The temperature dipped to -24 C, as is typical for a February night.
A thick layer of canvas tent separated me from that cold. Most of the night. The fire in the woodstove burned low for a few hours, and I had to tuck the crown of my head deeper into the sleeping bag. Toasty warm in there, it was.
Allan’s cot lies close to the feeding door of the woodstove. He eventually surfaced from the cocoon of his sleeping bag to open the vent. Within a few minutes the embers caught. Five minutes later it was warm in the tent again.
Outside, the nearby stream murmurred along through the morning just as it had all though the night. When I emerged from the tent, all the needles on all the pines were frosted white. Frozen crystals of ice hung in the air above the stream. The deep blue of the sky above promised another sunny day.
We took our time with breakfast and morning chores. By midmorning the temperature rose to -15. Warm enough to get out on the trail.
The first kilometer curved across the lake above the stream, then along the other side of it. The flowing water formed intricate ice patterns as it danced from one pond to the next. We crossed the next pond, then followed the trail packed the day before – into a valley leading up the hill and deep into the forest.
Boulders the size of a small shed rose above the deep snow. The trail weaved between them. We pass ancient cedars, some two feet in diameter. Big old white pines on the steep parts gave way to yellow birch and sugar maple as we reached the flats. From there we headed up through the next valley, back into the forest of pines.
Eventually, we came to a small pool, frozen and covered with snow, of course. We paused to check the map — which not surprisingly did not show the pool. From there we found our way around the beaver dam and headed down the hill into the next valley.
The stream we followed quickly dropped down beside a sheer cliff. Allan led the way, somehow finding a passible route among the broken rocks and drop-offs. We must have dropped over two contour lines within a hundred feet. Thankfully were headed down, and not trying climb up through this narrow gorge. One of the biggest red pines I’ve ever hugged rises from the steepest part of the valley.
An ice fall beside the cliff marked the end of the steep part. Huge cedar trees spread out before us. Cedars don’t usually get to be huge in this part of Ontario, yet here there were dozens along with yellow birch and the odd big pine.
The immense beauty of it all took my breath away. My whole body relaxed. Then I breathed in an ever deeper breath of the cold clean air. We are so privileged to live and walk within this magical land.
Viki Mather has been commenting for Northern Life on the natural world and life in Greater Sudbury since the spring of 1984.
