Thomson Cabin Snowshoe Trek 2010

Many garages are filled with junk, although I’m told that some hold cars. Mine has snowshoes. Over the years, my instinct for self-preservation in deep snow has led me to snap up any offer of snowshoes. From ancient wood-and-babiche museum pieces from a naturalist uncle, to magnesium-and-cable Canadian Army contraptions, I’m all set for this interglacial period to end. Thing is, here on the River we hardly ever see serious snow. The relentless wind blows it away, or the January thaw starts early and leaves late. Even our beloved Macnamara Trail becomes a packed snow road, better for sneakers than snowshoes.

So it was with some anticipation that Gord Vogg and I drove the winding road to Kennelly Mountain to experience the deep fluffy snow that only high ground can sustain. Fellow coureurs de bois followed in the carpool, as we answered Sheila and Harry Thomson’s invitation to the top of their world. As we passed Calabogie, the temperature dropped and a forlorn film of melting snow turned to frozen whipped-cream drippings from evergreens – Christmas card scenery. At the end of the plowed road we parked, strapped on our raquets-de-neige, and trekked into a boreal landscape with viridescent Old-Man’s Beard Lichen clinging to the branches.


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