Oct 14

It appears that we’ve had a major paradigm shift.  It’s hunting season in Ontario, and we’ve just seen ten dead moose pass us on the highway!  Today we’re starting the long trek across the north side of Lake Superior again – prime hunting country in the opening week of hunting season.  Hunting virgins, we were initiated by the first moose in the forecourt of a gas station outside of the Soo.  A huge rack of antlers was peeking above the sides of an ancient pick up, so we went over to investigate.  Not just the antlers, but the poor boy’s whole head, nestled next to his still hairy thorax, and plunked down on top of his four legs, quartered.  A sort of a visceral shock for us city folk, especially the flies, and the smell that suddenly seemed all too closely connected to death.  Four filthy, silent, decrepit characters straight out of  Deliverance got back in the truck.  I may never eat moose again.  There followed a day long parade coming past us southbound on the highway  of pickup trucks loaded with ATVs, boats, gun racks, and moose antlers.  A blessing that we couldn’t see into the trucks or souls of the owners.  The anatomical reality of killing, dismembering, and transporting a moose has put me off hunting forever. 

It’s been a day heavy with the symbolism of fall.  The trees, brilliant with colour in Muskoka, have today gradually turned grey and barren.  The weather has changed overnight from sultry last ditch summer, to cold, brooding grey.  The clouds are dark with the looks of icy rain, pregnant with the threat of snow.  Lake Superior, so tropical and turquoise in July, is leaden and forbidding.  The rose and grey granite of the shield glistens with a wild beauty that was muted by summer’s sun.  In a barren field, a huge flock of tall grey birds grazed.  We stopped, assuming they were herons, and in the lens, 70 stately sand hill cranes prepared for their long winter migration.

Today also we had our first road fatality – one of a flock of sparrows veered too late out of our path and was smashed against our windscreen.  How awful for the little thing, and unfairly, how much more unbearable a large animal would be. 

But this is what we prepared for, and fall is a welcome transformation too. This week Muskoka was alight with magnificent colour, and blessed with the last warm breath of summer.  We had a wonderful long weekend in Huntsville, visiting family, eating turkey, relaxing in familiar territory.  The unexpected pleasure of swimming again in the lake at the foot of the garden made me wonder why we have to live in such a large country.  If we could only visit for the weekend more often…  I feel the isolation of the west coast so acutely when I see my large extended family, intimately connected, comfortable, and close.  I need to do this more often. 

So if the north is in the grip of fall, we shall turn on our heater, download more books, stock up on more red wine, and carry on.  We’ll enjoy the wild Lake Superior shore for another few days, then head to Winnipeg for family and reprovisioning.  Until then, tata from the wilderness!