Bearbells by Leslie Noonan
March 17/25
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! I went in search of some of that lovely green but found only brown and dull colors. At this time of the year hiking is a mess. The trails are wet and muddy but also snow covered and icy. I have a hard time choosing footwear, as I need snowshoes, hip waders, sneakers, rain boots and even a pair of crampons to manage the trails. With this intermittent weather I turn to my old favorites, trails that keep me out of the mud but still provide a great hike. Tiny marshes is one of my favorite areas at this time of the year. The cold wind cuts through your clothing as it sweeps off the frozen marsh, dropping the temperature by at least 5-7 degrees. This cold wind had me avoiding the berm and instead heading east through the scant forest and alongside the deep and ice-free canal.
I am always amazed by the wildlife found in this conservation area. Just stepping onto the trail had me unintentionally disrupting a pair of Canadian geese, who had me giving a nod to their tenacity and loud vocalizations when their area is threatened with invasion. Amen!! I continued along the trail, amazed by the sheer number of bird calls found in this small forest. Piliated and hairy woodpeckers flew overhead to land on their favorite dead trees. Small wrens and sparrows sit in bushes to call out their high-pitched songs. Out in the marsh a wood duck let loose with his mating call that sounds more like the croak of a frog. Out in the field’s crows’ wheel and careen, letting out loud caws at my intrusion. There just a head of me in the flooded canal a small black figure swims with sinuous ease through the murky water, eventually disappearing under the overhang of the bank. My first time seeing a mink. These small weasels love the waterways, and their dark brown fur is ideal for disguising themselves from birds of prey.
I normally follow a five km trail around the swamp and out on the berm. With the flooding, I instead made my way to one of the many sluice gates within the conservation area. Normally I would head north at this convergence of trails, but with the high waters I thought I would be smart and head back via the duck hunters’ trails. Bliss, as I headed back west on a dry trail that was so easy to traverse, until I hit the first shallow stream created by the mild weather. No problem, as I use my poles to keep my feet mostly dry. The trail then turns south and here is where I start to curse. This part of the trail is flanked by bush, keeping the trail out of that warm and thawing sun. I find myself cursing loudly as I struggle through brittle snow, often dropping through snow up to my thighs and causing me to yell as my gimpy left leg painfully gives out, over and over again. I stay to the right of the trail, which is in the shade, hoping that the rotting snow will hold me up better. Up ahead, giant drifts cross the trail from breaks in the bush from the fields. Sigh, this will not be good. Once I clamber past these spots I hit more open water areas and have given up on the idea of dry feet. By now I am regretting my decision to use this “easy” trail and am cursing every step.
I eventually make it out to the dirt road and let out a sigh of relief. Even on this easy terrain my knee is yelling at me. I will pay for todays detour with a few days limp. As I made my way down that dirt road, with the warm sun on my shoulders, I decided that a few days pain was more than worth it. I looked up at the telephone lines, and to my astonishment a kingfisher sits on the lines as it surveys the flooded fields around him. An amazing site, as this field is used every spring by migrating birds. Geese, swans, ducks and even cranes and herons land in this field by the thousands. No need to even leave your car, as the birds are just a ditch away. Spring is truly here.