Hard Rocks, Old Wood and Light Rails

The waves are up. The lake is starting to churn and the windows are wet with rain. Time to put another log on the fire.
This fall, as we add firewood to our wood stove, we shall remember the Batchawana man who helped us with wood deliveries for many years. I am speaking of Gord Chapman, the kind, caring gentleman whose heart gave out at the Frater station along the A.C.R. the week before Thanksgiving. His passing is a great loss for Batchawana as well as for the global community of generous, giving individuals.
And as this autumn advances into that colder season (which I shall not name at this moment) we approach the end of this year’s colour world. So a couple of days ago I hiked a shore trail to breathe in the last of the brilliant golds and reds. The fresh fall of maple and poplar leaves laid out a colour carpet on the forest floor. The deep blue of swooshing waves mixed with the low shine of sun on the water. An eagle drifted high overhead while a clan of loons made their last gathering before heading south. But the hills all around were void of colour; the greys of November already were making their claim on the landscape.
There is no doubt that our Algoma fall colours are a worldwide hit, with a big part of that fame due to ACR’s Agawa Canyon Tour Train. We live beside this unique train corridor into the wilderness but, like a lot of good things, people might take it for granted. I decided to reboot my awareness of train lore and tried to collect some stories about the Frater station. Frater, about 13 km south of the Agawa Canyon, used to be a busy stop along the Tour Train route. Today, tourists whizzing by the Frater sign would not know that the place once resembled a little town. Loggers and sightseers driving the winding, rough Frater Road from Highway 17 North to the train tracks might not realize that the area once was a warm welcoming home for many people. An interview with Sault resident and retired ACR superintendent, Newell Mills, gave fresh insight. Mills recalled for me the look of Frater in its heyday. He said that a bunkhouse for workers, section house for the foreman, operator’s house, train station, coal chute, water tank and post office lined both sides of the tracks. Frater was an active place and the “Frater Turn” was part of the reason why.
Mills explained that a freight train would leave the Steelton station in Sault Ste Marie and 102 miles later arrive at Frater. There, a Y in the tracks allowed the engine to turn around and face the Sault instead of the Agawa Canyon. Then the train would back down the hill to the canyon, pick up whatever deliveries it had to make and climb back up the hill to Frater. In those days, trainmen worked 100 miles or less a day so they stayed the night at Frater before making the return run to the Sault the following day.
Stories of railroad life carry a romance and history all their own. Train stations are a real life stop along life’s journey; are an authentic break in the schedule. And every time I hear the A.C.R. I am reminded that there is a wilderness waiting just outside our door.

Honey Mushroom Foam

Hold the door open. The warm days are calling folks outside. And out there somewhere, there’s a shiny coloured tree for everyone. The annual eye feast never fails to present us with that wow factor.

     We decided to check out the scene and hiked one of our favourite trails in Lake Superior Provincial Park - the first lookout on the Awausee. The trailhead is a short drive on Highway 17 North, about a kilometre north of the Agawa River bridge. The short but steep climb to the first lookout ends up being a great workout. It starts as a meander under waving yellow maples along an old logging road. Be on the lookout for resident partridge families. Soon a trail veers off the road and the ascent begins. The gentle rush of a creek as it tumbles over rocks combined with the rustle of falling leaves added to the ambiance. Halfway up the hill,  caught the morning light on a fallen birch tree. After several more inclines over root steps and pine needled pathways, we reached a small rocky outcrop that offers a place to meditate and imagine. This is the first lookout.

     Whew! The view pulls you in with its magnificence. Lake Superior stretches to your right. The Agawa Valley dives off to the left. Steep cliff faces frame the view. The bridge over the river is a toothpick construction. The road is a thin grey thread. Orange and red maples make a quilt lying on the floor below. A pine sits on bare granite, its roots exposed as they seek cracks in the rock. Grey soft lichens and short bear berry bushes circle the brave conifer. The trunk of the tree is bent and dark; two branches reach out from the top. One branch appears younger, more vital, a more recent addition to the tree’s growth and help to survive the wind blasts, deluges, frost, snow, ice, and intense heat. Now I call the tree “Old Awausee”.

     After a few more minutes we descended the hill, following the creek as it too streamed downhill. Later the next day I sat by the shore just enjoying the peacefulness. The lake was flat. The sun sent blinding glints everywhere but I did manage to glimpse the shadow of a dragonfly on the muscled bedrock beside me. Then that night a bright white ring circled the moon, a folk prediction for change. Three calm days later the winds came. But the warmth still remained; hence a walk along a windblown shore was comfortable. Wave watching was easy. With no freezy spray to upstage the enjoyment, the water ballet was a joy. Along the beach the waves were long rolls of green and white shimmers. They came in sets, 2 seconds of silence between each roller. Their foam was a lace doily making repeated, useless attempts to settle on the beach. But the pebbles got a good ride. The rolling water picked them up, suspended them in the curl, tossed them up on the shore then pulled them back again .The tiny rocks sang a swooshy clatter song as wave smothered wave smothered wave smothered wave.

     During that same wavy day, the scene on bedrock was a different thing. The shore was a maelstrom, with foam crashing around boulders as wave smashed into wave into wave. No time for silence here.

Spaces between waves, shadows of dragonflies and the strength of valiant trees are clues from the season. Their details tell us where we are at the moment. They prepare us for the next wave; teach us to grow a new branch; show us the significance of shadow. Plus they are reminders that from time to time that we better keep the window open too.