The Hunger and the Cold
By Robert G. Moons
Copyright 2013 Robert G. Moons
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January 16, 1987
We arrived at the log cabin on a Friday in the late afternoon, three middle-aged men pretending to be outdoorsmen. The idea was to go ice fishing, but in reality, it was a chance for us to get away from our wives and drink beer.
It was one of the coldest days I can remember. It wasn’t exactly the arctic, but northern Ontario can get as cold as a witch’s... well, let’s just say... it can get very cold.
I looked out over the recent snowfall that left the area a foot deep in snow and the forest’s trees white with lines of the light powder. It made for a pretty picture, but it was a bitch to walk in. The log cabin was several miles away from its nearest neighbour. We were in the middle of nowhere, and in the back of beyond.