-28 Celcius

While I'd rather not do it again, I reflect fondly on the flying days of my youth, with wool long johns under lined pants, turtle neck and heavy wool naval commando sweater, all under insulated work coveralls from Canadian Tire, topped with a cheap Woolworths down parka, a torque and the heaviest mitts one could find.  Lac Bienville and Sakami, Fermont and Wabush.  Chibougamau and Chapais.  Waking to -52 celsius and waiting for temperatures to climb to at least the flight manual min temp for operations for the Jetranger before pulling off the covers, and connecting the battery you had kept under your bed in camp that night, no mean feat with the mitts.  Then recovering the car heaters stuffed under the engine and transmission after having started the ole girl, because you couldn't risk having things cool too much.  Frictions locked down tight, cabin heaters and defroster on max, Allison turbine screaming away, while you stumble around on the crunchy snow cleaning up and packing away all the covers, heaters and extension cords as the unmanned bird whirls the frigid air into wintry hell.  I remember North of Wawa, the controls stiffening up on an old turbo charged Bell 47 when I flew it in winter temperatures well below limits, and the engine actually quitting because I couldn't keep the carb heat in the green.  At 500 feet.  Air so cold you sucked it slowly through your teeth as a mouthful hurt the lungs.  Frost bite and numb extremities.  I felt like an explorer from an earlier age.

After a week in dreary ole Aberdeen, a place I actually quite like, I headed home for my rural Nova Scotia home, and helped prep my kid for a move to Ottawa and school.  We stuffed my Subaru to the gils and headed out in the worst snowstorm to hit the East Coast yet that year.  Ten tiring hours later, braving unplowed lanes to pass long lines of nervous folk creeping along painfully painfully slow, reminiscing of days of scud running through mountains in snow storms in Jetrangers, 222s, S76s and venerable old S61s, we encountered total whiteout conditions just outside of Quebec City, but luckily at that point there was hardly any one on the roads.

Multiple trips to IKEA and a smoking hot credit card later, I gave my kid a hug and headed back to Nova Scotia with a very empty SUV.   It was clear and cold but far preferred to the blizzard conditions encountered on the trip down.  The Subaru thermometer registered -28 celsius in the high country of New Brunswick, and it took me back to those early years in Northern Quebec.  I smiled.  But I'd rather not do it again.