While the days have been getting longer, the sun still sets in the late afternoon. I arrived at the Wye Marsh just after five pm, and the grey skies and heavy clouds blocked what little sunlight might remain. Normally the marsh is closed after four pm, but for two days in the winter there is a special guided tour of the marsh after dark. I tend to book myself adventures without knowing anyone else who might join me, but this evening I was pleasantly surprised to have two work colleagues and one of their companions join me on this little adventure. We met inside the main building, where a fire merrily crackled in the woodstove. Outside cardinals and chickadees flittered around the feeders, eager to have one last meal before darkness fell.
Our small group gathered our gear and followed the two young guides out into the cold air. A few minutes to snap our snowshoes on, and we were wending our way through the gloaming, trees dark against the white snow. The soft snow muffled our steps and often it was only the clack of our poles that made any sound. Our guides led us across a field, untouched by other tracks. Ahead of us the stark black trunks of maples and evergreens reached up to the grey skies, creating a shadowy trail through the leafless bush. We crossed small streams, still darkly flowing through a frozen landscape. The darkness deepened as we stepped into a stand of cedars, where the air was still and silent, and a hush settled over us as we traversed this small portion of trail. Ahead, faint light glowed where the cedars parted, and the trail continued through forests of poplar and birch. During the summer this area would be busy with small birds, but now the few birds that remain through the cold months have found a spot to shelter for the night. Small tracks of mice crossed the trail to disappear next to bushes, wisely hiding from the silent wings of owls in search of an evening meal.
We continued single file through the forest and across a small bridge to the wetlands. The open skies reflected the scant light, illuminating the silent marsh. The tall bullrushes are now bent and brown, suffocated under feet of snow. A small bird nest lies empty and exposed in a bush next to a frozen canal. This marsh, exploding with life in the summer, seems dormant in winter. Yet under that snow, mice and voles run through snow tunnels, chipmunks nestle close to foraged acorns, and turtles breathe through their butts. Seriously, look it up. Life continues, the creatures anticipating those first warm rays of the sun and the drips of melting snow that are harbingers of spring. For now, winter remains in control and the chill was seeping through our warm coats. Our lovely guides assured us that we were heading towards a roaring fire and warm drinks, just up ahead in the forest.
We made our way out to the boardwalk, stopping to admire the lights of the Martyr’s Shrine, beckoning through the winter’s night. Our stop was brief, as that fire was too tempting to resist. A few more hundred yards and the orange glow of a fire reached out through the darkness. Staff had dug a pit in the snow, and upon glowing logs two pots released steam. The smell of chili wafted towards us, homemade by one of our guides. Another guide poured boiling water from the other pot into our cups to make hot chocolate, as our cold hands clasped around the welcoming warmth. The treats didn’t stop there, as marshmallows were passed around to toast for smores, and only a few of those treats caught on fire, which honestly is the best way to eat them. This cozy stop was the perfect way to end our night. Beyond the reach of the fire’s rays, the bush was dark and silent.
We gathered our gear and left that welcoming fire to return to the main building. Our trail was lined with small tealights, the soft yellow light leading through the darkness. The path here was well used, and we carried our snowshoes instead of wearing them. Big flakes of snow drifted lazily down from the night sky, and soon we were back at the brightly lit structure, thanking our wonderful guides for a beautiful evening. We were each handed a small gift bag, containing more surprises to remember our night by. I look forward to returning in the summer, for a guided canoe through the warm dusk. For now, I will go home and emulate one of those woodland creatures, but not the turtle, and hibernate in my warm abode.