Thursday, August 26, 2010

Winnipeg to Snow Lake

Drops of water slowly gather into little streams as they create curved patterns along the bus' windows.  The older lady, wrapped in a light blue sweater, crotches a small doll.  Earlier she showed me some of the coin purses and key chains she hand sews and sells to tourists.  Her key chains are adorable with fur lined boots or gloves.  I've napped most of the morning and into the afternoon.  28 hours on the bus now.  I've bypassed Winnipeg in favor os discovering the lake regions of Northern Manitoba.  Passing through tows with names such as "The Pas," "Snowy River," and "Dauphin" indicate some of the history along the way.  Current intention is to travel to Snow Lake, however, I'm open to visiting Flin Flon, the small town named after the men that discovered gold and minerals in the area.

From vast open prairies the scenery grows into ever taller trees spattered about with fields of hay.  Color has marked some of the trees, indicating Winter is closing in.  I miss my flowers, my gardens, and my cabin.  Messages arrive daily lately from the Universe that I should contact my father when I can.  I enjoyed spending the last two years getting to know him; however, I could no longer handle being around the others.  There are constant reminders of what was given up, so for the moment I'm enjoying the green, the yellow, and the orange of the trees outside my bus' window.

Awakening after several more hours of sleep, I discover the delicate silver-barked birch dancing with the dark, pointed northern pines.  Through the rain there are mountains in the distance.  The sea of green trees morphs into a sea of grass with tall markers of what used to be trees.  Forest fires take their toll here regularly.  I understand that there are over 200 forest fires at this very moment in Canada.  The farmland breaks in the forest have dissipated now, the forest growing more wild.  The small tow-lane road winds along, taking our bus further North.  It's 7 PM.  There is more yellow in the trees now, mixed with lime and dark green.

The marshlands appear occasionally through the trees revealing Lake Winnipeg.  The wind blows the leaves and grass.  There is something calming about having so much water around.  Flin Flon is 238 Kilometers.
The area here is flat, not hilly or mountainous, but rivers, small ponds, marshes, and lakes abound.  The pinging sound of the rain against the glass combined with the gentle swaying and rocking of the bus makes me sleepy again.  I've already slept most of today so I'm trying to stay awake.

Sleep might win.


9:30 PM brings a transfer from Greyhound to Grey Goose in Cranberry Portage at a very small country store.  Next stop is along the side of the road to await a van to take me onto Snow Lake.  I'll depart there Wednesday, unless something else alters the intentions.  The new bus driver is a smiling, happy, blonde lady.  I'm the only person going to Snow Lake, it seems they don't have a lot of tourists up these parts.  Should be interesting.  A bit of sleep, the bus stops, I hear the driver say, this is the Snow Lake stop.  I look around and it's very dark all around the bus.  Grabbing my bags I bounce into the darkness, walk around the bus and discover the small van is already here, my large pack being transferred over, so I am introduced to the driver, Hank, and take the front seat of the van.
The Grey Goose van meeting the Greyhound bus, Hank and our bus driver.

Hank is very friendly and we talk about the town, why I am visiting here, where I'm from, that he used to work for the mines and now for Greyhound.  He takes me for a quick tour of the local gold mine which is reopening, before dropping me off at the small greyhound station across from the local Inn.  Bags slung over both shoulders, and into the bar (yes, the bar is where I had to go to talk to someone about obtaining a room for the night.) to inquire about a room.  A few minutes later and I'm walking back across the street, no rooms available, so I was getting ready to sleep on the now very wet streets of this small town.  I saw Hank still inside the station so I knocked and asked about the other Inn and how much it costs, he made a phone call and then asked me some questions.  The next bit surprised me, but reminded me of the basic goodness of people.  Hank was talking with his wife Kim, and now I am a guest in their lovely home.  Kim says I should stay here at least a few days as there is much to see, however, I mentioned if it was raining tomorrow then I would go ahead and catch the next bus out so as to not be an inconvenience to them.  We all talked for a few hours before being shown to a bedroom, provided a towel, and instructions as to how to stay warm.  I'm heading to bed here in a bit, but wanted to get this all down in writing before I forget.  This sort of thing doesn't happen every day.

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