By Leslie Noonan
The snow has finally stopped. That means it is time for a road trip, windows open, arm out the window, music pumping, and weird looks from the passing cars. Yep, this menopausal woman is out and about, feeling that the plus 3 temperatures are positively balmy. Georgian Bay is a solid white expanse, that is until Meaford where the bay is open water with occasional micro floes drifting by. I continued until Owen Sound, and the well known Inglis Falls. There is paid parking here, though I suspect people stop and jump out to capture the falls and jump back into their cars. They are missing out on a great area for hiking, snowshoeing and fat biking.
As soon as you step out of your car you can hear the roar of the waterfall. This is an 18-meter falls, which my photos do no justice for. The falls have a cap of heavy ice, and the water cascades under this ice to slam into the cold rocks below. I spent some time in reverence to this natural formation, before heading out to the many trails that crisscross this area. I chose the yellow trail, a short 2.9 km trail that follows the river and then heads into a mixed forest of cedar and elm. The weak winter sun struggled to shine through the thin grey clouds while off in the distance the occasional crow let out a loud caw, and nearby the chick-a-dee-dee call of a curious chickadee. The temperature was finally warming up, and the snow was soft and treacherous. Any step off the packed down trail resulted in a thigh high step into soft and wet snow. Eventually that wintery sun made a bright appearance, and with blue skies the snow became even softer, and drips of wet water let loose from the overhead branches. I am a woman of a certain age, and I run hot in the coldest of weather. This hot sun shining down, had me removing my mitts and placing them over the handles of my poles. Next my hat came off, tucked into my pocket. Whew, still too hot, and the jacket is wrapped around my waist. Good lord, the only thing left to do is to lie naked in the snow, steam rising around me, as I sink several feet through the snow to the ground below. Ok, maybe that last comment is just a bit of an exaggeration, but I would have loved to do this to cool off. Instead, I will just have to contend with a pair of steamed up sunglasses and a red and sweaty face.
This conservation area was the site of a former grist mill, in use from 1843 until 1932 when it burned down. I admit that I had no idea what a grist mill is, and a quick google search informed me that it is essentially a building that grinds the corn and grains into flour. All that now remains is the original stone family home. This is a great place for families, with washrooms and picnic area for use in the warmer weather. The 7.4 kilometers of trails are well maintained and marked, as well as providing access to the Bruce Trail. I headed home with that warm sun providing an easy drive, that is until the clouds closed in overhear, the snowbanks got bigger, and there it is, the ever-present falling snow. I must be back in Simcoe County!