The first snowstorm of November blew in on a southeast wind. Wind and waves through the day brought snow through the night. The morning dawned calm and white.
There is something about the lake in November in the snow that beckons. As I did the morning chores, I kept looking at the view through the window. By noon the lure of the lake took hold. It was time to go canoeing.
My cedar-strip canoe and I have enjoyed these late season paddles every year for many decades. I’m so comfortable in this little boat that it feels like a good pair of gloves. I slipped the canoe gently into the water, stepped in then slid silently away from the land.
Snow that fell into the water at the launch did not melt. November water is cold. And dark. It feels thick on the face of the paddle, almost like paddling through soup. It took some effort to cross the half kilometer to the island.
The air temperature hovered around zero, but felt colder on the water. A light breeze required me to zip my coat, and change from gloves to mittens. Fully comfortable now, I could enjoy the beauty all around.
Every tree had a line of snow from the ground to the branches above, a tell-tale sign of the wind direction through the night. Rocks at the shoreline glistened in new coats of ice. Icicles dripped from the shrubs, like candles dipped in wax.
The paddling became effortless as I warmed up to the task. My canoe and I floated along as if in a dream within this beautiful land of forest and islands and lake.
The silence is deep this time of year. Not one little bird flitted through the trees. I saw no loons or mergansers, not even the buffleheads that passed through last week. No geese, no ravens, just the quiet ripples remain on the water, slipping through the channel on the far side of the lake.
I love to look at the underwater world through the glassy surface of the water. Passing over a long shoal, I study the bronze rock below. This particular shoal hosts three small spots of bright green algae or underwater moss? I photographed them a couple of years ago, but have yet to identify the species. It’s good to see they are still there.
Returning home, I step out of the canoe once again, and lift the canoe over the rocks and place it gently on the snow. Not too far from shore, as surely this is not the last paddle of the year.
Viki Mather has been commenting for Northern Life on the natural world and life in Greater Sudbury since the spring of 1984. Got a question or idea for Viki? Send an email to [email protected].
