Geoff & I took the ferry to Ward’s Island on Friday because we had a photo project to work on, and we trudged across to Gibraltar Point and back (a total of about 7 kilometers). We saw a few people out walking their dogs, but once we got past Centre Island, we were—or seemed to be—alone. We walked through Centreville, the amusement park, and the only sound was the groan of ice. The snow was coming down pretty hard on our way back and our fingers were too frozen to take pictures properly. A few pictures ended up having the shadows of my wet mitts in the corners, and a few were blurry.
One of the things I like best about visiting the Islands is the colour, which surprises me every time since we are so cut off from the water, despite being on the water. Suddenly everything is shades of mint and ice and aqua, and this is intensified in winter. It was surreal and beautiful, and walking on the beach over sand and snow in heavy boots is such a strange experience. Ordinarily I would have been miserable feeling so cold and so damp, but I was enjoying our mini adventure too much; I knew that soon enough we would be in a heated cabin on the ferry, gliding along the frozen lake. The skyline was obscured and I felt a million miles away from everything—at least until we got back to Union Station at rush hour. Afterwards we ate Korean food off sizzling plates to thaw out, and talked about how glad we were that on that day, we went headlong into winter instead of hiding from it.
The photo above was taken a few feet away from where this photo was taken.