A Cold Dark Walk
By Katarina Bjorkman
2006 started with a tough job north of Ignace, Ontario. The trees were laden with four inches of snow and more than half our lines went through burn regeneration: Picture jack-pine and spruce trees about twelve to fifteen feet tall, two or three inches in diameter and no more than five to nine inches apart. It is The Wall. One literally must chop, whack and squeeze their way through, enduring the recurrent heavy landing of snow falling from above, exploding upon impact with its victim’s head and shoulders. Life is always good when you work hard for your money, and so it was for our team in spite of the conditions. Veronique, whose proficiency with a compass and GPS allows her to navigate and break trail, helped me the first day. A helper makes a world of difference when the going gets tough.
The next day started out great, despite my being alone. I made good time tying on to Bjorn’s north line before turning west. I finished my eight lengths just before dusk; a radio check with Jessica told me she and Steve had just met Ruth and Veronique. We had planned for them to finish sooner so they would be able to pick me up on the lake. Considering this, Jess thought I should backtrack my line, which would have been over three kilometres of walking. Instead I decided to walk out on the creek according to our plan so that the next day would be easier. My big mistake!
I did find the creek, but I often had to use instinct in the fading light to guess where it would likely flow. (Luckily I’m used to feeling whenever I cannot find my glasses!!) After 1.5km, the creek widened out and I was hit by a blast of wind. I was happy to be at the lake and thought about making a fire on the shore to wait until they came to pick me up with the snowmachine. By this time the shadowy tree line was barely distinguishable from the ice and sky blurred by the soft misty flakes being driven by the wind. Wishing I had someone with me, I pulled out my radio and called my team. Nobody copied.
I looked at my map using the light from my GPS to decipher where the snowmobile trail might be, and where the dangerous current would flow. I hate walking on big lakes I don’t know, even in the daylight, and so it was in prayer that I began marching to the Northward shore. I passed by two black air holes and imagined myself falling through . . . I was so relieved to reach the other shore. After snowshoeing alongside the shore and not finding a trail, I resigned myself to other possible landing places, meaning crossing the dreaded current. Not so!! When I got to the point across from it, I saw the black tongue of moving water. Not a chance I was going near that!
I continued on my side of the lake, cautious of the current parallel to my path. My last hope that there would be a landing at the mouth of the river was dashed after a thorough tour of the bay found nothing. By this time I had travelled more than four kilometres and wondered, why didn’t I backtrack my trail? I knew without a doubt I had chosen the wrong path to follow and what the exact dangers I could so easily become prey to. All the simple safety rules had been broken; I was alone, it was dark, I was long exhausted, I was in a place I had not been before and there was no sure way to get me out should I fail to find my way, lose my wits or become injured. I made a second more urgent call on the radio, which went unanswered. Fighting tears and despair, I resolutely pulled out the small-scale map and planned my walk out. There is consolation in acknowledgement of one’s mistake and resignation to the ensuing consequences. Experiences in similar situations breeds a clear head and builds confidence and hope that things will work out . . . everything will be better when I reach that highway!
So I set out in the same stride (minus the enthusiasm) with which I had begun, thankful for the endurance and wilfulness God had given me. Once I was snowshoeing along the river, I lost my fear; in peaceful pursuance of my goal, one step at a time, I thanked God and prayed the rest of my team was ok. I could hear the roar of a waterfall ahead and at last came upon the rail bed. Just as I climbed up I could hear the snowmobile. Not wanting to miss them, I scrambled up and jumped in front of the light. Jess and I both exclaimed our joy at seeing each other and proceeded to tell our stories.
Poor Jess was as exhausted as I was with a roaring fever and headache to boot. Sick as she was, she had tromped out ahead of the group, worried about where I was and how I was doing. She had battled fatigue at every step, her motivation being my safety. It is comforting to know that, having been the victim of similar circumstances, your team can be relied on to understand the situations each other may be facing and react by sacrificing their time and effort for one another. Indeed, it is noble character on my sister’s part, and this is only one example of many in which she proved her love by reacting for others’ benefit. She had every right to demand someone else go and help me; but she was worried and stressed about her sister and tried with all her heart to help me. May the Lord bless her for that and give her full recompense!
The next day Jess spent very ill in bed. We dropped Bjorn off on the highway tried to snowmobile onto the lake. However, the locals told us the only way in meant a ten kilometre snowmobile ride on a trail and then ten kilometres on the lake which was known to have open water. So we drove down a cut and snow-shoed in to join up with my trail. That day we also had about five kilometres to walk out, but at least we were together. The final day was a bonus for Veronique and I—we were in clear-cut along the highway. We went four times faster than our previous average, and met Bjorn in good time . . . where the burn regeneration restarted.
We had a short walk out (1.2km) to the highway, and made our way back to the truck. Ruth and Steve were another three hours in coming—they had returned to finish the area with the long walk in. Though our challenges may be different in everyday life, it is the small things that dictate our character. Are we willing to put our own problems, needs, struggles, projects aside to help a brother or sister at our own expense and detriment? I hope so, because we need to practice to pass the test.
Editor's Note: Katarina walked over 10 kms from the when she finished her day to where she reached the snowmachine trail.
Katarina Bjorkman
By Katarina Bjorkman
2006 started with a tough job north of Ignace, Ontario. The trees were laden with four inches of snow and more than half our lines went through burn regeneration: Picture jack-pine and spruce trees about twelve to fifteen feet tall, two or three inches in diameter and no more than five to nine inches apart. It is The Wall. One literally must chop, whack and squeeze their way through, enduring the recurrent heavy landing of snow falling from above, exploding upon impact with its victim’s head and shoulders. Life is always good when you work hard for your money, and so it was for our team in spite of the conditions. Veronique, whose proficiency with a compass and GPS allows her to navigate and break trail, helped me the first day. A helper makes a world of difference when the going gets tough.
The next day started out great, despite my being alone. I made good time tying on to Bjorn’s north line before turning west. I finished my eight lengths just before dusk; a radio check with Jessica told me she and Steve had just met Ruth and Veronique. We had planned for them to finish sooner so they would be able to pick me up on the lake. Considering this, Jess thought I should backtrack my line, which would have been over three kilometres of walking. Instead I decided to walk out on the creek according to our plan so that the next day would be easier. My big mistake!
I did find the creek, but I often had to use instinct in the fading light to guess where it would likely flow. (Luckily I’m used to feeling whenever I cannot find my glasses!!) After 1.5km, the creek widened out and I was hit by a blast of wind. I was happy to be at the lake and thought about making a fire on the shore to wait until they came to pick me up with the snowmachine. By this time the shadowy tree line was barely distinguishable from the ice and sky blurred by the soft misty flakes being driven by the wind. Wishing I had someone with me, I pulled out my radio and called my team. Nobody copied.
I looked at my map using the light from my GPS to decipher where the snowmobile trail might be, and where the dangerous current would flow. I hate walking on big lakes I don’t know, even in the daylight, and so it was in prayer that I began marching to the Northward shore. I passed by two black air holes and imagined myself falling through . . . I was so relieved to reach the other shore. After snowshoeing alongside the shore and not finding a trail, I resigned myself to other possible landing places, meaning crossing the dreaded current. Not so!! When I got to the point across from it, I saw the black tongue of moving water. Not a chance I was going near that!
I continued on my side of the lake, cautious of the current parallel to my path. My last hope that there would be a landing at the mouth of the river was dashed after a thorough tour of the bay found nothing. By this time I had travelled more than four kilometres and wondered, why didn’t I backtrack my trail? I knew without a doubt I had chosen the wrong path to follow and what the exact dangers I could so easily become prey to. All the simple safety rules had been broken; I was alone, it was dark, I was long exhausted, I was in a place I had not been before and there was no sure way to get me out should I fail to find my way, lose my wits or become injured. I made a second more urgent call on the radio, which went unanswered. Fighting tears and despair, I resolutely pulled out the small-scale map and planned my walk out. There is consolation in acknowledgement of one’s mistake and resignation to the ensuing consequences. Experiences in similar situations breeds a clear head and builds confidence and hope that things will work out . . . everything will be better when I reach that highway!
So I set out in the same stride (minus the enthusiasm) with which I had begun, thankful for the endurance and wilfulness God had given me. Once I was snowshoeing along the river, I lost my fear; in peaceful pursuance of my goal, one step at a time, I thanked God and prayed the rest of my team was ok. I could hear the roar of a waterfall ahead and at last came upon the rail bed. Just as I climbed up I could hear the snowmobile. Not wanting to miss them, I scrambled up and jumped in front of the light. Jess and I both exclaimed our joy at seeing each other and proceeded to tell our stories.
Poor Jess was as exhausted as I was with a roaring fever and headache to boot. Sick as she was, she had tromped out ahead of the group, worried about where I was and how I was doing. She had battled fatigue at every step, her motivation being my safety. It is comforting to know that, having been the victim of similar circumstances, your team can be relied on to understand the situations each other may be facing and react by sacrificing their time and effort for one another. Indeed, it is noble character on my sister’s part, and this is only one example of many in which she proved her love by reacting for others’ benefit. She had every right to demand someone else go and help me; but she was worried and stressed about her sister and tried with all her heart to help me. May the Lord bless her for that and give her full recompense!
The next day Jess spent very ill in bed. We dropped Bjorn off on the highway tried to snowmobile onto the lake. However, the locals told us the only way in meant a ten kilometre snowmobile ride on a trail and then ten kilometres on the lake which was known to have open water. So we drove down a cut and snow-shoed in to join up with my trail. That day we also had about five kilometres to walk out, but at least we were together. The final day was a bonus for Veronique and I—we were in clear-cut along the highway. We went four times faster than our previous average, and met Bjorn in good time . . . where the burn regeneration restarted.
We had a short walk out (1.2km) to the highway, and made our way back to the truck. Ruth and Steve were another three hours in coming—they had returned to finish the area with the long walk in. Though our challenges may be different in everyday life, it is the small things that dictate our character. Are we willing to put our own problems, needs, struggles, projects aside to help a brother or sister at our own expense and detriment? I hope so, because we need to practice to pass the test.
Editor's Note: Katarina walked over 10 kms from the when she finished her day to where she reached the snowmachine trail.
Katarina Bjorkman