It's Labor Day. This signals the return to school for children which is great for seniors because the Provincial Parks suddenly become almost empty when families return home with their children. This makes lots of space for those who do not have school age kids any more. It's quiet and we can usually reserve our favorite site in Killbear Park without any trouble. It's the time of the year when we spruce up the old tent trailer, pump up its tires and load it up with our camping gear. The weather has always been mild for us at this time of the year and far fewer mosquitos' are around. It's not yet time for the fall colors.
Killbear Park is one of the best parks in Ontario, which has many thousands of acres reserved and maintained for the public. It is just north west of Parry Sound on Lake Huron in an area known as Georgian Bay. It's a dreamy existence for a few weeks in a beautiful spot, and yet...and yet. There are some issues here that relate to human activity. Past clear-cut logging and decimation of the fish and wild life. The Sturgeon is no more and whilst re-stocking has taken place, it will be 20 years before they will return to spawn, if they survive. Wild game animals are raised on farms for the hunter's guns. The fresh water fishery has all but disappeared.
The bear hunt has been banned in recent years due to the decimation of the species. The old growth forest is all gone years before our time... we will never know it. However some bears are left more ghost than real. Canada is a large land mass but it is fragile. If you have a mind to, please read my effort at verse and take from it what you will.
IN KILLBEAR PARK
We made our camp below the ridge,
Above the beach, in Beaver Cove,
Within the tree line we set down,
Our trailer and our Coleman stove.
We raised our awning with its poles,
And guy lines taught to hold it so,
Inside the clearing of our site,
Tall spindly oaks we were below.
This is a favorite site for us,
And often has been our venue,
Close to the beach with golden sands,
And evening sunsets there to view.
We put the boat down on the ground,
And placed the dolly under it,
Then moved it slowly down the sands,
Above the waters edge to sit.
The Great Lakes do not have a tide,
And sands aren't washed from day to day,
The waves will only firm the rim,
Where bare foot paddlers make their way.
It's Labor Day and parks return,
The families with their school offspring,
This is the time when fogies rule,
Upon the pitch the horse shoes ring.
We rowed the waters of the bay,
And marveled how it did appear,
That if you put some in a glass,
It would be almost crystal clear.
We pass the days with reading books,
And sitting out upon the sand,
By taking trails in through the trees,
To contemplate this peaceful land.
Fires are made inside the hearth,
To help offset the evening's chill,
Our food is heated on the stove,
The patties singed upon the grill.
We spend our nights in sleeping bags,
Inside our camper we repose,
The dog is having canine dreams,
His snorts are evidence of those.
A breeze disturbs the boughs above,
And acorns drop down on our nook,
We know and love these little things,
That absent children once did spook.
Morning times I'm first to wake,
And start the coffee on its stand,
I lay the table out for two,
I saw the bear prints in the sand.
There are black bears within the park,
They wander through the sites at will,
They search for any food left out,
To build up fat for winters chill.
At night the bears are hard to see,
Not that you'd want to anyway,
We had a sighting, first for us,
A juvenile in light of day.
I fumbled quickly in the car,
My camera was put away,
And almost missed this one time chance,
But got a shot, it was O.K.
There is a sign within the park,
On driving by for all to read,
The wording there says brake for snakes,
A warning that we strive to heed.
The Massassauga Rattles here,
And is on the protected charts,
But left alone he'll do no harm,
He has a home around these parts.
I sit and read within our site,
Beneath the shading canopy,
Although this is a pleasant place,
There are some things that bother me.
The waters that are crystal clear,
We've learned that this should not be so,
For acid rain is killing life,
That fishes need for food below.
The hunting men in hunter's hides,
Place old doughnuts beneath the trees,
To bring bears near where they can shoot,
Bringing this creature to its knees.
Bear parts are sent to pharmacists,
In far off China they will end,
To make their potions that will cure,
Most anything they will contend.
I dreamed upon my folding chair,
About the bear prints in the sand,
And though I knew it is no more,
I dreamed of the old forestland.
There's no one now that's ever seen,
The forest here before the mill,
The old growth pines that made lodge poles,
Oh part of me does want it still.
I suppose it always will.
I saw the bear prints in the sand,
And though I love this pleasant place,
I grieved for this vast ravaged land.
Rupert fall/2006
I have some photographs that I can post if permitted. I don't want to use too much space.
Killbear Park is one of the best parks in Ontario, which has many thousands of acres reserved and maintained for the public. It is just north west of Parry Sound on Lake Huron in an area known as Georgian Bay. It's a dreamy existence for a few weeks in a beautiful spot, and yet...and yet. There are some issues here that relate to human activity. Past clear-cut logging and decimation of the fish and wild life. The Sturgeon is no more and whilst re-stocking has taken place, it will be 20 years before they will return to spawn, if they survive. Wild game animals are raised on farms for the hunter's guns. The fresh water fishery has all but disappeared.
The bear hunt has been banned in recent years due to the decimation of the species. The old growth forest is all gone years before our time... we will never know it. However some bears are left more ghost than real. Canada is a large land mass but it is fragile. If you have a mind to, please read my effort at verse and take from it what you will.
IN KILLBEAR PARK
We made our camp below the ridge,
Above the beach, in Beaver Cove,
Within the tree line we set down,
Our trailer and our Coleman stove.
We raised our awning with its poles,
And guy lines taught to hold it so,
Inside the clearing of our site,
Tall spindly oaks we were below.
This is a favorite site for us,
And often has been our venue,
Close to the beach with golden sands,
And evening sunsets there to view.
We put the boat down on the ground,
And placed the dolly under it,
Then moved it slowly down the sands,
Above the waters edge to sit.
The Great Lakes do not have a tide,
And sands aren't washed from day to day,
The waves will only firm the rim,
Where bare foot paddlers make their way.
It's Labor Day and parks return,
The families with their school offspring,
This is the time when fogies rule,
Upon the pitch the horse shoes ring.
We rowed the waters of the bay,
And marveled how it did appear,
That if you put some in a glass,
It would be almost crystal clear.
We pass the days with reading books,
And sitting out upon the sand,
By taking trails in through the trees,
To contemplate this peaceful land.
Fires are made inside the hearth,
To help offset the evening's chill,
Our food is heated on the stove,
The patties singed upon the grill.
We spend our nights in sleeping bags,
Inside our camper we repose,
The dog is having canine dreams,
His snorts are evidence of those.
A breeze disturbs the boughs above,
And acorns drop down on our nook,
We know and love these little things,
That absent children once did spook.
Morning times I'm first to wake,
And start the coffee on its stand,
I lay the table out for two,
I saw the bear prints in the sand.
There are black bears within the park,
They wander through the sites at will,
They search for any food left out,
To build up fat for winters chill.
At night the bears are hard to see,
Not that you'd want to anyway,
We had a sighting, first for us,
A juvenile in light of day.
I fumbled quickly in the car,
My camera was put away,
And almost missed this one time chance,
But got a shot, it was O.K.
There is a sign within the park,
On driving by for all to read,
The wording there says brake for snakes,
A warning that we strive to heed.
The Massassauga Rattles here,
And is on the protected charts,
But left alone he'll do no harm,
He has a home around these parts.
I sit and read within our site,
Beneath the shading canopy,
Although this is a pleasant place,
There are some things that bother me.
The waters that are crystal clear,
We've learned that this should not be so,
For acid rain is killing life,
That fishes need for food below.
The hunting men in hunter's hides,
Place old doughnuts beneath the trees,
To bring bears near where they can shoot,
Bringing this creature to its knees.
Bear parts are sent to pharmacists,
In far off China they will end,
To make their potions that will cure,
Most anything they will contend.
I dreamed upon my folding chair,
About the bear prints in the sand,
And though I knew it is no more,
I dreamed of the old forestland.
There's no one now that's ever seen,
The forest here before the mill,
The old growth pines that made lodge poles,
Oh part of me does want it still.
I suppose it always will.
I saw the bear prints in the sand,
And though I love this pleasant place,
I grieved for this vast ravaged land.
Rupert fall/2006
I have some photographs that I can post if permitted. I don't want to use too much space.
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