Showing posts from April, 2018

The beginning of the end

Winter held on until yesterday but today we are at +7c and our beautiful white world is fading fast. I’ve been “out”, as people say here, nearly all of March. I had to go to England to buy a Canadian-made log scribe, as I shall explain later. On my return the Yukon was resplendent with spring blue skies and dazzling white, so bright your eyes go blotchy when you step in the cabin and you fall over things. The top surface of the snow has thawed and refrozen giving it a shiny crust and the worn look of an old suit. In the woods it is dimpled with spruce needles and crud and everything looks like it needs a good sweep. The yard looking cruddy The river ice has started to sink. The jumble ice and boulder fields we fought to make trails through in December are now pillowy humps of sagging white. Between them are wide, flat snowfields. Holding hands with the Inukshuk iceman that appeared on the trail (See footnote) We’re hurtling towards 24