Roads Less Travelled
Wandering down some less traveled paths
Another catch up post, this one will cover a few outings from September and October along some back roads during the annual fall spectacular.
The Gut
I was happy to have Carol as my companion on the first of these autumn adventures from the final weekend of September. Having seen local colours just starting to change, we headed north from Havelock up County Road 46 to see if we could find more. Within 50 meters of 46 reaching 504, a sign points to The Gut Conservation Area six kilometers east along Lasswade Rd. An intriguing name and so we turned off to check it out.
The road twists and turns, undulating over and around the glacial features of the landscape. Fun when not covered in snow, but one can easily imagine it turning into a bobsled run in a couple of months. About 4 km in, the path snakes around this small body of water, that was glowing in the morning sun.
Finding a safe place to pull over, we got out to take the first pictures of the day. The colours were a little further ahead here and combined with the full sun and blue sky reflected in the water, it was a wonderful stop. There are plenty of lakes in the area, but most are out of sight from the roads. This was the first small body of water we were able to see close up. It was marked as private property along the road, but we respected the signs and stayed by the roadway.
The evidence of a rich ecosystem was everywhere. Aquatic plants floated on the water, and bubbles rose from the muddy bottom. A tree lay on it’s side having been cut and then abandoned by a beaver.
Back in the car, we continued another few minutes to our promised destination. At first we parked on the road along with a few other vehicles, not sure if the sideroad into the conservation area would be passable in my car, but having walked a hundred meters or so down the path, we turned back and drove in. I guess some people use this small roadway as part of their exercise for the day. My 2WD car had no trouble however navigating the last kilometer into the parking lot, although there was some concern of meeting another vehicle along the way. Several ATVs navigated around us as we moved slowly along the path.
The Gut Conservation Area is a 400 acre site east of Apsley, Ontario managed by The Crow River Conservation Authority. The shot above shows the main portion of the 230 metre “gut” carved by the Crow River. In the Fall, the water level runs very low, allowing me to step down into the belly of the beast, but it is easy to imagine the torrent that must pass through here during the spring runoff. The walls of the small canyon rise about 30 meters and there is a viewing platform up top to watch the raging river from a safe distance. The stones were cold to the touch even as the heat of the day was building.
Barely a trickle of water ran down the flume during our visit, a demonstration of just how dry it has been this past summer. I’d been in water conservation mode for a while fearing my well might run dry, which I’m happy to say it didn’t, but it would be a number of weeks after these photos were taken before any relief would be had.
Having had our fill of the Gut, we headed out again and found a great place to sit and eat on Gilmour Bay looking out at the south end of Chandos Lake. We lingered for a while, taking in the waterfront view.
Originally called Mongosogan by the Mississauga Anishinaabe, on whose traditional territory it is situated, about 1200 cottages now line the lake, the one below, for sale.
Campbellford Seymour Conservation Area
On Thanksgiving Monday Carol and I dropped by the Campbellford Seymour Conservation Area just south of town. The colours had advanced locally to the point where we didn’t have to drive far to see them.
The weather was fine, although a bit cooler than our previous outing and the colours were near or at their peak, but I was feeling a little less inspired photographically on this particular day. Fall colours, while spectacular, in and of themselves can prove a difficult subject especially after years of capturing them. It can be hard to see them with fresh eyes, to capture something new about them that is not just repeating myself. Still, it is a challenge worth attempting each year, but I find it difficult not to fall into old patterns and cliche.
Sometimes a walk is simply a walk. The company and conversation was good and I was wise enough that day to be grateful for that alone. I took a number of photos, but nothing of great note. It clearly wasn’t my day. For some reason I am still not aware of, my camera had something of a conniption fit switching its normal care free operation into ‘can’t do this anymore’ mode. Worrying, but it hasn’t repeated, so I figure it must have been an aberration in an otherwise trouble free relationship with my favourite tech box. I pulled the battery which had become hot to the touch. Oo la la! — Seems both I and my camera were having a bit of an off day.
Unassumed Road
A few days later, I found myself wandering on my own down an old road near my home that I visit on occasion, always on foot as I am aware the road becomes near impassable by car soon after dipping down out of sight of the main road. It is perhaps my favourite autumn walk and being close to where I pick up my mail at a group box, it silently beckons me this time of year, especially given the taunting nature of the sign at its entrance.
That’s kind of like life isn’t it? We go forward not knowing what our journey may bring. There may be delight or danger, the spectacular and the mundane. Likely we will find a bit of all of these things, but only if we are willing to risk the journey. But to stand there and look at it without moving hardly seems an option at all. So let us press onward and see what this road less travelled brings.
It had rained overnight, but the warm day had called for running shoes, not boots. The rain was welcome, one of the first breaks from a long season of none. The rain and accompanying wind had taking a toll on the vibrant red maple leaves which are always the first to fall. I found myself jumping the puddles where I could or stepping around them along the sides of the old road like the one above.
The sun, which had been absent for most of the day, was now shining brightly as it headed into the latter part of the afternoon. Still, there were plenty of clouds in the sky. When the breaks came, the yellow canopy turned on like an overhead light bathing everything in a warm glow. And then as quickly as this amazing light arrived, it would turn off again.
The further down the road you go, the narrower the path seems to gets. The horsetails, so prominent along this trail seemed to crowd onto the roadway at this point and up ahead, a tree had fallen across the path. Even the Jeep I had seen on occasion barrelling down this path would likely need a chainsaw to get past.
A passing cloud had dimmed the overhead light again as I approached the roadblock. I know my ATV could have jumped it easily, lifting the front end with its knobby tires and riding the log on it’s single rail undercarriage, like a skateboarder riding a rail. But unencumbered by any form of transport other than myself, I would simply step over it. Another life lesson perhaps.
The more encumbered we are by life’s luxuries, the more susceptible we are to breakdown. Travel light and carry a camera to catch what you see along the way without claiming any further ownership in it. As I get older, I wonder if ownership, at least conspicuous ownership, isn’t some form of malady. How much is enough? When do we switch from owning to sharing? After all, where we are going, we can’t take it with us. And that is the brutal truth of this road we are on.
The path began to climb again after passing through a low boggy area. The smell of autumn decay was all around. The ground was hard packed but blanketed with leaves that rustled underfoot as I walked. It was otherwise quiet, except the distant sound of chainsaws as people readied themselves for the winter ahead.
The sun was back out. The highlights and shadows adding so much to the scene. It felt like I was walking into a painting.
Again the path rises ahead, this time twisting to the left and then to the right rising more steeply than at any point previous on the trail.
Sometimes pictures just present themselves. “Look here,” they say. There is little to do other than aim and shoot. These gifts seem to come from whatever place I have inserted myself into, as if the place itself was saying hello. It is clearly a collaboration. The place, my environment and my reaction to it. In this way, photographs become meditations.
I believe we are all connected, to each other, from friends to enemies, partners to strangers. Animal to vegetable. Even the landscape, the rocks and stones. The energy from our sun and the uncountable stars above. Together we are one. I think indigenous cultures inherently understand this, but modern religions tend to raise us above the fray as if we humans are somehow special. We aren’t. We are all part of one thing. To find God I need look no further than the natural world around me, and the spark of life within me. All my ancestors, every bird, every insect, the microbes too small to see. All made from the same energy, the same life force, the same miracle of life. Stretching out into space beyond time to the unimaginable universe. The whole enchilada.
I recall I was once accused disparagingly of being a tree hugger by a group of heavy equipment operators enjoying an afternoon brew after a hard days work. They likely took their cues from seeing my ponytail and the birkenstock sandals on my feet when I walked into their space to sell a bit of advertising. No matter boys. You are correct, and thank you for the compliment. Cheers to you too.
Having reached the pinnacle of the trail, the path then drops low on the other side of the drumlin we are passing over. From past experience, I know the path will dead end not far ahead but even aware of this, it is worth carrying on till the end. At least it is downhill from here. Until the return that is, when I must do it all over again in reverse. Life on the other hand has no return journey, at least not one that we know of, so we must make the most of what the path gives us and be present in each moment.
A drainage ditch has been cut across this road effectively ending it. While the path continues on the other side, no one has bothered to maintain it and saplings and even larger trees now block way ahead. This is in effect, the end of the line, but what a beautiful place it is and quite far from any well known homes. The open space on the left is a wetland.
We are now far from any home except for those occupied by wild things. There is a log cabin not far away, with a mowed lawn to boot, but it is obviously a sanctuary so I will not give away its location.
From the sun’s angle, I know it is time to return to my own home. Thank you for sharing this walk with me.
As usual I’ll leave you with a tune for your own travels.
I am slow in replying. These fall pictures now seem so nostalgic, so lush with fall's beauty, especially today, waiting for freezing rain with snow covering the ground. Looking at your pictures I can almost smell that delightful dry leaf smell, autumn's last hurrah! When the weather is particularly miserable, I will look again at these photos and remember autumn's incredible beauty!
That was a beautiful walk in the woods, John, and thanks for taking us along with you.