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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 |
Ahhhhhhhhht last
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! |
Oh.. For the land
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Trees waiting to run |
Hey Easter Bunny! Don’t
fret. We know how to search for chocolate eggs under the snow. So please keep
‘em coming.
Mind you, I still long
for warmer Easter days, the kind where you can see and feel green ground poking
out from the snow. On those days, in the city, you can take a bicycle out for a
spin on sandy pavement watching out for a puddle or two instead of dodging ice
chunks. In the bush you can sit beside an outdoor fire and feel the warm sun on
your face while a pot of sap boils itself into sweet, sweet syrup. For those
who crave the water it is all about sliding canoe or kayak over snow into the
open lake to silently slip through silky smooth water. For those who ply Lake
Superior in the freighters or tugs, it is that glorious feeling as you leave the
St Mary’s River and head up the lake for another year.
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Ice walkers three |
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Will this sun set? |
However, we are not in
control of any season, nor can we predict anymore what is about to happen when.
Take our sugar bush stats for example. In 2004, just because we could, we made
some syrup on Feb 29. In 2010 there was
a warm spring and our first boil was on March 10th. The next year,
2011, things had cooled off quite a bit and we had our first boil on April 2.
Then came that crazy 2012. Our first boil was March 15th and the snow was all gone by March 18th!
That’s the year we were worried about lighting an outdoor fire because the bush
was so dry. In 2013 the season seemed rather normal and we made our first batch
of syrup on March 28th .
The following winter?
KAPOW! We got hit by 2014’s polar vortex. Our first boil was April 7th.
And this year, this 2015? As you all know, we got another upper cut to the
chin, another whack from the freezies. Oh well. Changes are everywhere.
The environmental changes
sometimes affect how we relate to the world, especially if there is a deep
desire to experience nature. When some folks can’t get that needed nourishment,
drastic things happen to their souls. For centuries this strong sense of abandonment
and deprivation has been the subject of poetry, music and other art forms. A
new film, a documentary called Lament for
the Land blends voices of Labrador Inuit with stunning scenery and
illustrates such loss. Researcher Dr. Ashlee Cunsolo Willox interviewed people
from five communities in Nunatsiavut, Labrador. That part of Canada is under
the influence of a warming trend and the ice is melting along the North
Labrador coast. The lack of dependable ice is creating environmental, emotional
and cultural impacts on the lives of everyone there. They are unable to get to
their traditional hunting and fishing cabins because the sea ice is so
unpredictable. Depressed about not being able to get out on the land, the
people are experiencing strong emotional reactions – grief, mourning, anger,
frustration and sadness. In a 2014 CBC Quirks and Quarks interview with Bob
MacDonald, Cunsolo Willox said, “People describe themselves as land people, as
people of the snow and the ice and would say that going out on the land and
hunting and trapping and fishing is as much a part of their life as breathing.”
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Wind ripped snow |
That kind of breath is
almost sacred. Sometimes you can get a whiff of it when you are walking out on
the ice. The sky is a brilliant blue, the ice is humming under your feet and
the day is at peace. On a windless day, when the sun is shining and you are out
on the frozen lake it is as a friend said, “There’s nothing like it in the
whole world. Why would you want anything else?”
Anyone who has
experienced the simplicity of nature in such a way can understand the need to
seek the bush, to connect with the land. I feel sorry for those who are waiting
for word about the ACR passenger train. That traditional means of getting to
the bush is in jeopardy. If the train ceases to run for them, ceases to take
them into the wonderful wild, what will they do? Depression, frustration,
anger? Or as one of the voices in the Lament
for the Land film stated, “Guess we are going to have to find another way.”
Ah, ‘tis the nature of
life, finding another way. Hey, I’ll bet the Easter Bunny can help. There’s got
to be lots of goodies in that basket.
Ice walkers
Feel like heading
south? Sick of the cold? Can’t stand the stinging wind one more day? Who knew that
we would have to endure ANOTHER polar vortex!
Some folks refuse to be
undone and devise a multitude of ways to brave the elements. Like frying fish
in a tent at a campsite in Lake Superior Park when it’s -19 (check out
lakesuperiorpark.com to see the hot tent video). Others rebel and stay inside to
cook up steaming pots of soup. How to survive it all? Well, humour helps. I
laughed when I heard last week about a jesting Facebook post from the Nova
Scotia RCMP. The faithful horsemen said that Old Man Winter was on their wanted
list for causing “numerous highway closures, excessive shovelling and visits to
the chiropractor.” I imagine that one could add disrupting water mains and
blinding snow storms to the charges. Plus, there must have been complaints
about his homegrown recruits, Willie Windchill and Frieda Frostbite. The
Mounties warned folks to not approach Old Man Winter because he was “armed with
ice pellets” and to protect themselves with sand, a snow blower or salt!
|
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| ice tree |
But you’d need an
infinitesimal amount of salt to eradicate Old Man Winter’s effect on the lake.
For, as of this week, ice smothers 90 to 100 percent of Lake Superior. We can see
ice on the lake straight to the horizon and beyond. That vast expanse of white
is such a compelling surface.
About a week ago we decided that it was safe
enough to hike said ice sheet. Housed in snowpants and woolen layers of
insulation under my biggest warmest coat, I ventured down to the icy lake with
scarf over my mouth and two pairs of socks in my boots. I walked like the
Michelin man. (To get to the lake we have to navigate over drifts and around
ice cliffs.) Frieda and Willie terrorized my bare fingers as I released my
hands from cosy mitts just long enough to buckle the straps on my snowshoes.
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| michelin woman |
When
we reached the shore of lake Superior, we stood there for a minute, listening
to the thundering voice of the ice. The scene was magnificent. The walk was
amazing. The sight was pure artistry. Snow resembled mounds of whipped cream.
Where the ice was clear, lines and cracks converged to create a beautiful
geometry.
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| What is all this frozen
stuff anyway? Painters and musicians and
poets often offer their insights. Scientists have their interpretations too.
They say that pure ice is white with a blue tinge. Well the turquoise hidden in
the ice caves affirmed that point. Science also says that ice is a mineral, or at
least it has the 5 properties of a mineral. The first two properties are easy
to understand. Ice must occur on its own, not be manmade. And no other organism
must be able to produce it either. The rink makers, who embrace the frigid
nights with hose in hand, know too well that their creations only result from
just the right combo of water and temperature. Next, to be a mineral, ice must
be a solid. Uhhh..I sure hope so. A lot of ice trekkers and snow machinists are
counting on that one. The last two properties deal with chemistry - a finite
number of chemical compositions and an ordered atomic structure. Hexagonal
crystals put ice straight into the mineral category. Science sure has a hoot
analysing this ever mysterious, ever changing substance. Check this out. Under
the Antarctic ice field lays the Russian-named Lake Vostok. Researchers claim
that the lake has a surface area of about 14,000 sq km and is 670 m deep. (Lake
Superior is approx 82,100 sq km and 406 m deep). The Antarctic scientists add
other interesting tidbits. They say that 3 km of ice has hidden Lake Vostok from
the sun for about 15 million years. Other discoveries include DNA from single
celled organisms encased in the ice. Scientists call them extremophiles. Yeesh. I think that some of us feel like we are turning
into one of those. |
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| snow cornice |
But take heart. Right
now Old Man Winter is using the last of his energy to make his getaway. (The
Mounties will have to nab their man next year.) The fearless frost maker is heading
to the shores of Lake Vostok on a March Break ice diving holiday. After that,
he reports back to work in Brazil, Australia and other places south of 0 (aka
t
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| Locked in to the island |
But take heart. Right
now Old Man Winter is using the last of his energy to make his getaway. (The
Mounties will have to nab their man next year.) The fearless frost maker is heading
to the shores of Lake Vostok on a March Break ice diving holiday. After that,
he reports back to work in Brazil, Australia and other places south of 0 (aka
the equator). By then, spring will be making her presence felt here. You will
find her sleeping in a sunny window, standing by a south facing wall or luxuriating
from a warm windless day on the ice. Ahh. Such is our life. For, indeed, as the
slogan goes, “We the North.”
The View this week-before it changed again -
Then there was the
silence. Not the enforced kind. Just the quiet that creeps in and before you can
whisper, sound is conspicuous by its absence.
As winter tightens its
grip, it also loosens at the same time. We get used to hunching shoulders as we
go out the door, expecting cold blasts to envelope our senses. Then a moment
comes when the air is not so cold, the wind not so harsh - for a while anyway.
Changes like this come
to Lake Superior with an extra surprise. You think the freeze up will be complete,
that ice will cover most of the outside world, and then all that becomes undone.
These developments are most obvious during the times of ice formation.
At first there isn’t
any chance at all of ice covering the lake. Snow and storms don’t settle down
enough; these are the days when highway travel is most treacherous and all one is
able to do is keep clearing snow. But the lake can’t fight the cold forever.
Eventually enough heat leaves, the shore starts to accept ice on the rocks and
the frigid dense water finally accepts the weight of the cold.
The first sign that
this might be happening is the strange quiet; it’s such a contrast to the din
of battering waves. Then a hair thin
skin grows over the water. The smooth surface appears as a lighter colour and,
if the wind and the temps stay down, pretty soon this layer stretches as far as
one can see. And it remains quiet.
A few days ago on a
clear day I looked to the north across Agawa Bay, past Montreal Island to
Baldhead , about 25 km. as the raven flies.
The view was amazing! The entire lake was kms and kms of skinny ice. As
far as I could see there was no water, just a smooth, light, blue - grey sheet.
What fun to imagine a skate but of course that was only a wild thought. This
surface calm of ice was not destined to last. However, it was great snowshoeing
along the beach and tossing ice pebbles across the hard water.
Then the lake orchestra
filed in and took a seat. The ice music is incredible. Crystals tune up their
instruments and the symphony begins. A high singing joins the echoing rolls in
the distance. It is soooo hard to describe. If you have never heard the sound perhaps
this might tickle your imagination.
Pretend you are in a
huge gymnasium with ice for a floor. You are all alone, so the only sound is
your own heartbeat. Then, off at the far end, a bowling ball begins to roll
along the floor, a floor that is 5 cm think and lays over top a huge water
chamber. Echoes reverberate from one end
to the other as the large ball moves. Close to you there are the occasional
squeals as parts of the floor break and rub up against each other. Or sometimes
the whole floor heaves, as if it is breathing. That sound resembles leather
creaking and it too echoes as far as you can see. Myriad patterns of cracks and
fissures are left behind.
This howl, creak and
groan lasts as long as the ice remains as a solid sheet. However very little
stays the same for very long. The wind arises, the ice shifts and the whole
scene breaks up. Plates of broken ice slide onto the shore in a wild mass of a
vibrant turquoise blue. The music turns to a tinkle then a growl. The wind
stays up and soon there is no ice sheet, no delicate plates, just a rolling
mash. There is no skinny skin, just heaving masses of white that on cloudy days
resemble the morning’s oatmeal or sequined lace on the sunny ones. The sound is
huge. Gigantic growls fill the air as ice chunks splatter and fly carving a new
shoreline out of older ice cliffs. This new surface tightens and the silence
returns once more.
One advantage to
experiencing such impermanence in lake conditions is that you learn to prepare
for all the impermanences in life. Some make you smile. Right now we benefit
from low gas prices and interest rates. Some make you cheer. The Hounds are hot
and so are the Raptors. While others reaffirm what you know to be true. Ice
formations are fantastic and maple syrup, flowers and spring most definitely will
be back.
That’s the tune that
keeps us going, even if the silence tricks us into believing otherwise.
Sliding Lessons
Shovelling is almost a
sport these days. Each morning, fresh powder waits to dust up the blades of our
wooden handled implements. Aaaaah...winter.
The beautiful white has
been falling pretty well every day. And that’s what outdoor enthusiasts look
forward to, once the driving to destination is over. Skiing, sledding, skating,
snowshoeing -all the “s” words of winter - keep us primed for the season.
Part of the reason we
have so much snow is because we have so much water around. Moisture fills the
air and turns into a soft cousin as it leaves the rivers and lakes. The little ones
are frozen over now, but the big ones, like Lake Superior, still are giving up
the steam which morphs into floating white.
It has been most
interesting to watch the transformations. Especially when big brother wind
comes blasting through. Early the other morning, late moonlight was shining up
huge smooth waves as they pushed onto shore. The rolling long lines curled with
white cresting foam across a silky surface. As I looked more closely and as the
light began to grow, I noticed a heavy dark line on the horizon that usually
means one thing - a wind is on its way. Sure enough. Within half an hour the
air was a thunderous roar as massive water mountains slammed into the bedrock.
Spray hit the windows and horizontal snow replaced horizon lines.
I suppose if these
waves were in Hawaii or even some other parts of Superior, we would see surfers
sliding down the water hills. (Although the cold water surfers might end up
singing Elvis’ Beach Boy Blues.) I’d only hit the real slopes, the sliding
hills of winter.
This year, for whatever
reason, there has been a media flurry about sliding hills. City decision makers
in Sudbury fenced off access to their perennially popular urban hill. Would be
gliders are raising sleds in opposition and Sudbury officials are rethinking
that move. Their favourite free playground now is off limits. At the same time
the city of Toronto opened two sliding hills this past weekend. There, children
can take sliding lessons! One young girl announced with pride in a radio
interview that she had learned how to stop.
Sliding is part of
growing up that can give some of the greatest life lessons. I remember well all
that it taught me. First off, you had to know the hill before hitting the
slopes. There were no black diamond trail markers for safety, so watching for
bumps, holes or rocks on the way up the hill was essential. There also had to
be a long runway at the bottom with no cars or creeks in the way. It often was a
contest to see who could go the farthest. The winner could cheer but they also
had a longer walk to get back up the hill.
If you had your own
toboggan, you pulled it up yourself. If you were sharing someone else’s, you
took turns hauling it up. A padded seat was a luxury. Big thick cardboard boxes
were a fun alternative. Crazy carpets were light but you felt every bump.
Then there are the right
clothes to wear. Two pairs of mitts were ideal as the outside pair was bound to
get balled up with snow. The inside layer made sure fingers didn’t freeze if you
had to drag your hands to slow down. A scarf was important to keep the wind
from your face on the way down, but keep it inside your coat. Don’t let it fly
free. You could choke if it got caught in the sled. Long jackets or snow suits
were keys to keeping snow from creeping down your back. Fashionable jeans were
a disaster. They flash froze first run.
As for learning how to
stop, now that is a bit trickier. And it depends on who is steering the
toboggan. At the top of the hill, with a gang on the sled, most yell at each
other to keep boots tucked in so the unit will go faster down the hill. As speed
increases someone invariably starts dragging their feet to slow things down.
Then the others will either poke their boots out too or yell at the cautious
(or smart) one to quit slowing things up. The person at the front, by using
twists, turns or flipping over, is in the most advantageous position to set the
pace. However the front runner often ends up with snow in the face.
But one of the best
things about sliding is the laughter in the fresh air. Plus, running up the
hills and balancing yourself on the way down is a terrific workout. What a
great way to get to know about the ups and downs of life. As a matter of fact,
I think I will go get my shovel and dig out my sled right now.
Lights Within
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| Dec 28 2014...No Lake Ice ...yet |
Maybe it’s the dark. Or
it could be the cold. This time of year has a way of making us seek comfort.
And of course, like people, comfort comes in all kinds of shapes.
A strong cup of tea or
a slice of dark chocolate helps. As does a snowshoe through quiet woods or
listening to a favourite version of a favourite song. Christmas music does drift
out from the speakers at a perfect time. For we are in full swing towards the
darkening days and are forced to acknowledge the shifts that nature gives us.
Now that the cold is
here and the snow covers the ground, light takes on a different role. This
month’s full moon, along with snow sparkle, has added a bit of magic to the
nights. I like the first part of the evening, when there is a bite to the air,
the skies are clear and the moon has not yet risen. The stars are twinkling
dots, peeking out from the black velvet sky. Later in the night, when the moon
casts tree shadows over snow laden bedrock, the outline of each twig and branch
creates the illusion that another tree might exist somewhere else.
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| winter solstice sunset 2014 |
Not only is the moon
playing tricks. The low afternoon sun on the lake conjures a golden road on the
water. Sunglasses are mandatory for on a trip to the beach on a sunny day, even
if the hard plastic wants to freeze your face. The beach takes a much different
shape this time of year too. The fall gargantuan waves, heightened by high lake
levels, pack more power than their summer cousins. Sand and pebbles become playthings.
Rolling and crashing waves are the hands of a sculptor. All the while, the lake
sloshes around back and forth, from shore to shore, until its story calms down.
Like the lake, like the
natural world, people have stories too. And perhaps that is what makes this
season so famous. At my book launch, I heard many folks speak of their family
history and their favourite stories. I spoke with Ollie Kalliojarvi and after
he told me of how the bucksaw could be carried in a pack, he suggested I speak
about log cabin building with his nephew Ron Holmberg.
I contacted Ron
Holmberg at his home in St Catherine’s Ontario. The first comment he made in
the phone conversation was that he had just been looking at the snow out his
window. He said that snow always makes him think of moving back up north.
North, in this case, is the Sudbury /Sault area. Holmberg was born in the Sault
and raised in Sudbury. He comes back for family reunions though. That’s where
family history finds a fresh life.
In the early 1900s, at
age 12, his orphaned dad, Robert (Bob) Holmberg travelled from Finland to
Cleveland, Ohio to live with a brother. There, Bob spent a few years learning
carpentry at a trade school. With skills intact and looking for work, Bob found
his way to Sault Ste Marie. He soon met and married Aino Alexandra Siltanen and
began a family. Then in the 1920s, Russ Devlin, who had just purchased “Beaver
Rock”, a magnificent stretch of sandy shoreline 140 km north of Sault Ste Marie
along Lake Superior, contracted Bob for a special job. Devlin needed Bob’s
carpentry and log building skills for his new home site.
So Bob and Aino moved
to Beaver Rock with three of their children. Aino was cook for the construction
crew and Bob put his building skills to work.
Ron did not know about
his dad’s construction work at Beaver Rock until about 10 years ago when he
visited his uncle Milton the day after a summer family reunion. Milton drove
Ron up to Beaver Rock to see the old cabins there. Bob could not believe what
he saw and how he felt when he peeked in the window of an old log cabin. He saw
a fireplace that sent him spinning into the past. With obvious emotion he
explained his thoughts.
“I was spooked out!” he said. “That fireplace was
the spitting image of the one my dad built for us at our camp near Sudbury.”
Ron had to investigate
further. He went inside the cabin. The spookiness continued.
He went on to say, “When
I stood there, I had the funny feeling that maybe my father was standing there right
beside me.”
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| Dream Steam |
Some places and some
stories do that to you. They raise memories that you might never expect. There
is no doubt that story telling, in all its forms, is crucial to our nature. The
narratives help us to grow. And what
better time of year than now to indulge?
So Happy Holidays everyone
and may all your stories be happy ones too.
And if not, may they help you turn towards the comfort, warmth and light
that is within us all.
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| ahhhh.... time for a rest |