I was 12 years old, we lived near Montréal, Québec and my mother wanted to visit friends in a remote village some 300 km away. It was January in the 1980s with temperatures around -20, we didn't have a car, but we had matching Inuit parkas with fur and all. We hitchhiked all the way there, with hunters (I sat with a big dead moose in the back), truckers, even the police helped us along. My mom made me ask everything as she didn't speak French properly. We got there the same day, but arrived some 6-7 km from the house we had to go to at night. By then I figured out mom had not called ahead (her friends didn't have a phone) and this was a surprise visit. I thought this was normal. It's pitch black outside, no wind, we're walking uphill on a 'rang', which is a rural road with a number because it's in the middle of nowhere. No street lights, no cars, a few wild furry animals, a house every 1 km yet empty and snow, snow, snow. All you hear is the sound of ...