Trail Time – It’s Still Summer!
I think August might be my favorite summer month on the Gunflint Trail. The bug count is down, the loons sing day and night and the evenings are so beautifully cool. As I walk through the tall grass, I delight in the grasshoppers flinging themselves ahead of me, making their clickity-clackity music. The goldenrod and asters — a match made in heaven — are in full glory. The petals from the roses are long gone but the rose hips are plump and brilliant red on the stems; the fireweed shows a few inches of blossoms remaining — so summer is not yet done! There is still time for canoeing, camping and swimming and fishing and hiking — and campfires and s’mores!
The smoke has lessened from Canadian wildfires. One evening the hazy atmosphere muted the view of the far shore, turning it a dusky blue in that golden hour of the day, making it look like Shenandoah.
I was sitting on the dock one afternoon for a few hours, just observing the water and sky in a quiet way. Silence reigned, save for the songs of multiple little birds high in the trees by the shore. I could hear their bright little voices and hear their wings fluttering around. From their song, I was certain they were kinglets, but I couldn’t see them through the thick foliage.
I watched the wind move over the water, ruffling the surface as it moved in gusts and gentle swirls across the surface of the lake. I looked for little fish in the shallows and was rewarded by sighting a few treading water below me. When I stared into the water, it felt like they were staring back. I wonder what fish think of humans?
Whenever I’m on the water, I expect to see a kingfisher, and hear their loud chatter (they are almost always present at the water’s edge) but they had business elsewhere that afternoon. I noticed what I thought were mosquitoes flying in a strange way right in front of me — going up and down, up and down — then I realized they were mayflies! A hatch was starting at my feet; but this was a tiny hatch compared to others I have witnessed. A gentle breeze blew them away, but a while later another small batch started dancing in front of me. They are such interesting creatures, living 99% of their lives as nymphs in the water. They are diaphanous, and their tail filaments and delicate wings can make you believe in fairies. The females fly through a swarm of males for mating, then they return to the water to lay eggs and die. Mayflies are a very important food source for fish and they require pristine water since they are very sensitive to pollutants. How fortunate we are to have this abundance of clean water here!
I have witnessed big mayfly hatches before — one was on John Lake up the Arrowhead Trail. We canoed through the cloud of insects and it was as if there was a reverse rainstorm. The surface of the water looked like raindrops were hitting it, but it was the mayflies coming up from the water that pockmarked the surface of the lake.
Last night I heard two loons calling from the lake. I couldn’t see them through the trees that cover the north slope down to the lake. But then I heard the distinctive sound of water-dancing followed by the loons’ low hoots to each other, their quiet contact sounds, just staying in touch with each other.
How lush the forest is up here on the Trail. When I look out from my porch, I can see 12 species of trees: Birch, Aspen, White Pine, Jack Pine, Balsam Fir, Spruce, Cedar, Willow (at least two kinds), Hazel, Chokecherry, Black Cherry, Canada plum.
Such a lush growth of trees makes me feel so glad that we got to the tail end of summer without experiencing a serious wildfire threat. The local danger level posted at Fire Hall #1 has stayed at Moderate nearly all summer; at the Seagull Guard Station further up the Trail, it has been posted as Low. Of course, the threat of wildfire will never end, as long as forests are forests and people are people. Most wildfires in our part of the world are caused by humans. And yet there is still the ignorant among us who like to shoot off fireworks in the forest, as we witnessed again this past July. It’s stunningly stupid. All of us who love the woods must educate visitors of the importance of protecting the forest.
Our own piece of the northern forest is just a small part of the Boreal Woods that circumnavigate the entire globe. It is as important to the planet as the mayflies are to the fish. For example, the spring runoff from the boreal forest feeds the algae of the oceans with nutrients; the algae in turn feed the plankton that feeds the krill that feeds the whales; the blue-green algae alone sends almost half the earth’s oxygen into the atmosphere. I could go on and on about the Boreal Forest, it is so magnificent and magnanimous — plentiful and generous. It can never be replaced if it is destroyed. May we all learn to treasure this precious resource and never cease advocating for its survival.
— Marcia Roepke
