ODDS’N’SODS — Surprise on a winter’s day

A few years ago, during one unforgettable December, I was under contract to a mining company to work on claims near the Madawaska River, east-northeast of Bancroft, Ont. As assistant to Ted, the consulting geologist, my job was to help erect pickets, take geochemical samples and drive the truck.

Camp was a poorly insulated hunting cabin full of mice who got up to all kinds of pranks, usually at night. While you tried to sleep, shivering under a mountain of bedding, the rodents chewed up toilet paper, made nests in strange places, put peanuts in your boots and sampled the groceries. The discovery of their mischief the next day, together with the ice in the bucket and a trip to the “biffy” (our outdoor privy) at minus 20 C, really got one going in the morning.

On the day in question, it was bright and sunny but crisp and cold. We had a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, pancakes and coffee. Ted loved his food and, although overweight, he could plod for endless miles in the bush. Eventually we set forth, well-bundled, along the surveyed lines that cut through the bush. Ted was engaged in mapping rock types, while I was taking the geochemical samples.

At measured intervals along the lines, a numbered picket (stick with a red top) indicated that a sampling point lay ahead. These points were about 25 metres apart. At each, I had to scrape away the snow and ice and fill a small, numbered bag with humus, which was later analyzed for traces of various metals.

As my carrying sack became filled with humus samples, Ted got ahead of me on the line, which ran up and down through a rocky, hilly area of mixed coniferous and hardwood forest. Suddenly, I stopped dead at the sight of something breathtakingly beautiful and completely unexpected. It sparkled in the sunshine like a magic football, barely touching the snow on the ground. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was about 20 inches in diameter, perfectly round, composed of exquisite and large ice crystals, each about one-half-inch long or more. In the sun, they were delicately iridescent. In all my years of work outdoors in winter, I’d never seen anything like it.

What on earth was it, and how could it have got there? My first thought was that somehow it must be a snowball which had rolled downhill, but there were no tracks. And why was it perfectly round, barely touching the ground, and composed of crystals like that? I called for Ted, who, like me, was amazed and entranced.

I don’t know how long we gazed at it, absolutely fascinated, but eventually curiosity got the better of me and I picked up a stick to give it a prod. “I don’t know if you ought to do that,” Ted said. “There might be something alive inside it.”

I gently touched it. Imagine our surprise when the magical football suddenly collapsed into a small heap of snow crystals, revealing a busy little tree inside.

That wasn’t all, either. To our amazement, there was a little hole in the ground at the base of the tree, out of which came warm, moisture-laden air in the form of a steamy fog, arising like smoke from a chimney. “There’s something down there,” I said, carefully walking around in widening circles. Soon I saw a large cave opening under a massive rock covered with snow. Taking off my parka, I squeezed in a little. The air was warmer, and there was dried grass on the floor. I paused until my eyes got used to the darkness, and then cautiously peered around a corner. There was a rank smell, and what seemed like a distant sound of snoring. A faint ray of light from somewhere in front of me revealed the unmistakable shape of an enormous sleeping bear.

I suddenly emerged from the cave like a cork out of a bottle, almost knocking Ted over. “It’s a bear,” I said. “Let’s get out of here before we wake it up.” I nervously led a hasty retreat, with my partner, his mind wandering, in tow. Unbelievably, Ted was thinking of supper. “Too bad we didn’t bring a gun,” he complained. “I just love bear meat.”

— John Morgan is a prospector who lives in Scarborough, Ont.