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We return to one of our favorite haunts. It's a very cold but sunny day as Nash, Alex and I head North to the frozen tundra that surrounds Peterborough. Today is their Santa Claus Parade and Igloo-building Festival. Everyone prepares their favorite winter dwelling in front of their poorly-insulated trailerhomes. The fanciest igloo gets a visit from Saint Nick and a supply of moose meat. No one drives a vehicle in this god-forsaken land, but snowmobiles and dog-teams are a common sight charging through red lights ant Main and Hunter. The natives are in a festive mood as they make their way to the Gordon Best Theatre for a rare presentation of Nosferatu. We were here before in summertime and that was the last time a travelling entertainer had attempted to make the daring expedition up to Peterborough. Pemmican, blubber and whale-oil beer are consumed with abandon before, during and after the show. Nash likes the pemmican and beer, but gives me the blubber. Story of my life. The locals are desperate to have a good time before the winter freeze really sets in. There'll be no more going out for a social evening until the spring thaw in June and the sun reappears in the sky. Did I mention they have no running water from now until May? Good thing the city of Peterborough recinded their restrictions on backyard outhouses. Now they can be less than twenty feet from the main dwelling. Water can be drawn from the Trent River only if the hole cut through the ice is less than 30 centimetres in diameter and the water is withdrawn one bucket at a time. The bucket must hold 4 litres or less of water and be free of detergents, feces or toxic waste. No group bucketing allowed. The Trent runs right beside the theatre, so when we take our after-dinner stroll, I go and check out the river. As I climbed over the snow bank, I could see the main water was open and looked inviting. Nash yelled at me not to go in, so I just had a taste (fresh, with a hint of iron, potassium, and pine). How cold is it, you ask? As I leave my mark, it instantly freezes, foams into a small yellow iceberg and floats downstream. Nosferatu and a second set of Nash Thrash are well received by the colouful parka-clad natives and some remain to the end to talk to Nash. As Alex packs up the stage gear, the locals and Nash talk about dogs, dogsleds, hunting, survival in the woods, duck-calls and other local interests. Thanks to Mike and Steve who stuck around just to get their names in my diary. Thanks to Ian, Phil and Dave for their technical support and thanks to Jerome for all the blubber. Digger |
