Ready to Ride

Today the plan is to take our first family snow machine ride. With no trail to the tundra we’ll settle for the lake , a few miles away. William is out checking my Elan, circling around the cabin to make sure it’s working well. I hear it purring along and then it stops. In he comes to say it just quit. Dan and he discuss throttles and such and seem to agree on something as Will nods and heads out again. Dan and Will would prefer I get a new machine but I am attached to my Elan. The problem is they don’t make Elans anymore. I don’t want to give it up because its just my size and speed not like the too-big and too-fast machines they make now. Its easy to pull it out of a hole if it gets stuck and most importantly easy to manuever. I hear it start on the first pull. Round and round and then nothing. In he comes again with words about a leaking tube. “I bet that’s it”, just stop the leak.” Will grabs the duct tape and heads out and Dan sits shaking his head. “That’s the younger generation for you. In my day we used bailing wire to fix things. Now it’s duct tape for everything.”

I wonder when we got so old we started talking about the “ younger generation.”

Once again the machine starts on the first pull, once again Will takes it around the cabin, and around and around and around. I can tell I can put off that new machine I don’t want a little longer. “All fixed,” he announces at the door and we all go into action getting into our gear. Over my silk undies I have long johns and then light fleece pants and fleece jacket on top of that. On my feet two pair of fleece socks. Over these I’ll add down cover pants and my 40 below down parker. I work getting my feet into my snow machine Sorels with extra thick liners and built in gaiters. On my head is my fur lined bomber hat, which covers my forehead down to my eyebrows and most of my cheeks. In lieu of a face mask I wrap a long scarf around my neck which I can pull up over my face if I need to. I get out my mitts that were made for me by an Athabaskan friend, beautifully beaded and fur lined, and warm.

Dan meanwhile is wondering what he can skip. Doesn’t want to get too hot. He skips long johns and fleece socks, only wears fleece cover pants but will wear a coat. “I can always take it off,” he says.

Will has on Dan’s old army surplus arctic mitts, fur backed with leather palms and Dan’s
old Athabaskan mukluks, soft canvas with leather bottoms and warm wool liners. Will has a knack for the right gear for the occasion. On the way out he grabs ear protectors.
So does Dan. I pass. 

Will adds a couple of bungee cords to hold my snow machine seat down tight. He pull starts my machine and goes to his. Dan looks at both of us nods that we’re ready then pulls his. All three machines are revving. It brings out the ghost of our old wolf dog Jack. Right now he would be beside himself with excitement, charging down the trail, stopping short when he sees we’re not following, coming back and using all the body language he knows to coax us on. And finally in a full release of his frustration  he would throw back his head and let out the most beautiful heart grabbing wolf howl. He was the perfect dog for times like this and times like this have never been the same without him.

We head out of the yard along the narrow trail above the creek. Many years ago Dan cut the trail out of a slope to provide a shortcut to our cabin and save us the trouble of having to climb up and over the hill. We come out on the other side of the slope and head for the trail that will take us up and out of the valley. It’s an easy climb because Dan has groomed the trail and it has set up nicely. Out of the bowl, we follow the trail to a sharp turn into a switch back that will get us even higher. The turn is too sharp for my machine and I have to stop or risk getting stuck off the trail. I get off and start pulling on the front sled skis trying to line the machine up with the trail, budging it inches at a time. Will comes to my aid and gets the job done with one swift tug. Off we go again and as we reach the top of the ridge we come around a bend and ride into the full sun. It is just enough above the south ridge to light up the snow crystals sparkling all around us and send shadows from the spruce trees falling on the sunlit slopes.                                                                                                   
I want to stop and bask in the sun but the guys want to get to the lake.
If we hurry I can do my basking there.
Further on, Dan suddenly slows and as I come up on him I see why. Jordan, the young trapper who lives a few miles up the creek is coming our way along the trail. We take time out for a neighborly visit here in the sun and I get my basking time after all. Jordan seems  happy to see us and promises to stop by for dinner and we’re off again. Dan is in front searching out the best route, working his way through trees and around alders. He holds his hand up for us to stop as he scouts ahead and then waves us on. Eventually we start a long downhill run and come out on the muskeg which feeds into the lake. Opposing east and west ridges the length of the lake work like a frame holding in the bright sun that flows in from the south.

Here at the lake is the place to play. It’s wide open and you can do spins and swirls , or race flat out or high mark on the slopes. Some people find there fun in that. For us the fun is getting here.
It isn’t long before Dan is anxious to head back. Something about getting a pie in the oven.