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.