Snowshoeing again, this time into the Wabos North Wilderness area with Seamus, Ted, Josh and Jeramiah. I should the say the ages of J & J add up to about 17, whereas Ted, Seamus and I together are a hundred and something. But we are all but mere infants compared to a particular white pine we are seeking. Its rings tally over two hundred and fifty years. We are therefore searching for the shade of an elder, one whose life began long before there was a political entity known as Canada.
Alongside Station Road, we strap on the snowshoes for the steady climb to the north. Just as we begin, a lone coyote crosses our path. Everyone catches sight of it, then coyote suddenly stops to look back at us. There is a mutual recognition and it's gone. It is a reoccurring theme. A lynx or a wolf or a moose will cross your path quickly, then pause at the edge of sight for a brief moment. It may be a curiosity between species or an imperative of cross purposes. Either way, we are enriched by the encounter, as we climb to the highest lookout afforded us.
To the south, we can see the downhill runs of Searchmont where we all were yesterday. Because of this shared February holiday, the mountain is fully occupied today. Seamus' binoculars betray that the dozens of dots we see are really snowboarders and skiers, shredding the gnar.
Below us and to the east are the Sky Bear Chalets and the backdrop of Wolf Mountain. I can barely discern the snowy roadway that connects the two. I adjust my sunglasses to take in the nearby rainbow sparkles at my feet. Snow crystals dazzle the eyes in the bright sunlight.
Together, we turn away from this view to drop into a pocket paradise to our north. Seamus and I have taken to calling this place, the oasis. As the glaciers retreated, a shard of ice remained, carving out a cold acidic bog. Slowly, at glacial speed, it has filled in, first with sphagnum, followed by black spruce and now cedar. Among the cedar, there is one very tall white pine.
When I think about the plunder of the many white pine that populated the Great Lake regions a hundred or so years ago I can't help but consider the leviathan and their similar fate. Great blue and sperm whales, and the great white and red pines were each magnificent and widespread in their own realms. A 19th century way of thinking soon reduced both populations to a scattered few left to tell the tale. Call me Ishmael or call me Aldo Leopold but I cling to a scattering of what remains as the ecological ship founders. The genetic pool has been drained and the friendly giants have run aground, separated from their nearest mates by a cruel division of time and attitude.
Five pairs of snowshoes drop down into the boggy oasis of Wabos North to seek the sage advice of Pinus Strobus. A stunning greenery awaits us among the dormant hardwoods counterpointing the predominant colour of winter. Cedars of all diameters tilt and weave in the spongy moss. One cedar in particular has a daunting task, as it lends supports to the sole surviving pine. Without this extra effort, the curving lean of this sun loving giant might have long ago been its downfall. The two species are anchored here together in a curious coupling. In cameo at least, cooperation has trumped competition.
While the two boys eat their lunch, we three take turns interviewing each other in front of the pine-cedar juxtaposition. It is a tradition Seamus and I began here at this site some years ago, providing dramatic perspective for our projects, http://www.lowcarbonhomes.info/ and http://www.skybearchalets.com/ We bask in the power of this place, and let the words channel out.
Ted speaks about his love of the ancient bur oaks of Illinois and Wisconsin. The openings of these prairie breakers resisted fire in much in the same way as this old pine has done. Ted puts his hands on the thick folds of bark that has ensured the tree's health and longevity.
Seamus refers to the dominance of nature in our lives. Here, that unwavering truth is self evident, but the same is true in other less obvious settings. In his words, “You don't have to look any further than your own back yard or to a single tree surrounded by concrete to see the same compelling principles demonstrated”.
It has been often repeated, although without a clear understanding, that we can't see the forest because of the trees. Perhaps we should look more closely at the spaces in between the trees, because therein stirs the magic. If we leave our preconceptions behind, we may notice a connectivity unimagined before. This unlikely oasis is linked to all other refugeum across this blue and green planet. Lands and oceans. Trees and whales.
As the shadows lengthened, we retraced our steps back down the mountain. The coyote has moved on, but the tracks remain, as do ours. When the snows return tomorrow, the mountain map will be redrawn.
By Jeffrey Riordan Hinich
posted by Jeffrey via Leslie
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