Neil
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Lake Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada circa 1975
The trip I’m thinking about took place 30 years ago in a place called Manitoba. It started off on a Greyhound bus northbound from Winnipeg, Manitoba’s capital and my growing up place. There was an elderly drunk aboard who was kind enough to swap his whiskey flask for Dave and my stories of derring-do in the great white Manitoba wilderness and we got off the bus in the town of Winnipeg Beach somewhat bolstered in confidence.
Our goal was to traverse a portion of Lake Winnipeg, AKA as a prairie sea. I spent my formative summers on the banks of Lake Winnipeg celebrating birthday parties and learning to water-ski. Now I was psyching up for a winter traverse. In the basement of my parents’ home I had spent many an hour with map and protractor upon the freezer’s top determining our route.
Now we spent the evening at Dave’s cousin’s place imbibing and music making while Dave’s cousin’s wife reminded us that it was going down to neg. 40 that night. No matter, we turned in with the alarm clock set to an obscenely early hour.
Well before dawn and with multiple sock layers under leather moccasins we stepped onto the 3 foot layer of ice of mighty Lake Winnipeg. My calculations determined our heading and off into a blank wall of nothingness we headed. It was pitch dark, there was absolutely nothing on the horizon and it was indeed 40 degrees below zero so we made real sure to follow the compass bearing. The sky was overcast and night gave imperceptibly way to day as the featureless horizon slowly came into view. Our first destination was the southern end of the lake. At that point we would enter a huge and confusing area known as Netley Marsh. Distinguishing land from water and sky was a challenge but the magnetic needle led us along our way unerringly. As the day progressed the sky cleared and we were treated to a contrast of vivid blue and white.
Finding a campsite in the wide-open expanse of marsh was a challenge. We settled on a spot that was slightly protected from the bighting wind and preceded to set up our tent and cut a supply of wood. We were on a very narrow spit of land that was surrounded by flat exposed marsh and luckily for us there were a few dead trees for fuel. In preparation for the evening’s feast I had carefully prepared a batch of stew. I pulled the frozen lump of stew out of my pack only to realize to my dismay that it would never fit into the pot we had brought with us. Try and imagine the sight of us attacking the lump with an axe in the unconsolidated snow. We were still beginner winter campers at that stage in our careers so our fire quickly sunk into a narrow pit of snow and produced prodigious amounts of smoke that swirled into our eyes.
Exhausted, we finally turned in and slept like babies. Early the next morning we awoke to find that the tent’s roof was only 3 inches from out thoraxes as we lay on our backs within our down wombs. Try as we might we couldn’t budge the roof which was pressed down upon us by firmly consolidated drifted snow. In order to extricate ourselves we had to slide horizontally out of the bags opening and out the tent’s door. The tent was shuddering and cracking like a flag in the Manitoba wind. To make matters more interesting we were naked in our bags. I went first and stood buck naked in the brilliant sunshine as the prairie wind sucked the heat out of me. I got dressed hurriedly.
Out next job involved lighting a fire and this we simply could not achieve in the swirling wind. We were freezing and shivering so we decided to take a brisk walk through the marsh and upon returning to our campsite managed to light a fire. I don’t know what we ate but before long we headed south with full bellies and packs and eventually re-entered civilization whereupon we phoned my sister who dutifully dropped everything to come and pick us up.
The trip I’m thinking about took place 30 years ago in a place called Manitoba. It started off on a Greyhound bus northbound from Winnipeg, Manitoba’s capital and my growing up place. There was an elderly drunk aboard who was kind enough to swap his whiskey flask for Dave and my stories of derring-do in the great white Manitoba wilderness and we got off the bus in the town of Winnipeg Beach somewhat bolstered in confidence.
Our goal was to traverse a portion of Lake Winnipeg, AKA as a prairie sea. I spent my formative summers on the banks of Lake Winnipeg celebrating birthday parties and learning to water-ski. Now I was psyching up for a winter traverse. In the basement of my parents’ home I had spent many an hour with map and protractor upon the freezer’s top determining our route.
Now we spent the evening at Dave’s cousin’s place imbibing and music making while Dave’s cousin’s wife reminded us that it was going down to neg. 40 that night. No matter, we turned in with the alarm clock set to an obscenely early hour.
Well before dawn and with multiple sock layers under leather moccasins we stepped onto the 3 foot layer of ice of mighty Lake Winnipeg. My calculations determined our heading and off into a blank wall of nothingness we headed. It was pitch dark, there was absolutely nothing on the horizon and it was indeed 40 degrees below zero so we made real sure to follow the compass bearing. The sky was overcast and night gave imperceptibly way to day as the featureless horizon slowly came into view. Our first destination was the southern end of the lake. At that point we would enter a huge and confusing area known as Netley Marsh. Distinguishing land from water and sky was a challenge but the magnetic needle led us along our way unerringly. As the day progressed the sky cleared and we were treated to a contrast of vivid blue and white.
Finding a campsite in the wide-open expanse of marsh was a challenge. We settled on a spot that was slightly protected from the bighting wind and preceded to set up our tent and cut a supply of wood. We were on a very narrow spit of land that was surrounded by flat exposed marsh and luckily for us there were a few dead trees for fuel. In preparation for the evening’s feast I had carefully prepared a batch of stew. I pulled the frozen lump of stew out of my pack only to realize to my dismay that it would never fit into the pot we had brought with us. Try and imagine the sight of us attacking the lump with an axe in the unconsolidated snow. We were still beginner winter campers at that stage in our careers so our fire quickly sunk into a narrow pit of snow and produced prodigious amounts of smoke that swirled into our eyes.
Exhausted, we finally turned in and slept like babies. Early the next morning we awoke to find that the tent’s roof was only 3 inches from out thoraxes as we lay on our backs within our down wombs. Try as we might we couldn’t budge the roof which was pressed down upon us by firmly consolidated drifted snow. In order to extricate ourselves we had to slide horizontally out of the bags opening and out the tent’s door. The tent was shuddering and cracking like a flag in the Manitoba wind. To make matters more interesting we were naked in our bags. I went first and stood buck naked in the brilliant sunshine as the prairie wind sucked the heat out of me. I got dressed hurriedly.
Out next job involved lighting a fire and this we simply could not achieve in the swirling wind. We were freezing and shivering so we decided to take a brisk walk through the marsh and upon returning to our campsite managed to light a fire. I don’t know what we ate but before long we headed south with full bellies and packs and eventually re-entered civilization whereupon we phoned my sister who dutifully dropped everything to come and pick us up.
) kept telling us we had to sleep in the raw to really stay warm. True, there was much less condensation and ice around the feet and crotch but getting in and out was brutal. Try touching nylon that is at -40.
