I walked around both sides of Wascana Lake this afternoon. It was a cold day. Just before I left, I heard the weather report put the day’s high temperature here at minus 21. That’s cold, but not too cold. Cold enough to make the snow squeak under your boots, but not so cold that your nostrils freeze when you inhale. Cold enough to need mitts instead of gloves, but not so cold that you need to wear gloves inside your mitts, too. As usual, the challenge for me was to keep from getting too warm and sweaty instead of worrying about the cold.
The side streets have been polished to treacherous glass by passing vehicles. The footpaths in the park are easier walking, even where they’ve drifted over. The sky was overcast, so my photographs aren’t that interesting. Still, if the sky had been clear, the temperature would’ve been a good ten degrees colder. Thankfully there was little wind. Even a slight breeze can end up flaying exposed skin at minus 21.
Knowing that people are stupid and litigious, the park authority has festooned the path with warning signs. Others have left Christmas decorations behind. And a few benches seem to have been turned into memorials for the departed.
There’s enough snow here for skiing and snowshoeing, although Google Earth’s satellite imagery still thinks it’s summer. There weren’t many people using the park today, though: a few pedestrians and dog walkers, and about as many skiers and snowshoers. The ice rink in the rowing club’s parking lot was empty. But there were kids tobogganing on the hill–the only one in the city–and someone left a snow angel behind.
My camera is acting up. The little doors that cover the lens are getting stuck, and frost got on the lens as a result, blurring some of my photographs. I guess I’ll have to take it in for a repair.
When I walk in the winter, I often fantasize about walking the Camino Francés in winter. I think about what that might be like: the challenges of finding the path when there’s snow, of drying wet walking clothes in underheated albergues, of getting enough to eat and drink in nearly deserted villages. It would be difficult, but I think it would be rewarding, too. And people make that walk every winter, so clearly it can be done. I wonder if my friends Geoff and Neil would be interested in a February adventure some time. I’ll have to ask.
I have met several folks who have walked the Frances in the dead of winter. They told me it was tough, but that they found it satisfying. One has the trail to ones self and there are enough places open to eat and sleep. They won’t let you walk over the Napolean Route any more, but you are permitted to walk the Valcarlos route on the highway. You need to carry more clothes and a heavier sleeping bag, but I’ve had this walk on my mind for a few years, so anything is possible. You’d have to help Neil and I to prepare as we’d be out of our element somewhat, at least for me. It’s been many years since I snow camped and hiked. I have the time, just need the motivation!!
Hey Ken
These scenes are so different to what I experience here in Australia – so much snow (and I know it is probably nothing like what you can get). Thanks for sharing your walk with us.
Re a winter Frances. When it comes to pilgrimage, I’m up for anything. A walk in the dead of winter – why not? Mind you it was pretty cold on a few of the final days of our walk on the Cluny Way recently and that definitely makes it harder – especially if the wind is howling too. In France the heating in gites etc was pretty good, even the deserted ones, which did make it easier to dry clothes and boots. So, who knows. Once I get through this thesis I’ll be keen for much more walking.