Algonquin Park
Here in central Ottawa, there is an uncharacteristic richness, a forest left after so many have been cut down. From the lower Algonquin, bogs and mosquitoes and mud create almost an other worldly experience where you expect to see an elf or goblin around the corner. The long winters and deep snows leave behind a rich, dark, damp soil. But as you move up in the park to the high Algonquin the landscape changes: the mosquitoes are replaced by black flies; the ground is dry and hard; and breezes rustle the trees along the edges of the forest overlooking the bluffs with the river below. We were lucky enough to hike in both of these environments. In the first, we finally had to stop and defend ourselves with deep woods off before we got eaten alive by the swarming mosquitoes. We jumped over dense, thick mud and wished for longer boardwalks as we squished around the edges. In the second, we waved our hands vigorously around us to chase off the black flies and slowed our pace on the bluff edges where the wind chased them away. We peered down at the rivers that appeared to be stagnant, at least from our perch above. Both trails offered brochures about the forest we were passing through but if we stopped long enough to read the text we were attacked by whichever bug was dominant.
Algonquin park was apparently the inspiration of many Canadian painters but I can’t imagine many of them set up their easel in the summer for fear of begin eaten alive by black flies or mosquitoes.
No comments:
Post a Comment