Sue and I drove to Toronto this weekend for a wedding. On our way home on Sunday (after a detour to Soma for the World's best chocolate), we stopped at Oshawa Marsh and the McLaughlin Bay Wildlife Reserve for a short hike. The noon sun was warm, while a breeze kept us comfortable. We walked to the viewing platform on the east side of the marsh, admired the many cormorants sunning themselves on the many perches and platforms, and counted the great blue herons stalking through the lilypads and cattails. I watched a northern harrier hunting low along the far shore, hovering stationary for a few moments in one location, swooping quickly to the next, and then dropping on some unsuspecting victim in the reeds. I was pleased to see no evidence of the ethanol plant proposed several years ago for the west shore -- the EA for which I briefly worked on as a consultant. The wrong idea in the wrong place, as the harrier would no doubt attest.
From the viewing platform, Sue and I wandered south along the trails through thickets of golden-red sumac, and then down under the maples and willows of the Cool Hollow Trial. The huge, aged trees -- a relict hedgerow from the days when the area was agricultural land -- seemed wonderfully decadent in comparison to the younger, adjacent forest. At the lakeshore, a stiff wind blew off the water, raising small whitecaps on the lake and ruffling my hair. In the distance, a line of more prominent whitecaps seemed to mark the edge of the bar off the point, but when I focused the binoculars I could identify them as a dozen mute swams bobbing on the waves. Sue and I walked along the shore, slipping pretty cobblestones and fragments of slate into our pockets for later use in one of Sue's mineral identification workshops. Four shorebirds flew and dipped along the beach ahead of us.
Leaving the beach, we followed the trails around to the west side of McLaughlin Bay, passing into dense fields of goldenrod and asters. It took a few moments for us to notice the monarchs. We had already seen some in the sumac thicket, flitting across the trail or above our heads. As we moved deeper into the wildflowers, we began to see more of them fluttering this way and that. And then a group of five, lifting and dancing together. Looking more closely, we realized that they were all about us, hanging like orange fruit from the bouquets of white, blue and yellow flowers: hundreds of monarchs, maybe thousands over the fields. At any point, we could have stepped off the trail and found five or ten of them within arm's reach.
In retrospect, we shouldn't have been surprised to find so many monarchs at this time of year. The north shore of Lake Ontario is known as a migration route for monarchs in the autumn, and what better place to rest and feed than at the McLaughlin Bay Wildlife Reserve? Nonetheless, their poise and lack of timidity surprised me. I've chased after monarchs many times, trying for the perfect photograph. On this day, however, they posed tantalizingly still on each flower, slowly opening and closing their clean, perfect wings -- allowing us to admire them in detail, but seeming also to taunt us for our lack of a camera. Sue and I resolved to find some reason to return to Second Marsh next year at the same time -- ready to capture the spectacle.
Tuesday 27 September 2011
Sunday 11 September 2011
Labour Day Weekend
On Saturday, September 3rd, Sue, Thomas and I drove to Devil Lake, south of Westport, for a family reunion. We stayed at Pine Haven Resort, on the south shore of the lake, along the Old Perth Road. Cottage 3 lies on the east side of the resort, tucked up against a steep, wooded ridge of maple, pine and oak. The front porch faces west, looking over a small, tidy, grassy rectangular campground of well-tended trailers. The campground slopes from south to north down to faded, wooden boat docks, a sandy beach, and a shallow weedy bay. Rocky shores, dark with hardwoods, pine and cedars, bound both sides of the narrow bay, which opens at the north end on to the wider lake. Strings of green islands beckon across the water. Standing on docks, one can see along the distant, far shore, a faint, paler line marking the place where a cliff plunges more precipitously into the dark waters -- the Devil's Face, the locals call it, as they slowly troll lead-core lines below its precambrian face for Lake Trout.
Pine Haven caters to an older, quieter crowd. Any children tend to be grandchildren. The campfires and music begin to die down around 10 PM, although country and western may continue to drift across from the neighbouring campground much later. Likewise, the days begin quietly, with the suserration of 9.9 hp outboard motors slowly pushing aluminum boats out for the morning fishing. Most of the non-resident guests are regulars, respecting the atmosphere. New guests quickly learn the way of things, or they don't return.
Three of my uncles have trailers at the lake. Jack and Lesley came first to Devil Lake, purchasing a trailer and a campsite about fifteen years ago. Phil and Stella joined them a year or two ago, as did Bill and Bev. My cousins visit frequently. Cousin Jennifer's kids, Jack Austin and Zoe, spend much of their summer holidays with Jack and Lesley. This year, Aunt Susan and Uncle Jacques came to visit from England. Of the older Stow's, only my father couldn't join us at the lake, as he and Jennifer wait in Nova Scotia for Jen's upcoming cornea transplant.
We had many reasons to celebrate: Susan and Jacque's visit; the recent birth of Jason and Zou-zou's son, Luke, and their pending departure for new adventures in Winnipeg; Bill's retirement; a first anniversay for Sue and me. Several parties were planned, and I brought my guitar.
We arrived in Devil Lake just after lunch, in bright sunshine and hot, humid air. Soon after unpacking, we made our way to the beach, where we joined Jack, Les, Phil, Susan, Jacques and the cousins and second cousins under the trees. Jack Austin and Zoe chased minnows and turtles in the shallows. Sue spread out on her towel, reading articles from Nature and Policy Options, and Thomas hung out on the swimming dock.
I snorkeled along the shore beyond the float and the roped swimming area -- feeling cool and fresh for the first time in days. Gliding over a forest of weeds, I watched pumpkinseeds, bluegills and crappies suspended between the green tendrils in aqueous sunshine. As the shoreline steepened and fell more sharply into the lake, I saw more sunfish and bass hovering below the bleached wooden skeletons of drowned, downed trees, and flitting in and out of the shadows of the cedars that leaned over the water. When I swam back toward the beach, Tom joined me. I lagged a little behind him as he cruised along the surface, marvelling again at the changes in him. Not just how he's grown -- probably an inch or two above me now -- but how much confidence he shows.
At suppertime, we joined the family for a barbecue at Phil and Stella's trailer, near the top of the campground under an enormous maple. Hot dogs and hamburgers; pies from Westport; a slab cake for Bill's retirement. The family dogs lolled about in the heat, played with each other, and circled the tables looking for food. The women took turns holding Luke, who tolerated the attention with well-fed patience. He'd just learned to smile, Zou-Zou reported, which prompted no end of cooing and coaxing from his adoring grandmother, great aunts and second cousins. Bill broke out a bottle of champagne to toast retirement. We ended the evening around the campfire, where I played a few songs.
The next morning broke unusually dark, with the rumble of thunder behind the ridge to the east. I got up and walked to the front room to look out the window toward the lake. A dawn kayaker paddled urgently back to the docks. I watched Uncle Jack walk down to pull something out of his boat and, then, as the rain cascaded down, hurry up to the neighbouring cottage where Susan and Jacques were staying with Jacques' brother, Roger. The thunder rumbled continuously, as the storm passed overhead. Sue joined me from the bedroom, and we watched the lighting together, especially admiring one particularly vivid bolt that seemed to strike with a sharp crack just beyond the trees across the campground. Then, as the storm slowly subsided, Sue stretched out under a blanket on the couch and was soon asleep, while I curled up on the daybed to nap.
When we rose again, the air was perfectly still. Where the wind had recently thrown the trees into a frenzy, I watched a water droplet dangle precariously from the tip of a maple leaf for a full minute, without any hint of falling. The weather was more changeable than on the previous day, although the storm was followed by no more than a sprinkle of rain. At lunchtime, the family convened at Susan and Jacques' cottage for a surprise baby shower for Zou-Zou and Jason. After lunch, Thomas and I borrowed Jack's canoe and went fishing. We trolled and cast along the shore. Tom picked up a small pike on a spinnerbait, while I employed several flies without success. At dinnertime, the family again convened at Phil and Stella's trailer for another barbecue feast. Sue and I tired early, and left for our cottage soon after dark.
Monday morning dawned grey, cool and breezy, threatening rain. Not a day for swimming or fishing. We packed the car and slowly worked our way up the campground in the car, stopping at each trailer to say goodbye. Saying goodbye to Susan and Jacques was particularly hard, but we consoled ourselves with promises to visit them in England. Maybe next April, when the daffodils will be blooming. We drove back home to Ottawa, stopping briefly at Sue's favourite pottery shop in Perth.
And so passed our last summer weekend of 2011 -- surrounded by family, joy and promise.
Pine Haven caters to an older, quieter crowd. Any children tend to be grandchildren. The campfires and music begin to die down around 10 PM, although country and western may continue to drift across from the neighbouring campground much later. Likewise, the days begin quietly, with the suserration of 9.9 hp outboard motors slowly pushing aluminum boats out for the morning fishing. Most of the non-resident guests are regulars, respecting the atmosphere. New guests quickly learn the way of things, or they don't return.
Three of my uncles have trailers at the lake. Jack and Lesley came first to Devil Lake, purchasing a trailer and a campsite about fifteen years ago. Phil and Stella joined them a year or two ago, as did Bill and Bev. My cousins visit frequently. Cousin Jennifer's kids, Jack Austin and Zoe, spend much of their summer holidays with Jack and Lesley. This year, Aunt Susan and Uncle Jacques came to visit from England. Of the older Stow's, only my father couldn't join us at the lake, as he and Jennifer wait in Nova Scotia for Jen's upcoming cornea transplant.
We had many reasons to celebrate: Susan and Jacque's visit; the recent birth of Jason and Zou-zou's son, Luke, and their pending departure for new adventures in Winnipeg; Bill's retirement; a first anniversay for Sue and me. Several parties were planned, and I brought my guitar.
We arrived in Devil Lake just after lunch, in bright sunshine and hot, humid air. Soon after unpacking, we made our way to the beach, where we joined Jack, Les, Phil, Susan, Jacques and the cousins and second cousins under the trees. Jack Austin and Zoe chased minnows and turtles in the shallows. Sue spread out on her towel, reading articles from Nature and Policy Options, and Thomas hung out on the swimming dock.
I snorkeled along the shore beyond the float and the roped swimming area -- feeling cool and fresh for the first time in days. Gliding over a forest of weeds, I watched pumpkinseeds, bluegills and crappies suspended between the green tendrils in aqueous sunshine. As the shoreline steepened and fell more sharply into the lake, I saw more sunfish and bass hovering below the bleached wooden skeletons of drowned, downed trees, and flitting in and out of the shadows of the cedars that leaned over the water. When I swam back toward the beach, Tom joined me. I lagged a little behind him as he cruised along the surface, marvelling again at the changes in him. Not just how he's grown -- probably an inch or two above me now -- but how much confidence he shows.
At suppertime, we joined the family for a barbecue at Phil and Stella's trailer, near the top of the campground under an enormous maple. Hot dogs and hamburgers; pies from Westport; a slab cake for Bill's retirement. The family dogs lolled about in the heat, played with each other, and circled the tables looking for food. The women took turns holding Luke, who tolerated the attention with well-fed patience. He'd just learned to smile, Zou-Zou reported, which prompted no end of cooing and coaxing from his adoring grandmother, great aunts and second cousins. Bill broke out a bottle of champagne to toast retirement. We ended the evening around the campfire, where I played a few songs.
The next morning broke unusually dark, with the rumble of thunder behind the ridge to the east. I got up and walked to the front room to look out the window toward the lake. A dawn kayaker paddled urgently back to the docks. I watched Uncle Jack walk down to pull something out of his boat and, then, as the rain cascaded down, hurry up to the neighbouring cottage where Susan and Jacques were staying with Jacques' brother, Roger. The thunder rumbled continuously, as the storm passed overhead. Sue joined me from the bedroom, and we watched the lighting together, especially admiring one particularly vivid bolt that seemed to strike with a sharp crack just beyond the trees across the campground. Then, as the storm slowly subsided, Sue stretched out under a blanket on the couch and was soon asleep, while I curled up on the daybed to nap.
When we rose again, the air was perfectly still. Where the wind had recently thrown the trees into a frenzy, I watched a water droplet dangle precariously from the tip of a maple leaf for a full minute, without any hint of falling. The weather was more changeable than on the previous day, although the storm was followed by no more than a sprinkle of rain. At lunchtime, the family convened at Susan and Jacques' cottage for a surprise baby shower for Zou-Zou and Jason. After lunch, Thomas and I borrowed Jack's canoe and went fishing. We trolled and cast along the shore. Tom picked up a small pike on a spinnerbait, while I employed several flies without success. At dinnertime, the family again convened at Phil and Stella's trailer for another barbecue feast. Sue and I tired early, and left for our cottage soon after dark.
Monday morning dawned grey, cool and breezy, threatening rain. Not a day for swimming or fishing. We packed the car and slowly worked our way up the campground in the car, stopping at each trailer to say goodbye. Saying goodbye to Susan and Jacques was particularly hard, but we consoled ourselves with promises to visit them in England. Maybe next April, when the daffodils will be blooming. We drove back home to Ottawa, stopping briefly at Sue's favourite pottery shop in Perth.
And so passed our last summer weekend of 2011 -- surrounded by family, joy and promise.
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