Gone Some Time
A FROZEN QUEST.
My best friend Bob and I were ten when we hatched the idea one winter in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, sitting on our sleds overlooking the coulee. It was January — the month Scott of the Antarctic, in 1912, reached the South Pole — and while the Norwegian, Amundsen, beat him to it, it was Captain Scott who was the true hero. Or so we were told.
In 1956 King George School was a bastion of the British Commonwealth, with a children’s choir singing English marches, hallways with pictures of the Queen and Prince Philip, and Union Jacks on equal footing with the Canadian flag. The myth of Robert Falcon Scott, and others who gave their lives for the Empire, was drilled into us. Scott and his four men died on their return, just eleven miles from base, but when their frozen bodies were found eight months later, they’d done significant scientific research for the Royal Geographical Society.
Not only had Bob and I seen Scott of the Antarctic, starring John Mills, we were intrigued with Farley Mowat’s children’s novel, Lost in the Barrens. Our desire for winter adventure was launched. There was Arctic air on the prairies, but it was dry, and the wind not bitter like in the east. There was no internet of course, barely any TV, and playing outside was the norm. So it was we decided to be explorers, regardless of what nature threw at us. The coulee loomed invitingly. How far did the valley go? Where in the west was the source of the creek? We decided to find out.
The expedition would require a dedicated team of four, and toboggans for hauling supplies. Our brothers were chosen — eight year-old Jim, Bob’s sibling, and my own little brother, Michael. Sure he was six years old, but he would do; if he couldn’t keep up, we’d haul him on the toboggan. You might ask, what were our mothers thinking when they packed us hasty lunches, filled our thermoses, and happily sent us off? Did they not think we were serious?
Our team set out for the coulee on the north edge of town. It was sunny, but cold enough to freeze the hairs in your nostrils. Around 2:00 PM we reached the frozen slough behind the Convent of Sion, where the coulee opened up. Bob and I pulled our toboggans across, our brothers following obediently. But where the valley narrowed, the wind couldn’t blow away the snow, and instead of smooth ice we ploughed through drifts up to our thighs. Huge sheets of broken ice then confronted us, and we had to haul everything over the jagged peaks.
Michael was the first to go. The little guy was tired and cold and asked to be pulled on a toboggan. At 3 o’clock Bob’s brother Jim faltered, and Bob suggested we turn back. Fine, I said — you pull the boys home, and I’ll carry on. The honour of the expedition was at stake. I watched them leave and continued westward. It was getting more interesting with every turn, and I’d have kept on if not for getting hungry. I found a protected spot and laid out my blanket. The soup in my thermos was cold, but at least it wasn’t frozen like the peanut butter and jam sandwiches. I threw them away and decided to lay down in my parka for a little rest. When I eventually looked at my watch it was 4 PM. By 5 o’clock it would be dark.
By the time I made it back to my neighbourhood there was no more feeling in my toes. My mother was on the phone with the police when I got home. I was officially a Missing Person. When she saw me, she ran and drew a piping hot bath. Now I could feel my toes, and other numbed body parts; the violent thawing was excruciating. It might have been less painful had I frozen solid— certainly my fate if I’d fallen asleep earlier on that blanket.
As a WW II English war bride, my mother never let us forget the superior public education she had in the ‘mother country.’ She loved relating the morbid, romantic culture of British heroism — the Charge of the Light Brigade, Admiral Nelson’s death in his hour of triumph — and reciting these, the final words of Captain Oates, who sacrificed himself because his terrible frostbite was impeding Scott: “I’m just going out, and may be some time.” Fortunately, I was not gone some time.
© January 2022 by Richard Hancox
