On our last morning here on Pumpkin Island I sneak away from the sleeping house early and wander quietly amung the rocks on the south point. The water is very still and the sunrise's pink and peach glow is just illuminating the still water. Large fish are taking the oportunity for some easy meals and are leaping out of the water to snatch insect morsels while the lense of the water's surface is as clear from below as it is from above. They surface, and seem to float mid-air for just a moment as I catch a fleeting glimpse of thier shimmering sides and then they are pulled forcefully back into the graps of the river's depth with a resounding plunk. I am left with only the expanding ring wavelets dispersing quickly to remind me of that timeless event. Similarly the gulls, which normally seem to sit around in large groups kibbitzing one another are circuling above eddies individually and dive down to grab the unsuspecting smaller fish. Crickets chirp from beneath the rocks, and the Osprey's sharp and urgent call travels all the way down from the tip of Ash Island. Just as the sun lifts above the horizon, a shimmering white form slips out of a cove on Ash island. As it approachs I can see the form of a single rower, making his way smoothly my direction in a classic St. Lawrence skiff. With one swift motion the boat roates 180 degrees and he is facing now forward to negotite the more shallow and narrow waters of the Lane alongside Pumpkin Island. We exchange the silent nodding greetings of a shared early morning experience and all at once he is swallowed by the leaning birch limbs and the water behind seems no worse of the wear. A solitary loon floats by, his feet dangling below making not a single ripple as his smooth belly feathers part the water for his passage. This one must be a youngster, yet without a mate and we have been hearing his calls each morning as he forlornly seeks company of another, using the pink granite rocks along the steep shores of the south bay to enhance and expand his requests. It almost seems like an insult to assemble all the camera gear and make a sound with the camera shutter, so I sit in the peace and quiet and try to store the high resolution multi-channel experience of real time in my sluggish brain. I turn left, and what has been to me a slighly swaying stick by the water's edge at the shore of an adjacent island explodes into massive and slowly flapping wings and a primoidal squawk as the lumbering Great Blue heron takes flight after giving up on the game of who blinks first it had been playing with me without my knowledge. I breath in deeply tring to lodge the air and the water and the sunrise and the wide expance of open space and the diversity of the interconnected animal community into my being. I let it out and again, breath in long and slow so that this vision and memory will be strong and vibrant and engaged into my brain because it will need to hold me for a whole year until we can return to this renewing and beaucolic corner of the world.
Sunset over the channel looking towards Canadian mainland
Grouping of Birch trees on the east end
An invitng piece of the loop trail
Leaning Birch Trees and the lagoon between the back bench and Pumpkin2
Calm water reflections from the back bench
Martin House and bench on Field and Streem Island
Bench and clinging tree on one of the Ivy Lee Islets
An unruffled and very brave loon in the south bay just off the horse bench point. This one seems quite solitary and must be a youngster yet without a mate and has been singing forlornly each morning at sunrise.
Allen and Nirelle out for an evening paddle in Lover's Lane
Quiet dock on the north side of Ash Island with low water and setting sun
Solitary rower in Lover's Lane
No comments:
Post a Comment