It was cold. Bone-chilling, mind-numbing, can’t wait to get out of it, cold.
The January weekend trip to the family cottage near Algonquin Park seemed innocuous. The two-bedroom place beside the lake had insulation and a fireplace that offered adequate heat on a normal day. Cut wood piled to the roof in the nearby shed was enough to last the winter if anyone wanted to brave staying there that long.
But I forgot to check the forecast. An Arctic cold descended from the north, plunging most of Ontario, Canada into a killer freeze. Even with the fire and piles of quilts, I could feel the wind search out every crevasse, crawling into the cabin, destroying my relaxing retreat. I watched the winter birds outside my window flutter and fall, then rise again to forage for food in the frozen landscape. The down under their top feathers kept them warm. Lucky birds!
It was Sunday afternoon, and there was no hope for it. I had to brave the weather to return to Toronto. Work was waiting, but so was my warm apartment. I shouldn’t have come. Packing my bag, putting out the fire, and closing the cottage didn’t take long. My fingers became numb in the minute it took to turn off the water outside. It would wait for the next guests to arrive to begin flowing through the pipes again. The car was left running while I did these chores, so when I jumped in, the heater had taken the edge out of the air and ice off the windows. A quick check of gauges before leaving caused me to take a second look. The gas indicator was at E. I hoped E was for eternal because it was a couple of miles to the gas station once I hit the highway. Why didn’t I notice that when I arrived Friday night? Too tired from work. Too harried from traffic. No excuse. I know better.
I slid onto the road while plowing through the light snow drifts that had accumulated off the lake. Black ice was nasty stuff. With the gas tank low and the road treacherous, my hands gripped the wheel as I wound around the lake. Halfway there. Come on baby, you can do it! A gust of wind off the flat icy water hit the side of the little hatchback, and I slid towards the ditch. Every good Canadian winter driver knows what to do in this situation, yet I did the opposite. My hand jerked the wheel, trying to change the direction I was heading. Instead of preventing my trajectory, the backside of the car began swerving in an uncontrolled skid until I went off the road. Now on a forty-five-degree angle, face down in a gulley, tires spinning but going nowhere, I threw the stick shift into park.
My heart reached my throat, and my stomach dropped to my hips. Breathe! If I were a swearing woman, many vulgar words might have flowed from my mouth. Instead, I hit the steering wheel repeatedly with my open palms. It didn’t help. I suspected cursing wouldn’t have either.
I got out of the car and walked around to see if there was any way I could pull out backwards. Maybe if I rocked the car. As soon as I shimmied back into the driver’s seat, the car sputtered, and the engine stopped. Turning the key and pressing the gas resulted in no sound. It wouldn’t turn over. The E on the gas gauge didn’t stand for eternal. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, but the battery had died. This just gets better and better. Help!
Now halfway between the cottage and the highway on a deserted forest road, I made the only logical decision. The chances anyone would come down this way on a day like today were almost zero. I had to make for the road most travelled. Putting on my hat, pulling up my hood, zipping up my jacket, and pushing on my ski-gloves, I bundled myself up as best I could for the long hike. What did the weather channel say? Thirty below Celsius with the windchill. Yikes!
It wasn’t long before my legs were burning with the cold. Even with lined pants, the gusts off the lake cut through my clothes like they were summer cotton. My hands oscillated between covering my cheeks and rubbing the tops of my legs. One laborious step after another, my limbs felt like tree trunks. Why are they so heavy? Willing myself to walk, knowing what would happen if I didn’t, the forward momentum was torture. I tried to assess where I was and how close I was to the road ahead. It kept me focused and moving.
A clump of trees from the forest protruded closer to the road, and the water rounded into a curve at the same spot. As I came round the bend, I saw a tall dark figure ahead. You’ve got to be kidding me! A moose was standing in the clearing blocking my way. She was a large cow. She didn’t look like she had lost much weight this winter. She had to be 300 kilos, and that was on the small size for a female. A bull moose could be three times that weight. Thank God, it isn’t a male. My teeth were chattering so loud, I closed my mouth, not wanting to start a confrontation. You’ve got to go, girl. I can see the highway not far ahead. Giddyap!
Umber and mocha dreadlocks served as her winter coat, and the ensemble was finished with white winter boots. It was not just about fashion for the moose but it was also great camouflage amongst the cedar and snowy landscape. At least one of us is warm.
The cow turned her head and stared at me. She blinked as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. I could hear her thinking, “What are you doing out in this weather? Are you an idiot?”
Yes, I am apparently. No Canadian in their right mind would have come up to the cottage on a winter weekend without checking the weather first, nor would they have left the main road without making sure they had gas, nor would they have left the cottage today knowing about the bitter windchill, nor would they have continued driving on a sideroad with black ice, nor would they have neglected to charge their cell phone. But here I am. And I’ve got to get past you Miss. Moose or I will freeze to death. No longer able to rattle my teeth, my body began shaking like I was riding an old wooden roller coaster bouncing along the metal tracks. Another gust of wind off the lake covered both of us in a light dusting of snow. Did I see a shiver run down her spine? It was probably just my eyes joining the rest of my trembling appendages.
She took a step toward me. I held my breath. If it came to a physical confrontation. I was toast. Help! If I talked to her, would she charge or would she be able to tell that I’m a pacifist? I don’t hunt. Somehow, I didn’t think it would matter to her. Well, it might matter, but she wouldn’t figure that out from my voice.
I saw a car go by on the highway ahead. There was a chance of survival…if I could run or waddle up there…if I could get by this roadblock. A few more motionless minutes and I would be a pillar of ice serving as a warning to other senseless travellers, much like Lot’s wife.
With no other option, I had to try. “Hi girl,” I kept my voice soft. She made no move toward me, but her ears pricked forward. “I could really use a little help.” Her head nodded slightly. Did you understand me? No, that’s crazy. I’m delirious. I took one step forward. “You see that road behind you? I’ve got to get there.” Another step forward for me, and the cow moved backward a little. “I wouldn’t dream of infringing on your space. But this is the only way.” I braved one more step. She turned her head toward the woods but didn’t leave. “Come on. Be a good moose.” The animal moved slowly, keeping an eye on me, ensuring I wasn’t going to hurt her. Trust me, sister. I’m more afraid of you than you are of me. As soon as she reached the tree line, the animal picked up speed and disappeared into the glistening green and white forest. It looked like a dreamland out of a child’s book, pure and untouched. But my dire situation was not a fairy tale. I needed my happy ending.
One big obstacle was now out of the way. My legs and cheeks had gone completely numb. Too distracted by the moose, I failed to notice frostbite setting in. I slapped my legs, then I pushed myself to make the last one hundred-metre trek to what I hoped would be my rescue. Help!
The first pickup that drove by didn’t see my wave or didn’t care. The next was an eighteen-wheeler. With my last spurt of energy, I lifted both arms over my head and waved like my life depended on it because it did. The noisy airbrakes sounded like angels singing to me. Who would have believed that the tail end of a Mac truck backing towards you could bring such joy? The burly middle-aged man lifted me into his cab. Were those wings on his back? The engine heater warmed inside the cab but not my body. I vibrated as the semi’s brakes had done. My rescuer called for an ambulance.
The following day, frost on the outside of my hospital window painted pictures of the forest I had escaped. Tall pines with sweeping branches lined the landscape that crawled up the glass. If I squinted, I could see the moose standing inside a small clearing. She peered at me through the evergreen boughs. Thank you for moving. I imagined her nodding to me. Seems like I got help in time. I opened my eyes fully. She was gone.
Outside, the howling of the wind whipping around buildings, whistling through alleyways, and roaring down the streets caused a shudder to run up my spine. It was still cold. Bone-chilling, mind-numbing, but I wasn’t going out in it. No way. Not this time.