Mountaineering
At one point this week, while driving past a portion of the Ottawa River, I was struck be the desire to explore the other side of it (it being quite hilly, and pretty much uninhabited). My thought was: "Man I can't wait for the ice to thaw". It then occurred to me that with the ice there, I didn't need to.
Later in the week, I did a fair amount of research on where I was going, found a geocaching website that was quite helpful, and basically got rid of any reasons NOT to go. I intended to leave yesterday, (But got caught up in the adventures of Miles Vorkosigan - Thank you Rachel) but slept in horribly, and stayed home instead. However, THIS morning, I woke up at a reasonable time, had some breakfast, loaded up my snowshoes and took off!
Walking across the river actually took a lot less time than anticipated, (roughly a half hour) and I didn't need the snowshoes for that. I really felt like a polar explorer at that point, searching for darker spots of ice to avoid (the sun being out, I was worried they might be weaker) crunching through that mostly flat, white expanse, with a view for probably 10 miles in either direction.
Once I got to the Quebec side, I was forced to throw on the shoes to cross a snowswept bay to the trailhead. Once there, I found a sign marking the begining of the trail. It also said: "Deep River scouts 2005" Interesting. The first probably kilometre was on an old skidder trail and had been used semi-recently by a snowmachine, so the snowshoeing was less than ideal. At that point though, there was another sign left by those resourceful scouts that indicated that to head up the mountain I needed to leave the snowmachine trail behind. Excellent.
From here, it was more of a climb than a hike, and the angle of ascent was made more difficult due to the fact that for most of the ascent, the shallowest climb was following a streamlet (and that's where the troopers had left thier trail markers). The creek bed probably makes for easier climbing in the summer, but my snowshoes were a bit too wide for that, and so I had to improvise in several spots. There was also the relentless rise of the land to deal with. At more than one point I found myself muttering: "Up and up and up some more" or "Why am I doing this?" This was usually followed by a grin and me proclaiming to no-one in particular: "I LOVE eet!" or "Why does anyone do anything really?"
Upon reaching the summit, I took off the 'shoes and sat down to enjoy the view and have a spot of lunch. At around this time, two small airplanes flew by. I do mean flew BY, as it seemed like I was on a level with one of them at least. I waved at the closer one, and I'm convinced that the pilot tipped his wings at me (No doubt surprised to see someone there in the dead of winter). There's something special about being able to see that far, and be that high up. I could see the water tower (which hurts the back of your neck to look at when you're under it) FAR far below me. I could also see the shadowplay of the sun and clouds on the tapestry below. The mighty Ottawa, spread out like a wide white ribbon, was a source of many visual delights, from large dark discolorations (nowhere near where I walked, thank you god) where water had crept over the ice and re-frozen (those made me glad that I'd picked this weekend for my trekking and nothing later in the year), to the tiny ice huts clumped here and there (I was far enough that it was difficult to see fishermen . . .). I'm certain that I could see all the way to work (only around 14k) though most of the buildings were hidden by trees. Deep River, such as it is, is visible from that vantage point, but I spent most of my time looking at the trees, the horizon, the clouds, the other hills around and the majesty and wonder of the ensemble (since I see Deep pretty much every day).
The GPS proclaimed that I was at an altitude of 1330ft above sea level, and from what I remember, the river was at somewhere around 350ft or so, so I will comfortably proclaim that I climbed a thousand feet today (or thereabouts).
While I sat there enjoying my lunch, I heard the approach of another crazy. When he came into view up the same trail I had followed, he apologized for interupting my solitude. I told him not to worry about it. HE pulled out a beer, (which I hadn't thought of), and was nice enough to take a couple pictures of me with the Ottawa Valley Spread out in the background. We talked about equipment (he being impressed with my old fashioned wooden snowshoes, me complimenting him on his use of skis for the river crossing) of hiking, of work and then of nothing at all as we each enjoyed the view and gave the other space.
Eventually I packed up and left him there (he'd ski'ed across the river, and we'd each come individually for whatever reason, so there didn't seem any point to leaving together). The trek back was a lot less strenuous than the way up (surprise surprise) and coming back to town by four thirty (I'd left a tad before noon) seemed like a pretty good use of an afternoon to me.
Eventually I'll find someone to go adventuring with, but right now, and for the first time in quite a while, I'm enjoying my solitary quests.
Cheers,
Cote
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Later in the week, I did a fair amount of research on where I was going, found a geocaching website that was quite helpful, and basically got rid of any reasons NOT to go. I intended to leave yesterday, (But got caught up in the adventures of Miles Vorkosigan - Thank you Rachel) but slept in horribly, and stayed home instead. However, THIS morning, I woke up at a reasonable time, had some breakfast, loaded up my snowshoes and took off!
Walking across the river actually took a lot less time than anticipated, (roughly a half hour) and I didn't need the snowshoes for that. I really felt like a polar explorer at that point, searching for darker spots of ice to avoid (the sun being out, I was worried they might be weaker) crunching through that mostly flat, white expanse, with a view for probably 10 miles in either direction.
Once I got to the Quebec side, I was forced to throw on the shoes to cross a snowswept bay to the trailhead. Once there, I found a sign marking the begining of the trail. It also said: "Deep River scouts 2005" Interesting. The first probably kilometre was on an old skidder trail and had been used semi-recently by a snowmachine, so the snowshoeing was less than ideal. At that point though, there was another sign left by those resourceful scouts that indicated that to head up the mountain I needed to leave the snowmachine trail behind. Excellent.
From here, it was more of a climb than a hike, and the angle of ascent was made more difficult due to the fact that for most of the ascent, the shallowest climb was following a streamlet (and that's where the troopers had left thier trail markers). The creek bed probably makes for easier climbing in the summer, but my snowshoes were a bit too wide for that, and so I had to improvise in several spots. There was also the relentless rise of the land to deal with. At more than one point I found myself muttering: "Up and up and up some more" or "Why am I doing this?" This was usually followed by a grin and me proclaiming to no-one in particular: "I LOVE eet!" or "Why does anyone do anything really?"
Upon reaching the summit, I took off the 'shoes and sat down to enjoy the view and have a spot of lunch. At around this time, two small airplanes flew by. I do mean flew BY, as it seemed like I was on a level with one of them at least. I waved at the closer one, and I'm convinced that the pilot tipped his wings at me (No doubt surprised to see someone there in the dead of winter). There's something special about being able to see that far, and be that high up. I could see the water tower (which hurts the back of your neck to look at when you're under it) FAR far below me. I could also see the shadowplay of the sun and clouds on the tapestry below. The mighty Ottawa, spread out like a wide white ribbon, was a source of many visual delights, from large dark discolorations (nowhere near where I walked, thank you god) where water had crept over the ice and re-frozen (those made me glad that I'd picked this weekend for my trekking and nothing later in the year), to the tiny ice huts clumped here and there (I was far enough that it was difficult to see fishermen . . .). I'm certain that I could see all the way to work (only around 14k) though most of the buildings were hidden by trees. Deep River, such as it is, is visible from that vantage point, but I spent most of my time looking at the trees, the horizon, the clouds, the other hills around and the majesty and wonder of the ensemble (since I see Deep pretty much every day).
The GPS proclaimed that I was at an altitude of 1330ft above sea level, and from what I remember, the river was at somewhere around 350ft or so, so I will comfortably proclaim that I climbed a thousand feet today (or thereabouts).
While I sat there enjoying my lunch, I heard the approach of another crazy. When he came into view up the same trail I had followed, he apologized for interupting my solitude. I told him not to worry about it. HE pulled out a beer, (which I hadn't thought of), and was nice enough to take a couple pictures of me with the Ottawa Valley Spread out in the background. We talked about equipment (he being impressed with my old fashioned wooden snowshoes, me complimenting him on his use of skis for the river crossing) of hiking, of work and then of nothing at all as we each enjoyed the view and gave the other space.
Eventually I packed up and left him there (he'd ski'ed across the river, and we'd each come individually for whatever reason, so there didn't seem any point to leaving together). The trek back was a lot less strenuous than the way up (surprise surprise) and coming back to town by four thirty (I'd left a tad before noon) seemed like a pretty good use of an afternoon to me.
Eventually I'll find someone to go adventuring with, but right now, and for the first time in quite a while, I'm enjoying my solitary quests.
Cheers,
Cote
.- --.- ..- .- .... --- -.-. -.- . -.-- .-.. .- - . .-.