The slow withering away of Winter

It is another rainy day here in Yellowknife, so in a little afternoon fika, a coffee and muskotsnittar (nutmeg slice), finally I will take you back to some nights several weeks ago.

My first night out in kayak this year was not without some struggles. The shore ice was still several metres wide, so launching into the water from the shore involved scooching in my kayak across the ice first, but was ultimately not too eventful.
To get out of the water was totally a separate matter. I had to reach the ice with enough speed to send the front of the kayak up onto the ice far enough that I did not slip backward into the water again. This was not accomplished on the first try, or the second or third, but it was eventually successful, with everything still dry.

The perfect song

To have had a proper sound recorder to carry with me these nights, that would have been really perfect. I don’t think it’s possible to imagine how beautiful all of the singing and chatter of the birds is, and still to hear so many noises from the ice too - almost like millions of crystals clanking together at the smallest ripple in the water. These nights were all still cold, as evidenced by the splashes of water on the front of my kayak turning to ice by the end of the night.

In the end, these nights have not felt so different than those that defined my life for years. Driving out of town into nature late, becoming increasingly chilled through the hours outside and soon craving the warmth and comfort of a cosy home, exhausted but too excited by the experience to sleep at any reasonable hour.