This spate of warm weather had me contemplating a much-deserved hike, with a leisurely car ride to get there. I drove with no real destination in mind, just heading west past Collingwood and into the Grey Highlands. I am not familiar with this area, so I just enjoyed the views and bopped along with music on the radio, until I came over a high ridge of land and a beautiful valley opened up before me. I had never been to Beaver Valley, and I was stunned by how large the valley is. Beaver Valley is nestled in the Niagara Escarpment, and has thick forests, fallow fields and a river winding its way along the valley floor. I want to move here. My husband thinks I am joking, but seriously, this is my kind of country. All with the added bonus of the Bruce trail traveling through the area. Perfect.
I still wasn’t sure where I was going, and some of the smaller roads were dirt and close to being submerged by that river. A few more back country roads and there was what I was looking for, a white blaze for the Bruce Trail. I parked on the side of road and grabbed my gear. The trail was muddy and rocky, but not difficult to navigate. The sound of rushing water grew stronger as the trail angled down to a small brook. Cold and clear water tumbled over the rocks, forming still pools and numerous rapids. The narrow trail turned left, heading back up the escarpment along side the stream. I stopped several times to listen to the water and wondered if trout ever spawn up here. As soon as the thought entered my head, I noted a shadow in a small pool. The shadow moved gently from side to side, until a fin was visible and the speckled back broke the surface. A trout! And another one, and another! I sat on the stream bank in the warm sun, watching as the trout fought their way up those cascades. One poor fellow was really struggling. He would rest in the shallow, then with a splash and a flurry of energy, he would throw himself at the cascade, only to be swept down and almost over the edge of a previous chute of water. With a burst of energy, he would keep from going over, and he would make his way back to the shallows to rest before starting all over again. My enthusiastic cheerleading seemed to have no effect on his efforts, and I briefly thought of trying to catch him in my backpack and giving him a free ride up to the top of the escarpment, especially as there was a small waterfall up ahead. Instead, I left him to this, his most important job, with just a few words of encouragement.
The trail continued up, and up and up, through forests of deep cedars and hard wood forests with the sun shining on the first trilliums poking through the brown leaf litter. Green speckled leaves of trout lilies, with their bright yellow flowers just appearing, carpeted the forest floor. Birds called from overhead, twitters and tweets that have nothing to do with social media. The trail led higher, leaving the stream behind, until even the sound of the burbling brook disappeared. Gnarled old apple trees grew next to the trail, and a tumbled stone fence suggested a former farmstead. The trees thinned, and there in a field overlooking the Beaver Valley, the walled remains of a home lost to time. I tend to be nostalgic and wonder about the people who lived here and why they left. The view alone would be worth millions, though I prefer to see the forest reclaim the land then have another million-dollar home fracture our greenspaces. A rustling sound had me watching a deadfall intensely, wondering what was stirring under the fallen branches. After several moments of stillness, I was rewarded to see a pair of rufous-sided Towhee’s collecting material for their nest, as the sun warmed breeze ruffled the nearby grass. Another sure sign of spring.
I left the farmstead behind and followed the trail out onto a water eroded summer road, impassable for anything more than an ATV. Next to the trail was a cedar forest so dense, that I was only able to see in a few feet. I had never seen a forest so thick and dark, with the tree trunks only separated from each other by a handsbreadth. The Bruce left the ATV trail and followed the outermost edge of this foreboding forest, while on the left side the land fell away down to a narrow stream at the bottom of a small glen. A switchback led down the steep sides to the shallow water, quieter here than the rollicking steam from earlier. I wondered if this is where the trout were heading to spawn, here on top of the escarpment in the rocky shallows. It was time for me to head back, and the return trip down the escarpment was as enjoyable as the trip up was. Back at the cascades I searched for my fish buddy, but he was no longer in the pool I had left him in. I am the eternal optimist, and I like to believe that he made it up that cascade, and the next one, and the next, until he can rest in those still waters after a job well done. As for me, well, I drove home happy and content with my days adventure, unknowing that I was brewing one heck of a flu and would be out of commission for the next little while. Enjoy the outdoors when you can!!