Big Crow Snow - May 2009
by - Stephen Molson
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I setup camp and settled in for the night. Again, more moose were seen During the night they returned and ran through camp a few times. I kept wincing from the comfort of the tent, anticipating the sound of strained and ripping cords. I feared these moose would run into one of the tarp’s guy-lines. Luckily for the tarp, they avoided them and navigated in darkness, without incident, to the water’s edge below camp.
Two moose walking along the beach.
The next day the winds picked up. So, I decided to visit some landmarks, known for the area close to camp, that wouldn’t expose me to the winds. I didn’t visit the firetower, but did get a shot of it ...
I spent some time walking the portage to the Crow River. I explored the old logging site and fished a bit, releasing all catches. They were all small (7 to 10”).
This was likely one of the smallest brookies I’ve ever caught on a spinning rod. It was quickly released.
During the hike along the Tall Pines Trail, I spotted this cute American Pine Marten.
I just love these weasels. they have such beautiful coloration and are so very inquisitive.
I headed back to the campsite and came across another cow moose browsing on emergent vegetation, in the shallows.
It was an interesting sky that night. The temperatures quickly dropped as the winds increased.
Next morning I woke to a light dusting of snow and strong winds that ripped along the lake and through the exposed campsite.
It didn’t appear to deter the moose at all. These two were right back grazing again in the protection of the narrow river valley.
It was 'out-day', so i packed up camp and timed the crossing of Big Crow to approximately 11:00 a.m. Although the north-westerly winds were steady at 25-30 km/hr they were manageable in the kayak and the lake wasn’t too bad (yet).
Half way across the lake, extremely strong gusts blew up from over the hills, bringing with them snow and driving ice pellets. I was immediately engulfed in skin-lashing painful white out conditions. The winds reached 50-60 km/hr and turned the lake into a froth of rolling white water and high waves. It was all I could do to hold my position and struggle to turn the boat and face them head on.
The sounds of the waves, the spray, the winds and driving snow made the situation distinctly uncomfortable. Every second paddle stroke would catch air of the wave valley between crests as the boat heaved up on the roll before slamming back down and plunging bow deep into the next wave's wall. The stern would rise up in sequence like a teeter-totter and it too would take a turn being dunked as the wave rolled on underneath.
I was steadily being blown backwards. I was running blind, having to keep my head down and buried under the brim of the Nor’wester, to avoid the skin being flailed by the ice pellets. I focused on keeping the boat directed into the oncoming waves and I didn’t know how long I could maintain this position. I knew if I was in a canoe I wouldn’t have stood a chance. The waves were sourced from two different directions and the spray skirt wasn’t fully attached (rod holder in the way). So I was taking on water.
To stop paddling meant I’d lose the positioning, and with that the boat and I'd end up in the lake. Luckily after 2 minutes the gale subsided and with it the driving snow. I quickly got my bearings, now that the shore had come into view and I 'b-lined it' west, as another gale was quickly encroaching over the hills. I made it to the protected small western bay of Big C as the next gale hit and waited it out under some overhanging cedars along shore. It too passed after a few minutes and I made my way towards the channel leading to Little C.
I could see another gale approaching, so I took cover behind a small bay off Little C and watched it pass. When it disappeared, I made my way down into the mouth of the Crow R and started back to Proulx. From that point, the gales were at my back and the cover of the river vegetation coupled with its serpentine shape provided an adequate buffer against the wind. High above me the clouds were ripping along through the otherwise blue sky creating quite the awe-inspiring hypnotic spectacle.
I could see other snow squalls coming down less than a kilometer to my west and south, and further behind those .. more of the same. Each was like a vertical dense swirling white column connecting ground to sky and highlighted by the straining sun. It was like being caught in the middle of a gleaming open air colosseum. Once on Proulx, I was again witness to churned up, angry lake waters. So I waited at the mouth of the Crow for the gusts to again subside. When they did, I quickly paddled out to reach the protection of her western shoreline.
Cormorant on Proulx Lake taking a breather from a recent fish-diving in a protected bay.
I made it out on the Proulx portage and back to the landing on Opeongo Lake. I was five minutes late from the scheduled pickup time after completing the 2nd leg of the double portage. We wasted little time getting the stuff on board. The underwear and sock on the tree were tied down and used as padding on the metal boat rack to help buffer the banging of the kayak hull, as we slowly and carefully made out way back toward the Opeongo docks. The gusts and snow were now primarily behind and to the east of us, but the steady winds continued.
The lake was extremely rough and we drove very slow to temper the teeth-jarring impacts of every wave and keep the boat (and gear) from falling apart or flying out. The boat captain was saying there are only a few days a year where the winds are so bad on Opeongo that they don’t go out, even with scheduled pickups. This day was his call, and ‘lucky’ for me he decided to head out, otherwise I’d have a free nite stay on Opeongo.