Boats and a Beach Walk

                                          Photo: S E Ingraham, by permission.
From my journals, October 2013
Living on a Boat is many things that one does not see in the glossy magazine ads. A lot of work is involved keeping my home shipshape and one must always be preparing for the future.
With winter on the horizon, one of those items is to fill my diesel tanks for heating and emergency generator use should the power go out in mid winter. There is no fuel available in our Bay so a pleasant 9 mile cruise to the west brings me to Bluffers Park and the Marina there. I was their only customer that beautiful midweek Autumn day and they were happy to see my 1000 litre fill.
I used this opportunity to revisit a beach I have not walked since my youth.
There have been many changes in my half century of absence and I struggled to see past the stone and concrete of now to view the undeveloped shoreline of my early years.
The fine road down to the marina was once a ravine we had to traverse to steal apples from the orchard in the seminary. It then became a garbage dump to lay the foundations for the road and eventual marina. We would climb down there in the spring with smelt nets and lanterns during the smelt run. Memories of bonfires on the beach, friends from that time and the carefree joy of youth flooded back but I could only guess at the locations we used in those days. The marina development has erased almost all the old features.
Walking east brought me to more familiar views and a lesser impact from recent development.
Here the Bluffs are at their highest and I recognised the paths where I and my friends would climb down to spend the day. One of my best friends had a home that backed to the highest point yet it had a good path to the shore. This was our normal route to the beach.
Walking further, I came to the area of the home where I grew up, not visible from where I was at the top of the Bluffs but still recognisable in my memories.
I looked for the wreck of the Alexandria , a paddle steamer that was driven ashore a century past, but new shoreline works have removed all traces.
Nothing remains the same.
And some things never change.
The waves still kiss the shore and the beach goes on.
Walking back to my boat I reflect on those times. The responsibilities of adulthood had yet to impact our lives and our only duty to the day was to be home before the street lights came on.
I wonder what the youth of today would see on this beach if they would only take a moment to lift their eyes from their texting and look at the majesty surrounding them.
I truly enjoyed this day and my walk on this beach.
I enjoyed my memories.

An Icicle Kiss

The deep cold that has invaded from the north has frozen the lake far out by night and
wave action has made icicles on the pilings. A small wind by day is enough to break this
ice cover up into plate sized sheets and pile it at the shore.

The poet Lonnie Hicks wrote in "An Icicle Kiss" that icicles are the winter's flowers.
He might well have described today's frigid beach which, despite the cold and dark clouds
to the east, presents a stark beauty here. A small patch of sunlight breaking through to the west
lights up this canvas.
The simplicity is beyond words.

Pondering winter's artistry, I decide that today's walk shall be a brief one.

Losing a Friend

No beach walk today, it is cold and snow squalls are forecast.
Instead, I ponder the loss of a friend.
Marinus was a tall soft spoken Dutchman and a member of our Yacht Club for many years.
A Veterinarian, he had a gentle manner and a ready smile for all. He loved his wife and family
and they shared his love of sailing in return.
I never saw him in a bad mood and he was always there to lend a hand when needed.
In his 70's he still skied, played hockey and was looking forward to a summer of sailing.
A Swallow built a nest on my anchor one year and Marinus would climb up to the bow to check on the young and try to guess how many days remained before I could move the boat. Neither he nor I wanted to interrupt the little lady until her young had flown.
He was a truly happy man in a world where few are as content as he.

Fair Winds Marinus.

We will miss you.

Beaver Tales

A beaver has been busy around the docks lately.
His home is at the north end of our bay and the ice is thick up there right now.
Perhaps hunger has driven him down here as a 4 inch thick poplar was cut down by
him on the beach a few days ago. Only the stump and a few chips remain and there
is no sign of the rest of it. Typically a beaver will cut this up into manageable chunks
and stick them in the bottom mud for later snacking. I don't know how long this will
sustain a beaver so I watch for other stumps to appear on my walks.
As in past years, I know there will be a lot of floating branches, with every bit of bark
removed, floating in the bay when the ice goes out in a few weeks.
A beaver must keep busy to survive.

Snowy Owl

 

                                  

From March 2014



Owl hunts small rabbit
beach grasses give good cover
blood drips on ice

 

Age

From December 1 2012

The first day of the last month of the year and I am walking on the bay side of the west spit today.
It is a nicer walk than the lake side in this weather.
The wind is blowing sand on the beach.
The waves are pounding in from the southeast.
It is cold, a foretelling of winter to come.
At the western end of the bay is a protected area of marsh, brush and cattails.
A pleasant place on a warm summer day and nesting grounds for many species of birds.
Here stands a lone Great Blue Heron at the waters edge.
As his fellows have headed south over 4 weeks ago one wonders if this one is injured, sick or
simply too old to make the journey and has chosen to spend his remaining time here at the bay.
Nature makes no concessions in the grand scheme of life.

The West Spit

From September 2012

I walked the western spit of our bay today. Here it is far more natural than it's eastern cousin.
It is a barrier bar though some effort to anchor it with grasses seems to be having good effect.
The sand is fine with fewer pebbles, some significant driftwood and very few people ever use
this beach. I love to walk here and enjoy the waves and solitude. It is a clear day and everything is just a little sharper, the colours a little brighter as fall approaches.
As I walk today my mind lags behind, about 15 years, to when I lived on the northeast corner of
this bay and had a wonderful schnauzer named Colonel. Twice a day I would walk him here in the summer. We had a dock in the back yard and travelled here by dinghy. Landing on the inside, he was out and running for the beach before I could tilt the motor up, heading to the sand.
I would walk, he would run and I was always vigilant as he would like nothing better than to roll on a dead carp. Perfume in his mind and a bathing chore in mine.
I never figured out which part of our daily routine he enjoyed more, the run on the beach or the ride there and back in the dinghy, for I had only to say "boat" and he was right back in the dinghy, panting, wet and sandy, but excited about the ride back home.
Sadly, Colonel is long gone but the memories of those days are sharp and I enjoy them still on a quiet sunny day like today.
For the beach is still here and the waves still come ashore as I walk and enjoy the moment.

Gray

Gray Sky.
Gray Water.
The Harbour Entrance is still.
Sleeping now.
In eight short weeks it will awaken.
It is quite a workout to walk to here on the beach.
The snow is deep.
My footprints show dirty snow under last nights fresh fall.
The wind never sleeps.
It is constantly rearranging the sand on the beach.
The warmth of spring will reveal the changes.
Waiting.

Rambling

From my journal June 2013

Sometimes when I walk the beach my mind is on a different journey.
It is a place to think about the day or dream of the future but most often to
reflect upon the past, of roads not taken and the ones I have travelled.
I recall people I have known, happy events, friends and yes, opportunities lost.
Sometimes the memories are simply mundane and serve to hold the rest together
as a whole. Often they are simply a reflection of life lived well without regret.

F. Scott Fitzgerald expressed it well in the last line of The Great Gatsby,
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Canada Geese

God must love Canada Geese because he made so many of them.
Years back we would see them winging their way south in gigantic Vees, landing in the bay
and moving on the next morning. It was the first harbinger of the fall as was their journey north
one of the first signs of spring.
Today they seem to have become lazy or acclimatised to our weather. Many do not migrate
and spend their lives near our bay. Perhaps our local population no longer has the instincts of
their ancestors and perhaps it is the legacy of milder winters, more available food and protection
from hunting in our area. Whatever the reason, they seem to be here to stay and to the point that
even the most ardent tree hugger has to have some misgivings.
In summer they are very aggressive when you approach their nests or young and they nest everywhere. They invade lawns, terrorize small dogs and their droppings are everywhere.
But it is the winter where the problem is most noticeable. They spend all their time on the ice or the small area of open water near the harbour entrance save for their twice daily pilgrimage to the corn fields north of us where they feed on the leftovers of the harvest.
As an adult goose can relieve itself of up to 3 pounds of droppings per day and it is estimated that by the end of winter there will be over 100 tons of goose poop sitting on the ice.
The next time you visit the beach please refrain from bringing bread with you to feed the geese, especially if you are coming down to let your children play in the water.

cocoon

Winter Chrysalis
The warm breath of springtime
White butterfly wings

Sleeping Swans

On the ice swans sleep
Too thin to bear my step
Another day ends

On a cold day

Wave crash on cold shore
Sleeping Lilac, Bitter wind
Await the spring sun.