Skijoring we will go... HEATHER DAVIS
I've been in Quebec over a year now, which is long enough to wonder why there isn't a Franglais setting on my spellchecker. What there is, however, is lots of snow.
Can you remember the last day it didn't snow? I can't. What better time to experience Quebec's winter joys…
Skijoring
Last week we took the dogs skiing. It's called skijoring and involves harnessing the dogs and attaching them to ropes so they can pull us on our skis. They love it since they can make us go faster than we ever go on foot.
We headed down the road and took a turn onto the extensive trail system near our house. The trails were wide and well-packed by local snowmobilers.
I went in front with the Woo-dog who knows how to follow a trail. In behind was Ghis, skiing with Carmanah who was pulling with all her heart and screaming with indignation at having to bring up the rear.
We went down hills one at a time, pointing our skis downhill and hoping that the dogs would keep going in a straight line. They did.
The snow was heavy on the trees and the larger trail intersected with endless animal trails - evidence of the many deer and moose about. Many times the dogs stopped to stuff their noses into the deep holes left behind by the large animals.
We passed some snowmobilers; mostly families with small children out for rides. Two snowmobiles with kids dragging behind on crazy carpets. Great. A well-packed trail is what we like.
We finally emerged about where we wanted to - in our friend's driveway. Kasimoto, their giant yellow dog, ran out to meet us. We chatted just long enough to chill our muscles and then headed back into the forest.
We kicked and slid our way along the trail as the sun slowly went down and the forest became a dark gray. By the time we reached the road, my legs were feeling both heavy and stubborn. As we got close to the house, Woo started pulling steadily forward while Carmanah pulled the other way. She didn't want to go home.
Too bad. She was outvoted again.
Ice skating in a field
I got a second hand pair of skates this year for $30 and decided it was time. I had never skated outside. So we went down to Park Woodyatt by the St. Frances River and laced up.
But as Ghis watched me tippy-toe along on the ice, he shook his head and said, "It's not going to be like this the whole time, is it?"
It's not like I had never skated before. I had played Ringette for six years when I was younger. But this was not ice like I had ever seen. It had bumps. It had inconsistencies. It had hills.
I made it around the loop a few times (at the pace of a tall two-year-old) before I experienced the evil foot cramp. At least it gave me an excuse to take my skates off.
I finally had the proper experience last night. We went to the local recreational spot in L'Avenir and laced up again. I had mixed feelings wondering what surprises the ice held.
In the end, it was glorious. The ice was smooth, and due to the fact that it was a baseball field, there were no hills. It was dark and I could see a few rural houses in the distance. It seemed that there was an infinite amount of space in the world. And, I could skate…
How very Quebec, I thought as I glided around the rink. How very Canada.
Copyright © 2001 Heather Davis/Log Cabin Chronicles/01.01 |
