West Hawk wonderment

Travel Manitoba calls it a “summer town.” We nonetheless booked a cabin at West Hawk Lake in winter. Nothing to do with off-season rates, of course. Moreover, cosy cabins around New Year’s Eve were thankfully available.

Created by a huge meteor smashing to Earth millions of years ago, I doubtfully assured the family, “That happened years back. I’d bet it won’t happen again this week.” I almost added, “Just in case, wear hats.”

From the backseat, our four-year-old grandson Henry asked, “Can I see the meteor?” I explained, “It’s under the lake. But it made big hills!” When that didn’t thrill him, I pivoted, “We’ll go sliding!”

We discovered a fairly bare hill right across from our West Hawk Lake Resort cabin. But sleds find any tree, log or hump.

My important job was blocking a tree to save lives. As the sled with Henry and our son Gordie careened straight at me, I leapt. Gordie stopped the sled in time. I have voluntarily stepped away from that job. To save lives.

Margie and Henry then flew over a log, found a hump and sprawled. Henry screamed for one minute and laughed for two. And the sled split.

Friendly fauna

Good thing we brought a train set and crafts. And Henry found purpose at a variable-speed ceiling-fan switch. Plus, cabins come equipped with foxes and deer at windows. The Resort’s co-owner, Shannon, said, “I’m a hunter. I go out, no deer. I come home, they’re staring into my living room.”

One of two foxes curled up in the snow. I named this beauty “Curly.” Margie named the companion “Moe.” Henry said two frequenting deer are “Blitzen and, um… Bob.”

I relay this in case you meet them. And whenever I waved at Bob, he twitched his right ear. I announced, “I am at one with nature!”

That’s when Bob turned and Henry exclaimed, “He’s pooping tiny poops!” I later walked to Keystone Resort’s store with Henry, gushing, “Let’s get deer poop!” While sharing Glossettes, he agreed, “These poops are good. Chocolatey!”

The cabin features a wood-burning fireplace. That’s like TV for us, albeit sometimes competing against Hallmark movies with endless, recurring ads. I again resolved to stop further annoying Margie with my accompanying voice track, no matter how predictable Hallmark’s plots or when spotting Winnipeg locations. This year, I won’t break my resolution. I won’t. No more voice-overs.

Sounds also come from distant crows and snowmobiles. I joked, “How can I sleep with no sirens?” Snowmobiles pleasantly reminded me of winter fun during teen years. Until a sudden nearby roar startled me from a nap. But naps come easy here.

Sunsets brilliantly emboss snow-burdened boughs of big spruce and dangly jacks. Plus, frost paints the tiniest twigs, creating white-laced birch. Pics also come easy here.

In our pine-panelled abode, Margie excitedly asked, “Did you find characters in the bedroom?” I responded, “What?” Among knots and woodgrain, she visualized a bird, a wolf, ducks. She enthused, “And here’s one reminding me of you: a big nut!” I did not expect this sudden onset of cabin fever. I then exclaimed, “Look at these frost patterns on the window — like feathers, ferns, dancing dicky birds!”

Panoramic vistas

We rehabbed by climbing Dragon Fire Trail. According to Explore the Whiteshell’s Facebook page, it’s West Hawk’s “best-kept secret.” Panoramic vistas from juniper-adorned cliffs are worth the hour’s exertion, even a day trip.

Descending, Margie lost her footing. She simply remained seated on her ski pants and slid the long, weaving downslope through the trees. “Such fun!” she exclaimed. Watch for her enjoying this new technique at Whistler, possibly.

One morning I left to photograph sun rays splashing the red “dragon fire” cliffs. Margie insisted, “Just don’t walk on the lake!”

As I walked on the lake, because I know ice, moaning erupted underfoot — like some whale or bad indigestion. It shifted away. I warily walked faster on a snowmobile trail as the bellowing returned. I pondered, “I’m lighter when tip-toeing, right?”

When reporting this experience to Shannon, she said, “That’s called ‘booming.’ The lake is making ice.” I guess I’m not such an ice guy after all.

I somehow neglected to tell Margie I later saw a barricade of signs on shore warning “Trail Closed. Do Not Enter. Open Water. Thin Ice.” Shh.

Even in winter, West Hawk offers three convenience stores, gas and liquor, plus four resorts. The super Nite Hawk Café opens on weekends by mid-January with my Peanut Butter Burger. We dined at the Hi-Point Restaurant’s fireplace, savouring beer-cheese dip with pretzel bread and tender ribs with a side of tasty fries. I sipped their Crown Royal-based cocktail called the Icebreaker. I thought, “Hey, that was almost my nickname.”

With Bob at our cabin window, sunset adorning the booby-trapped hill, a comforting fire and watching a Hallmark flick, I had to blurt, “They’ll end up kissing. Wait, she’ll first go back to the city. Hey, is that Winnipeg?” But I only blurted during ads. Mostly.

Our visit actually coincided with a widely-reported meteor shower. I quipped to the Crescent Beach Cottages store owner, “Folks here kinda sensitive to that, eh?” Then, inspired by a silly meme, I said to Margie — who also rolled her eyes — “I’d watch the meteor shower, but isn’t it entitled to privacy?”

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