Escarpment escapade Wintertime in Roseisle is sure to bring a smile By: Gord Mackintosh Posted: 2:00 AM CST Saturday, Jan. 4, 2025 Last Modified: 2:11 PM CST Tuesday, Jan. 7, 2025 Updates

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 04/01/2025 (447 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Driving westward from Carman, an inconsiderate blizzard disguised Provincial Road 245 as another white field. I exclaimed to Margie, “Remember our vow?” She replied, “Yes, commitment!” I hesitated, “I meant, to never again drive in storms!”

We let a cautious semi-trailer guide us, although the highway’s occasional yellow line repeatedly appeared to our right. Later, truck ruts helped us overcome back roads.

For recompense, winds decorated thick snow onto every tree branch at our destination — an escarpment rental near Roseisle called Mosswood Cabin. Soon, sunshine spotlighted the artistry and threw shadows onto the snow to enlarge the forest’s presence.

Vintage skis and snowshoes, plus collections of feathers and oversized birch-bark pieces quaintly adorn Mosswood’s living area. Among books, a hardcover spine announces The Butt…s of Manitoba. A clever visitor covered six letters in the word “Butterflies” with matching tape. Vacation-induced creativity is limitless.

Outside a window, wary woodpeckers cling and swing from a feeder and peck the wall for laughs. Two white-tailed deer walked toward the cabin until seeing me gawking out. A jittery red squirrel stretches skyward to survey the region’s current events, notably my intrusion. Even behind the window, the animal kingdom is on to me.

The squirrel owns a nine-metre snow tunnel. It’s an escape route from a crime scene — another feeder where it pilfers fallen seeds intended for four flighty blue jays and gliding chickadees.

I peered into the tunnel. What a snow fort! I want in! As a child, I carved one where I ate Old Dutch Onion ’N Garlic chips and leapt out to scare Auntie Liz and Old Lady Nelson walking by. A plow scooped it away — but without me inside, thankfully (for some).

Temperatures bottomed out at -40 C due to winds from Tuktoyaktuk. I wore every item of clothing in my suitcase. I put pyjamas on under my underpants, jackets over my jackets, and gitch on my head. Wink. Hey, wait, that’s a good idea. I did that once and no one said anything.

In the coldest weather, what’s best about going out is… coming in, especially when a stove fire awaits. Margie adds fairy lights. She adds candles supposedly with vanilla, cinnamon, ginger and lemon — but, for sure, with wicks. And she adds, “Please go back out for more logs.”

After a comforting cheese fondue, we walked Road 32N at night. Something ahead shattered ice-encased branches. A low-lying creature suddenly appeared by the road. OK, maybe it was the neighbour’s hulking, snoopy dog named Angel. Nonetheless, I reassured, “Best we walk in daylight so we can see what ate us.”

Margie valiantly wanted to stoke the stove two or three times overnight. I helped too — by saying, “You’re great!” That’s commitment.

Nearby, Roseisle Community Grocery Co-op offers local crafts, renowned soups, as well as goodies from Winkler’s Valley Bakery and Morden’s Rendezvous Brewing. This gathering place serves weekend breakfasts and weekday lunches. Friday mornings mean Cindy’s popular pillowy cinnamon buns. Yes, we met the other famous Cindy Klassen — now Cindy McDonald. Margie exclaimed, “I’m the Cinnamon Bun Queen, right? Well, these are the best.”

Among friendly regulars, we chatted with Ben (he joyously recounts careening hands-free in a truck with deflated tires on abandoned train tracks), Jason (an ice-road trucker and former wrestler nicknamed “Killer Klassen” who shared his late-night escarpment photo of a cougar), and Albert (a 91-year-old rancher tending about 100 cattle). Tell your French and American cousins that folks come all the way from Notre Dame de Lourdes, and even Miami.

We drove up the compelling Snow Valley Road. See the ruins of Leary Brickworks. “No Trespassing!” signs must lure adventurers. After meandering among the escarpment’s frostbitten cliffs and exposed innards, find VaVaVoom Garage. Glimpse at endless old vehicles squatting among treed hills — featured in the 2006 horror movie Population 436.

Passing on the more-challenging Birch Ski Area trails, daughter Cotelle joined us at the Pumpkin Creek Ski Club hut. Depositing $10 each for equipment and trail use, Margie and Cotelle chose a groomed loop called The Stroll. I, however, crave incident-free strolling and let others buckle onto their extremities seven-foot boards. I ignited the hut’s stove for their return. Margie fell twice but arrived intact, pretty well. Next day: less intact.

Mosswood’s sauna later nailed our Nordic Day, especially when Cotelle fearlessly dashed out in swimwear, shrieked and made a snow angel in record time. She certainly left an impression.

Intrigued by two flowing Snow Valley creeks, I wondered if a stream near Mosswood also defies winter. The next daring frigid morning, I asked Margie, “Ya comin’?” She answered, “Bye.”

I hiked down a steep ravine trail. Here’s the surprise: you must hike back up. My deep, oncoming tracks were way further apart than homeward. And the creek is frozen — locked up tight.

A panicky partridge darted from somewhere to anywhere. I wondered, “Why do birds, deer and squirrels bolt? If I was them, I’d eagerly chum with folks to finagle an invite into a warm cabin — like Angel did.”

Once again, my nose and toes grew back; my other parts, not so much. But Margie and I still made another vow: we shall return.

gordmackintosh9@gmail.com