Admittedly, I’ve been known to give winter the cold shoulder.
I’ve called it nasty names. I’ve thrown salt at it with no remorse. And I’ve refused to play with it.
Chalk it up to global warming or something, but this month I’m softening toward my least favourite season. I’ve decided to dive right in and give it a chance. I’m even going to sleep with it. Yeah, that’s right (with protective gear, naturally).
And what better place to do it than Montreal, Québec, where the average winter temperature drops to a forbidding -10°c?
First things first. I did a little warm-up at the brand new Claire and Marc Bourgie Pavilion of Quebec and Canadian Art (part of the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts). It just opened in October.
There’s all kinds of art in there to make your heart swell with patriotic pride, but what I was really interested in was the winter-themed stuff.
Scenes like this…
…and this…
…and this….
…and – okay, this has nothing to do with winter (except, perhaps, that a certain swatch of forehead might get rather chilly at times).
This, however, is wonderfully remote and oh-so Canadian. The point is, before wandering out into alarmingly cold climes, I like to think of our Canadian forefathers and how winter was an ineluctable part of life for them. There was no “honey, could you please blast the heaters in the sleigh for fifteen minutes?” Oh no. These guys froze their 19th century butts off.
The art immersion/harsh reality reminder therefore prepped me for my first outdoor expedition: a guided snowshoeing trek atop Mount Royal. Here’s our guide, Sarah, who works for Les Amis de La Montagne.
Every Saturday between January 7 and March 10, Les Amis de La Montagne offers these tours to the public on Saturdays (private tours may also be booked).
It costs $17, including snowshoes and hot chocolate. The snowshoes aren’t tennis rackets bound to your feet with twine. Visually disappointing, but ultimately beneficial.
I also took the liberty of renting a full “eff you, windchill” outfit from Fitz and Follwell, a rad tour company that I’ll tell you more about in the coming days.
The walk lasts 1.5 hours, and takes you from Maison Smith into the woods.
At times, you can see the Montreal skyline peeking out from behind the naked trees.
We walked up to the big cross. Don’t you think a lot of people must have been praying at it at that very moment? Praying right up at me (oh, the power. THE POWER). I thought I heard a few voices whispering “please let me win the lottery this time,” but it may have been an aural hallucination generated by the schnack-schnacking of the snowshoes in the crusty snow.
When we got to the official lookout, mulled wine was dispensed.
This was a nice touch, but I must say, I was quite toasty! Between the gear and the movement, the party-pooping shivers were kept at bay.
I really enjoyed the walking through the woods bit. The sound of the shoes was rhythmic and peaceful, rendering conversation almost impossible. As you know, I do hate conversation in most situations where you’re meant to be concentrating on something else – I think a walk in the forest is a good time to be fully present in the moment, not discussing The Bachelor.
These pictures don’t show you just how dark it got, but there were moments when I convinced myself I had time travelled to our country’s infancy, and my goal was scavenging for furs.
I fear I’ve gone native.
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