Spring in December

It’s definitely winter here in Western New York, it's December 27th, yet here I am, high on a hilltop being buffeted by sweet, sixty degree winds. Why does the air smell so sweet on unusually warm winter days - is it perhaps more oxygenated for some reason? I am not sure but I do know that the aroma is lovely, even if that loveliness is perhaps accentuated a bit by a mind addled with a touch of spring fever.

It smells like baking pies out here. No, that’s not quite it, not actually baking, but cooling atop a stove, as smelled from a room far at the other end of the house. But the air not only smells sweet but clean too, like clothes that were hung outside to dry. Maybe all this is just my brain’s reaction to fresh air after spending so many days in a row inside, but I don’t care, I am in high spirits as I explore my woods on this wonderful day.

I feel so good I feel swept up with the breezes, like I could fly, such is the whimsy of spring fever. With my mind and senses acute, I roam the forest noticing things I might not have otherwise. I spy a tiny hummingbird nest built in the fork of a skinny branch. Then I spot another. And yet another. So miniature and cute, they stand out as bits of triangular solid among thin branches silhouetted against the sky, easy to spot now, but something you’d never see when they’re actually in use hidden deep in the leaves of summer.

Now I stumble upon a stand of black birch trees. How unusual, I don’t ever recall seeing black birch bark before. Yellow (golden) and white yes, often, but black? No. I’ll have to do some research when I return home to see how rare this is. But, for now, I just appreciate seeing something new.

The forest is alive with squirrels dashing to and fro. I imagine they are taking advantage of the warm weather to stock up on nuts revealed by the melting snow. The snow is sprinkled liberally with them, mostly beechnuts. I also spot clusters of wild grapes and wonder if the squirrels like them too.

Now the sound of rushing water down deep in a ravine draws me; I head there. This stream, a mere trickle in the summer, now gushes with thick, brown, unstoppable water coursing towards it’s meeting with the larger stream further downhill. I know this stream intimately but now it’s almost unrecognizable. It has filled its banks and more – the water has crept partway up the hillsides and, with its newfound might, it has moved some of the larger dead trees well downstream from where they originally fell.

Gone now are the numerous little tinkling waterfalls I enjoyed last summer, obliterated by the muddy torrent. Of course, next summer, there will be brand new tiny waterfalls to fall in love with, courtesy of the reshaping power of three feet of rapidly melting snow.

A cold mist trails the streamwater downhill while on the hillsides, a curtain of fog shapeshifts over the remaining snowpack. You’d never know that there was sunshine and blue skies just above this ghostly scene. I really like the contrast of these two worlds knowing that I can inhabit either within a few hundred feet of each other. The eeriness of this ravine microworld is reinforced by two decidedly different air currents being felt at the same time; a wintry chill emanating from the water and snow mingling with the much warmer ambient air. It’s like being in the arctic and the tropics at the same time.

I climb out of the ravine back into warmth and sunshine. What an absolutely delightful day it is! Of course, I am well aware that winter will be back soon enough – about three more months of it yet to go. Nevertheless, I am reveling in this short break, intoxicated by the sights, sounds and smells of spring in December…

--->Killarney Part VII to be posted soon.

Killarney - Part VI

Morning. The rain has finally stopped but it’s still cold and dripping outside. I dress for it - long underwear, rain slicker, etc. and off I go. I am hiking in from the south terminus (or start) of the legendary La Cloche Silhouette Trail (doesn’t the name alone spark the imagination?) The trail in full is about 63 miles in length over extremely rugged terrain and generally takes experienced backpackers 7-10 days to complete. I will only be hiking in as far as I can go to leave enough time to make the return trek back to camp before dark.

I begin the hike at brisk pace, my energy level high due to being relatively sedentary the last two days. Quickly I find myself in a misty valley between two towering and craggy quartzite cliffs that resemble fortress walls of old castle ruins - very impressive. Though I’ve hiked this portion of the trail a number of times before, I’m later in the fall season this time than ever before and all the leaves are off the trees - this is the first time this magnificent scene has been fully revealed to me - it’s like a completely new trail! And as happens often in magical places like these, I am humbled and amazed by the sheer beauty of nature.

The theme of this hike as remembered later will definitely be water. Not the lakes and streams I will pass but the water that is coursing everywhere, even trickling and babbling from the most unlikely of spots, like high up on the cliff sides after 24 straight hours of rain. In places, even the trail itself has become a creek. Today’s challenge will be to avoid stepping in water above the tops of my waterproof boots – not an easy task with the thick mat of last night’s leaf blowdown hiding puddles and hollows like hidden trap doors.

The rain may have stopped overnight but the wind is still blowing impressively. Each gust starts as a far-off roar, sounding similar to a distant waterfall, but with the difference being that the din gets closer and closer until you are suddenly awash in it, hair blowing back, wet leaves slapping you in the face and cold wind finding its way into every nook and cranny in your ‘windproof’ clothing. Nevertheless, I barely notice the frigid gusts, I am just so thrilled to be on this trail with its whole new look and feel - there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now!

Soon I am fully soaked from head to toe (I did manage to find a couple of those hidden puddles that were deeper than my boots are tall and the soggy vegetation and wind took care of the rest.) I slosh to the brink of what I have dubbed Acid Chasm on previous trips. A stream running from higher elevation Acid Lake to Lumsden Lake below has cut a steep slot through solid rock like it would have taken pure acid to do it. But given time, just regular ol' H20 can cut though anything, and time is something it’s had plenty of to do its work here.

Several waterfalls drop the water down the chasm to the lake below. Full time waterfalls are rare in this hardpan landscape; water runs off so fast in steeper places that waterfalls dry up quickly and where the terrain is more gentle, water has had eons to smooth rock faces making flumes or gentle rapids more likely than waterfalls.

Easing my self carefully down the slippery smooth sides into the chasm, I reach bottom where I am able to admire these elegant waterfalls at eye level. In addition to the cascades, there are strikingly colorful lichens coating the rocks. Nowhere else have I ever seen lichens so brightly-hued, I call this special area the Killarney Painted Rocks. There is no shortage of lichens here in Killarney, it’s a hardy form of vegetation that can endure extremes of cold and drought, but here in this chasm they have taken on beautiful colors, perhaps due to the consistent presence of moisture. Do you know what a lichen is? It’s a fungus and an alga that have taken a ‘lichen’ to each other.

Part Seven soon!

Killarney, Part V

After my pleasant visit to the Killarney village, I return to the campground. It’s still windy, rainy and cold but I’m not ready to be cooped up yet. I put on my rain slicker and go for a stroll to visit my favorite campsite. Upon arrival, I immediately feel pangs of regret that I'm not camping here. The view is simply stunning, it sits on a bluff high over the water with an unobstructed view of the lake and mountains beyond. One of the best views of any campsite in any campground I’ve ever visited. When staying here, I drain this view every night ‘til I can see no more. I think to myself that since no one’s camping here this week, maybe I’ll wander over each night at sunset and drain the view anyway.

Tonight, the view is much different from when it is clear - the mountains, mantled in thick mist, look delightfully mysterious and foreboding. And each powerful gust of wind sends a wake skittering across the surface of the lake – I can literally ‘see’ the wind!

By now, the unrelenting driving rain has me soaked through and through despite the slicker - I sure wouldn’t want to be backpacking and camping out in those mountains tonight! As the cold and wet penetrates to my bones, I change my mind about draining the view and simultaneously realize I haven’t brought along my headlamp to find my way back to camp anyway. I leave while I can still (barely) see the way.

Given the weather, I decide that tomorrow will be a lowland hike since everything will be wet and slippery even if the rain has stopped. The trail I’ve chosen will be perfect for a soggy morning, a meander thru misty, ethereal forests of hemlock, aspen and white birch. I fall asleep with visions of rainforests floating through my head.

Part VI soon...

Killarney, Part IV (parts 1-3 below)

I am hoping for clear, cold and quiet weather this week, my ideal recipe for photography. However, as this day turns slowly into night, it becomes obvious it is going to be anything but that tonight. It’s still warm, in the sixties and the winds are picking up. I watch as the gusts grow continually stronger, sending waves of crisp leaves sweeping across the ground and raining from the trees. Above, ominous gray clouds freight train across the sky. After several days of unusual warmth just prior to my visit, a cold front is approaching; the weather gods are about to set things right for this time of year.

The storm seems to be justifying my decision to rent the yurt instead of camping. Now inside, I hear the fury growing stronger, lashing the canvas roof and walls again and again with waves of rain. I begin to wonder just how well built this thing is; another shuddering gust has me concerned it could be torn from its moorings. Eventually though, I get used to the howling winds and pounding rain and drift off into an uneasy slumber; I dream of tropical storms and hurricanes…

Apparently, the yurt is built well enough; it survives the night. I awake in warmth but sense cold lurking just outside the door. There’s a different sound on the roof this morning, a rapping instead of a tapping – freezing rain. I step out to pee and almost fall on my butt, there’s a thin sheet of ice coating everything. The temperature has dropped like a rock overnight, from sixty to twenty degrees (F).

By the time I finish breakfast, wash up and dress, it has warmed up enough to turn the precipitation back to all rain, but it’s still not letting up. I drive to the Georgian Bay shore trailhead and sit for a minute pondering whether I should attempt the hike in this cold rain. Not much stops me; I set out. The first thing I see is a little sign stating “Rocks slippery when wet” -this whole hike is a clamor over smooth rocks. The sign proves prophetic (no surprise), within a matter of minutes I am forced to turn back. The cold rain has indeed rendered the rocks dangerously slick.

Nothing else to do so I head to the little town of Killarney. I take a slow drive around; it takes all of about two minutes. The park has increased in popularity since I first visited many years ago but this tiny town has hardly changed at all - it still has that quaint old fishing village feel that I am so enamored my. Until the 1960’s when they punched a road through from the highway 45 miles away, it was only accessible by boat or small plane.

The rain lets up just enough to park my vehicle and walk around town. The summer gift shops are now closed; they’ve been boarded up since September 2nd, the end of the Canadian Labour Day weekend. Not much of a tourist season up here, but that's one of the reasons I like it - no glitz or glamour. Walking to the western edge of town, I discover an area overlooking the bay that I had somehow missed before. It’s a perfect place to watch the sun disappear below the watery horizon; how I love a good sunset! I’ve been coming here for thirty years and still somehow managed to miss this vantage point, guess it sometimes pays to have a rainy day!

Killarney, Part Three (Parts 1 & 2 below)

My camp-to-be is still occupied when I arrive in the park so I go for an amble to untie my legs. I return later to the now vacated yurt, ready and waiting for me to move in. By the time I settle in it’s mid-afternoon, too late to go for any kind of an ambitious hike (dark comes early this time of year) so, instead, I wander along the lake’s edge, admiring the ancient rocks that define Killarney.

Accented by the late afternoon light, the near shoreline of George Lake glows an improbable pink. From a distance, the rock appears rounded and smooth – this from eons of erosion and numerous glacial bulldozings. A closer up inspection however, reveals deep grooves, fractures, fissures and scour marks – this rock has truly been ‘etched by the ages’. In addition to its unique coloration, in places you’ll find rich veins of smooth, marbley-white quartzite running through it, quite striking in contrast to the pink. These quartzite veins remind me of a much larger version of the delicate inlays you’ll sometimes find in high-end wood furniture. Mother Nature’s inlays.

Now I gaze further out into the distance upon the impressive ridges of gleaming white quartzite, remnants of a once towering mountain range, that plunge precipitously into the lake. Hiking up on those ridges in bright sunshine can be literally blinding – sunglasses de rigueur.

I then try to imagine these diminutive mountains once soaring higher than the Rockies but I fail miserably; I just can’t envision these ancient, rounded ridges as the spiky towers they undoubtedly once were.

The rocks here are among the oldest on the planet; depending on where you are in the park, they range from about 2.2 to 3.5 billion years old. I think about how long these mountains have been crumbling and dissolving to reach their current state and I realize just how little of that time we have been around – modern man doesn’t even qualify as a blip on the radar.

Meandering now away from the lake, I enter the woods and the piney/earthy scent immediately hijacks me, as some smells are wont to do. I slip into a reverie; a highlight reel of past visits dances through my mind. I remember as if it were yesterday the first time I climbed to the top of Killarney Ridge and was completely dumbstruck by the view. I recall the sudden and enthusiastic chorus of a wolf pack howling together on some distant ridge; until that moment I had never heard a wolf howl or even been in a place where wolves still roamed. I’ll never forget watching the setting sun light the red rocks of the Georgian Bay shoreline on fire and marveling about how I’d never seen bare rock look so beautiful.

And then there was the night that, while admiring a perfect reflection of the Big Dipper on the still surface of Lake George, a shooting star streaked across the scene, how I wished I’d been able to capture that on film! Once I ran into (well, not literally) the same moose twice on a trail at two different elevations, as if he was a friend, meeting up with me. Another time I was privileged enough to watch a family of otters play at waters edge like kittens as I silently drifted by in my canoe. I remember spotting a beautiful flower I’d never seen before along a trail and wondered what it was; when I looked it up later imagine my surprise when I found it was a wild orchid - I had always thought orchids were too exotic to be found along hiking trails!

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time ever I woke to eerie warbling of loons reverberating across the lake in the complete stillness of dawn – how I thrill to that haunting sound, even today. And I’ll never forget seeing that black bear family I mentioned earlier, sitting placidly and contentedly by the side of the road, munching on berries. This place holds so many wonderful memories for me I could go on forever... as these scenes flashed through my head I realize just how much I love this place and why I am drawn back again and again, like nowhere else...

Part Four soon!

Killarney Part Two

---> Make sure you read Killarney - An Epic Journey (Part One) first!

...I leave at 2am to avoid Toronto traffic and to gain almost a full day of daylight in the park. The weather was drizzly when I left, but six hours later, as I neared my destination, the weather gods give me the gift of a beautiful sunrise. I stop to do a little shooting.

Finally, after three hundred and twenty long and dark miles, I turn onto Route 637 - only 36 more miles to go - I start to get excited! This is a quiet and scenic road; a perfect lead up to the park. It’s dead-end and only exists to service the park and the tiny town of Killarney beyond it, so there are few human artifacts to spoil the wild on either side of the road.

The first thing I see after turning the corner is a fox trotting down the middle of the road with something in its mouth. It's a turtle – I sure didn't expect that, I thought it would be a rodent of some kind. Years ago, I saw a bear sow and her two cubs munching on berries at the side of this very same stretch of road.

When I first started visiting the park years ago, this road was much rougher, the campground check-in was a little self-service kiosk, and the campground was very primitive. Now there is an imposing visitor’s center, hot showers, and, in addition to the campsites, yurts, the first ever roofed accommodations in the park.

To me, the camping experience is more authentic than sleeping in a room at night. I am immersed in my subject twenty fours hours a day and feel more connected, usually resulting in better photography. Contradictorily however, this time I’ve rented a yurt. I kind of wish the yurts weren’t here so that I’d have had no choice but to camp. I am hoping the added comfort will equal better photography since I won’t be wet and/or chilled to bone like I usually am when camping this late in the season. On the other hand, I am worried that the disconnect each night may actually cause the opposite to occur. We’ll see!

Being late in October, the regular camping season is over. The showers are locked tight, the water’s been drained and the ‘sneaker crowd' (I cringe when I see people hiking these slippery rock and root strewn trails without solid, ankle supporting hiking boots) is gone. There is some consolation in this as it feels just a little bit wilder, more like it used to be. If they continue to add improvements to this place, they will eventually improve the wilderness right out it!...

Look for Part Three soon...

Killarney - An Epic Journey (Part One)

OK, I’m addicted. I admit it. To the Killarney Wilderness Park in Ontario, Canada. I think about her all the time. If I don’t get there at least every year or two, I start to go crazy, she consumes my thoughts. This promises to be an epic journey - thirty years from my first ever visit here and the first time exploring the park alone, just my camera and me. But first, a little about the park.

Killarney, she is old. Really old. About 2.2 billion years ago, a towering range of mountains , higher than the Rockies, rose up. After all these years of erosion and glaciers later, what’s left is a much more subdued range of mostly white quartzite. In a huge but vertically challenged province like Ontario with little or no real mountains, these stand out. Add deep blue lakes with pink granite shorelines and emerald forests and to the rugged, wild beauty of these mountains and you have the formula of paradise, at least to these eyes. The park has only one campground, the rest is wild. About 247 square miles of wonderful wildness to lose yourself and forget your troubles in. The rugged and remote La Cloche Silhouette trail alone is 63 miles rugged miles long and usually takes a week to ten days to complete.

I remember vividly how disappointed I was when driving there for the very first time – I was only a few miles from the park and still no mountains in sight! I had read of quartzite cliffs – where are they? I arrived at the campground, drove in and… was blown away! The rugged, wild, mountains seemed to rise straight up out of the waters of George Lake – it was love at first sight and that love has only gotten stronger.

I have been to Killarney at least a dozen times since, but never on my own. I can’t properly concentrate on photography when I’m with others so this time will be different, I hope to do her justice on film. It’s gonna be a great trip, I can feel it already...

To be continued...

Welcome!

Welcome to my new blog, 'Wild By Nature'! What you'll find here is recountings of some of my adventures, thoughts on nature, wilderness, etc. and news, both about me and my work, new images and other things I thought would be interesting to pass along. I hope to post here at least a couple of times per week. You can subscribe (see link on right side) so you'll always know when there is a new post. I welcome and look forward to your comments and suggestions - don't be shy!

My first substantive postings will recount a recent adventure to the Killarney Wilderness in Ontario, my favorite place on this side of the continent. Check back very soon...