The morning of Nov 20.... Still going after an all night blow..
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| Wave washing |
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| Smoothing it over |
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| To the point |
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| Foam riding |
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| But why? |
And Nov 18 ...Two days before..a little warning?
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| Curly Cloud |
Biggest waves so far this year ...
Storm Stories Nov 11, 2015
November is a conjurer.
The word itself is mystical. Feel the name of our 11th month roll
around the tongue and an immediate sense of grey, and perhaps grief, massages the
thoughts. Remembrance Day, with its images of poppied graves and Lightfoot’s haunted
song about the Edmund Fitzgerald enhances the somber mood even more.
But this November is a
bit different. It must be the past few glory days of warmth and sunshine. Waves
wash cracked cliffs with a lacy spray. And Lake Superior’s power almost seems
delicate against the shimmering golden threads of hilltop grasses. The days are
precious. You have to rush outside and hug them; hold on tight to something that
you know soon will be going.
I’ve been enjoying this
November gold by hiking along the bronzed grey trails where leafless trees allow
a peek into an otherwise hidden forest world. The magic is everywhere. Even on
one of the wet days, when I had to admire the outside from behind rain
splattered glass, I found treasure. A yellowed, 60-year-old Sault Star
newspaper clipping emerged from one of my paper files. The May 28, 1955 article,
written by a Pat McColl, featured interviews with three men who remembered November
1913.That’s when the “worst storm” in Great Lakes recorded history took the lives
of 250 people.
In the article, a
Captain Raeburn from the Michigan Sault said, “All of a sudden Lake Huron
seemed to back into the North Channel. My room aboard ship had a foot of snow
in it but at that we fared better than hundreds that night.”
A second man, Sault
Harbourmaster Frank Parr added his memory of the storm. “I was a passenger
aboard the Winona going to Marquette Michigan. In 36 hours we made a distance
of eight miles!” he said. “Needless to say I returned by rail.”
The third interview was
with the Sault’s Captain J.W. Alexander. 1913 was Alexander’s first year of
sailing on Lake Superior. Only 16 at the time, he was wheelsman aboard the ACR
ship the Thomas J. Drummond which was
carrying rails to Thunder Bay. That night Lake Superior showed him power that
few will ever witness.
“It was the night of
November 11,” he said, “and that gale really was the worst ever. Our ship
passed the (ship) Palaki off
Whitefish Point and I guess we were the last to see her.”
After that gale diminished,
people spoke of it as “The Big Blow”, “The Freshwater Fury” or “The White
Hurricane”. The storm lasted a long time, whipping up four of the five Great Lakes
from November 7 to the 10th. In fact it, was an extratropical
cyclone, the result of a collision between two major fronts. Winds gusted to
145 km, waves rose to 11m and snow squalls reduced visibility to near zero. The
storm’s deceptive lulls heightened the anxiety. Just as sailors thought the
worst was over, the fury raged back again. By the time it was done, besides the
loss of 250 people, the storm destroyed 19 ships and stranded 19 others. Two
ships, the Leafield and the Henry B Smith, went down in Lake
Superior. The Leafield, with a loss
of 18 lives, broke up on a shoal off Angus Island near Thunder Cape, Ontario.
The Henry B. Smith, along with 25
crewmen, sunk off of Marquette Michigan.
Captain Alexander
stayed with the Drummond until 1915
when he enlisted in the army because Canada did not have a navy at the time.
After World War One, he sailed on Abitibi tugs and then joined the Royal
Canadian Navy from 1940 until 1945. After World War Two, Alexander returned to
the Sault to become Marine Superintendent for the Abitibi. The Thomas J. Drummond had her own fate. She
went to Canada’s eastern shore to deliver coal from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland.
But an October 30, 1937 Atlantic storm took the Drummond. She and her crew left Sydney and were never seen again.
Losses from the storm
of 1913, the Great Wars or the sinking of the Fitzgerald are embedded into our
culture. We remember the tragedies as best we can. We lay wreaths, wear
poppies, light fires and cherish bagpipes, hymns and ballads. It's how we grieve. The memories from those who knew such difficult times are a
gift, a reminder that humanity can be calm, reflective and gentle...like the
soft light of a fine November day.
May 28, 1955 newspaper clipping.
Walk to Awausee
October 14, 2015 The walk to Awausee.
The bear was a good
sign. Ward and I saw the dark shape disappear into the trees just as we turned
off Highway 17 North to pull onto the parking lot for the Awausee Trail. Should
we go any further? The timidity and no further sighting of the black bruin
helped us decide that indeed it would be OK to attempt the hike to Awausee’s
first look out onto the Agawa Valley.
Mind you, the thought
of my left-over-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich in my pack gave me a nanosecond of
hesitation. But I did have my Fox 40 whistle to pummel his eardrums if need be;
so off we went.
The beginning of the
trail follows an old logging road. Sunlight streamed through the yellow- leafed
maples giving everything a golden glow. Soon we left the road/trail and began
the climb. Thick flat rocks and gnarled tree roots made perfect steps. A dry
creek bed with its bare boulders and wide shoulders hugs the trail, a reminder
of the power of seasonal shifts. As the ascent increased, the faint splashes
from another creek echoed through the forest. My knees talked to me as we got
closer and closer to the top. However, I soon met the flatter, smoother, softer
walkway of auburn pine needles and rusty coloured cedar leaves (needles?). One
more little incline, then a decline and there we were at the first lookout.
The 180 degree, half-a-circle-wide,
expansive view was so beautiful it was ridiculous. To my right, silver light shone
over Lake Superior. To my left, crimson heads of hunched bulbous cliffs, left
over from glaciers, watched over this most ancient of lands. The red and gold
hills were magnificent and each of the million trees seemed to be distinct, to have
its own say. The sound of rustling dry leaves rose up from the valley floor. Breaks
in the tree line marked the path of the Agawa River. When sunlight broke
through the rolling grey clouds, the far hills had the texture of a colourful,
woolen, handmade, hooked rug.
We ate our sandwiches and
the low scudding clouds thickened. Rested, refreshed, renewed we headed back
down and got to the truck just as rain began to sprinkle the windshield. Feeling
lucky and grateful at the same time, I said thanks... for the trail and for that
very interesting, respectful bear.
The Big Feast
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| Loons enjoy a summer float |
Such a place! How did
we get so lucky? Perhaps the gods decided to rest here after all.
The joy of our summertime
is so compelling. The sun has diminished the woolly weights of winter. The
gatherings, outdoor music and picnicking at the beach or the park make us
believe we are on another planet.
A great aspect to this
summer life is the growing abundance of fresh food. Vegetable gardens are
spilling over with local lettuces and sweet green peas. The untamed fruits are
promising to be bountiful as well. The wild strawbs were as big as thumbnails.
Blueberries are crowding out their bushes. The rasps, atop those stingy, tall,
scratchy branches are starting to fatten up. The mountain ash will be heady orange
bunches this fall. Saskatoons or Service or Sugar Plums (whichever name suits
you), are a purpling tempting treat for humans as well as birds. And with the
wild berries come the wild flowers.
Waving daisy fields and bright yellow
roadsides calm and brighten the traveller’s soul. The deep white of winter
seems a millennium away.
Time does like to trick
us. Combine that with high speed travel and it’s a feat to keep your feet and
senses on the ground. This was especially true after recent space photos
captured the first close ups of our farthest planet, Pluto - a surrealistic
reminder that the earth is not alone.
The universe is LOADED
with suns, planets and other galaxies, fodder for a never ending stream of
movies and subsequent internet chatter. Conceptualizing how there can be such
vast or huge or innumerable (or whatever word humans use) an amount of “stuff”
out there often requires some kind of analogy.
The other day as I was
walking down a cobble beach, enjoying the gentleness of a calm, sunny, soft Lake
Superior summer afternoon I stopped to admire the colours and textures in the
rocks. I picked up and examined one after another and couldn’t help but notice
something. Some of the rock patterns resembled some of the photos of Pluto. Some
of the big round balls of granite even had that heart shape we saw on that far
lonely planet. It occurred to me that the countless heaps of beach boulders
could be as plentiful as the plethora of galaxies that whirl around our skies.
That made it easier to imagine the multitude of universes out there.
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| A Bud on the beach |
Universes don’t have to
be far away. Still riding the analogy train, we could say that the area north
of the Sault, the land that once held the former ACR passenger line, is another
universe too. Four universes actually. In spring, freshly opened lakes and
streams are the visible lifeblood for fishes, frogs and other aquatic life
forms. In summer, lush tree growth and long lingering days are perfect for the
outdoorsperson. In fall, colour feasts overflow with delicious eye candy. In
winter, crystal clear starry skies are a silent wonder world against the
beautiful white. But those places are becoming almost as hard to access as
Pluto! The passenger service has ended. If the writer for the Lonely Planet
declared that downtown Sault resembled a ghost town then the old ACR might be
the ghost line.
I wonder if anyone has
asked CN why it is not in the passenger train business. Freight and passenger trains
shared the ACR tracks for 100 years. Surely there must be a compromise/solution
somewhere. Can a passenger car be added to the freight train? Google gave me
some answers.
There is one mixed train ( carries freight and passenger together ) in Canada. In Northern Manitoba, the Keewatin Railway Company, in conjunction with Via Rail, operates a 400 km passenger service twice a week between The Pas and Pukatawagan.
So, how about this?
In the spring, offer a
couple of camp opening special runs. In the summer, pick a day once a week when
supplies and folks can get in and out of camp. In the fall, work with the Tour
Train. In the winter, run the Polar Express and the Searchmount Ski Train.
Why do it? Because enjoying
our natural gifts is a part of life here on earth. And we learn that after the
barbeque is over, it’s been all about sharing the feast.
This is our Only Planet
but it doesn’t have to be a Lonely One.
Ahhhhhhhhht last
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| Ice floes may 20 2015 |
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| low berg |
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| how much under water?? |
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| May 24 ...Hello says the land.Happy holiday weekend. |
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| The Agawa Dragon |
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| Fiddlin' around |
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| Temple steps |
The Watch that Ends the Ice
Watch for disappearing
acts. Magicians always get you to look at something while they pay attention to
their tricks. Then Voila! Out comes the foolery and you are left wondering how
the heck did that happen.
With playoff season all
around many wish that there will be magic tricks pulled out of hats. How far
can the Hounds go? What kind of magic would that be anyway?
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| The 2015 ice follies
One of my favourite
magical things is a book. Each one has the potential to be a treasure. A few
weeks ago, when I was in the main branch of the Public Library, a display caught
my eye. There was a table of old books that no one had borrowed for a long,
long time. The display asked people to try one of the possible “discards “.
Inside each of the almost cast offs was a thank you book mark. So I picked up a
dark blue hardcover from 1959 - Hugh MacLennan’s The Watch that Ends the Night.
The MacLennan name threw me back to high school days, however this book was
unfamiliar. But I was feeling sorry for the unwanted volume and was glad to
help out.
|
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| Locked in Agawa April 27 |
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| A Sand River run to the beach |
What an amazing read. Never
mind thanking me - thank you Library, thank you. And after reading it I
discovered that the book won the GG award for 1959! The novel centres on pre-
WW2 days in Montreal then goes on to the 1950s. MacLennan is a master. The main
characters give insight into the thirties that I knew existed but did not have
the “feel” of before. The novel put me right into that era. With clear imagery
and insightful dialogue to reflect the times, the plot intersects a physically
weak but strong willed woman with her wandering, magnetic, doctor husband, a devoted
new husband and all the individuals existing between their lives. It was so
interesting to read their take on their future, our present. And the comments
on their present is now our past. We are not such a new world after all.
By the end of The Watch
that Ends the Night I had a fresh perspective on the endings of almost all
things. It gave me a different way of looking at the natural world too. We all
have been watching the slow return of warm spring and soon-to-be summer days.
Our hyper vigilance makes the signs seem more pronounced. I heard, and then saw, a wavering line of
geese trying to keep its V shape. But the quivering lines often collapsed into
a rather wavy version of the classic alphabet letter. I felt an angst that echoed
ancient roots. There they were so high up, so vulnerable, yet they were making
it.
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| Sand River makes it to Lake Superior |
And then there’s the
lake. A few days ago we woke up to see WATER out front. The next day all the
broken bits of ice had returned. The bet is on I hear. May 1st you
say? For that bet we should ask the four leggeds. They seem to know when the
ice is the weakest or safest. They always manage to gain a bit more ice time.
About a week ago, in the very early am before things got really spongy, with
the sun lighting up the farthest half of the lake, I saw a wolf trot between
the ice build ups about 300 metres from shore. The crunch of my boots hitting
the cobbled shoreline startled the wild canine into making a bee line for the
far end of the beach. It took about five minutes for the wolf to travel about
three km. All I could do was stand and admire.
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| Montreal River mouth April 2015 |
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| Water tries to show itself |
This week the ice is indeed
very iffy - to say the least. Lake Superior is a dark grey, blue and white
quilt. Look closely and those chunks are two feet of ice sponge. The ice is decaying
from the bottom up. The chunks are so compromised that when you hit them with a
rock or poke then with a stick they immediately disintegrate into hundreds of
tinkling ice needles. Candling is the name for it and the skinny long icicles
make great ice cubes for a cold drink, but not for going on. As a friend says,
“It would be like walking on tissue paper.”
So here we are at The
Watch that Ends the Ice. We should all get an award this year. It has been a
long wait. Right now the ice is old and transparent, resembling my mother’s
hands as she was aging. One of these days it will pull a magical disappearing
act. But in the meantime what do we watch? The playoffs, the smooth talking pre-election
politicians or the real act....the grand flow of life that never stops moving.
Keep your eyes peeled. There’s more to this trick than you think.
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| I'm tree hiding till the snow's gone! |