This morning I set out for a long snowshoe hike. The conditions were far from ideal, with several days of constant snowfall meaning the ground was loaded with thick powder that had yet to settle and harden. I was determined to get out of the house for a while, though, my mind has been troubled lately and I wanted to clear my head.
I headed out of town and began to follow the trail out to Yohin Lake. The day was bleak and cold, with slate grey skies and blowing snow. It was slow going out on the open river, as the wind had pushed the fresh snow into thick bands of drifts. Even with my snowshoes I sank deeply with every step. The trail improved once I reached the cover of the trees, however, and from then on I was able to make good time.
The forest was still and silent, but as I walked I caught glimpses of life from far ahead down the trail. Flashes of fur and rustles in the bush betrayed the presence of marten, and moose tracks were everywhere.
When I reached the frozen creek I made a brief halt, having a bite to eat and gulping down some hot tea. The trees creaked in the wind, and the snow sighed as it slid from branches all around me. I resolved to try something new; rather than following the trapline trail, I would instead go the other way and see what lay down the other end of the creek.
It wasn't long before I regretted that choice - where before I had the luxury of following a faded skidoo trail, now I was breaking my own path. The loose snow was deep and heavy, clinging to my feet and resisting my every movement. I slowed to a crawl, sinking well past my knee with every step. I was able to reduce this by shifting over to the faint tracks of a moose, whose steps had compacted the snow somewhat underneath the layer of fresh powder. Even still, it was hard going.
My mood was not improved when I saw that my efforts were in vain: a scant kilometer or so later, the creek abruptly ended in a hillock and an impenetrable wall of fallen trees. After wallowing in a massive drift and a desultory poke around to examine my options, I admitted defeat and turned back.
Returning was somewhat easier as I had already broken a route, but it was still far from easy. My legs were feeling it by the time I made it back to the trail, and the weather was closing in. After another quick cup of tea I decided to call it a day and head for home.
As I hiked back along the river, I had my first encounter with overflow. Even in the depths of winter, a river the size and strength of the Nahanni never freezes completly. There remains a tremendous amount of water flowing under the ice, and sometimes it forces its way to the surface near the riverbanks. Running into overflow is not a disaster, although in the days of moosehide mukluks it resulted in a soaked foot and the need for a quick fire to warm up and dry out.
In my case, I was able to skirt the overflow without much difficulty and soon returned to firmer ice. I made it home not long after, and wasted no time in heating up some apple cider and stretching out my legs.
