Groups of snowmobilers started passing our tent fairly early, so we were up and about right off the bat in case border patrol came by again or we needed to explain to someone that we are actually fairly normal.
I have finished my terrible mystery novel. Steve is about 150 pages behind, so I don’t have new material for a bit.
We trekked down to the river, but despite clear skies and warm temperatures it’s still a sloppy ice block. Smaller, for sure, but still enough of one that we wouldn’t be able to break through it ourselves.
Part of the day was spent trekking out to a point of land where the river turned away from the border to see if maybe we could portage around the iced swamp and put in downriver. Forty minutes of postholing later… no dice. Ice-lined swamplands with no way of telling what’s solid and what’s not, and nowhere safe to launch a boat. Infuriatingly, the Canadian side of the river is snowless and there’s EVEN A GODDAMNED CANOE on the shore that’s clearly seeing some use out in the open marsh.
If the blockage melts enough, we MIGHT be able to leave midday tomorrow, but it’s looking more like we’ll be here through Monday.
On the bright side, the weather is sunny and pleasant and it’s delightful to sit outside the tent in the camp chairs. Steve has his pipe and his ridiculous captain’s hat and seems about as content as can be, so I’m trying to follow his lead and give fewer fucks about the situation.