had settled.
I paused here for a while. I could hear
trickling water beneath my feet, under three feet of snow.
Looking up the remaining valley, and up higher still at the
trees all around, at that moment in time, I stood in the most
magnificent place in the world.
Viki Mather lives by a lake near Sudbury.
