Spring in Gohere Bay

As the earth tilts and days grow longer, winter begins to ease its grip on Gohere Bay.  Ice gives way to open water in the sunny channels while clinging to islands and bays.  Watersheds swell and creeks rise and run with melted snow from rocky outcrops where the great Canadian shield pokes through moss and dirt.  Weather, so wildly variable throughout summer and winter, is no more forgiving this time of year, with temperatures rising and falling, seemingly at random. 

In older days, when the ice roads were used to access hunting blinds or trap lines, trucks and cars travelled the frozen lake, sometimes ending their journeys prematurely.  They would be parked on whatever piece of land was nearby, usually next to or between pine trees, the most reliable indicator of land beneath the snow.

Often, forgotten or abandoned cars would spend entire summers on tiny reef-islands barely bigger than the vehicle itself.

In spring, sudden changes of temperature are common, combined with shifting winds, a channel open one day, may be an ice jam the next.  Ice that seemed sure underfoot in the morning, would disappear by lunchtime.

Such was the case one spring as Willard and Mary ventured out onto Sabaskong Bay.  After foreclosure proceedings granted them title to the camp once again, they were anxious to assess the condition of the camp.  There had been a trip during the winter to check inventory such as beds and blankets and such, however boats were buried under thick snow drifts and cabins had been winterized, hopefully.  They arrived in mid-April and found the cove at the Government Dock ice-packed and checked into a hotel.  Next day, they were able to reach Paradise Island before ice could be seen.  As the day went on, temperatures rose and a southerly wind kicked up.  The warm up continued overnight and the party headed out next morning with high hopes.

They nudged carefully through slushy water around the point past Paradise Island, Jensen's Island and were nearly to Pingaree when a solid bump against the hull caught Willard's attention.  Easing back on the throttle, he crept onward through chunks of soft ice, leaving a wake that resembled a stirred cocktail.  The wind had died and the sky was grey and overcast as they passed Cyclone Point.  The motor echoed through an otherwise eerie silence.  There was a decision, cross the bay toward Wolf Island or turn west to Wee Island.  The run to Wolf Island was about two miles, Wee Island was about three-quarter mile.  Besides, what would happen when they passed Wolf Island?  Would Gohere Bay be open water?  Pack ice?  Frozen solid?  It was too late in the day to risk being stuck in the cold overnight.  Willard nudged the wheel toward the west.