Away on holidays earlier this month, I found a narrow trail alongside a crystal clear stream.
I followed it, of course.
Deep in the wilderness, the stream wound around and about steep rocky hillsides. Sometimes it fell over small waterfalls, sometimes it ran free along a sandy bottom.
There was no breath of wind to rustle the leaves of the trees overhead, and the sun beat down with a searing heat. The little stream bubbled along with that lovely hushed sound of water over rock; constant, quiet, soothing
I had to take off my shoes when the trail rose over a span of polished white granite. The soles of my shoes slipped on the rock, while the soles of my feet gave me more information about the slope of the rock, as well as more grip.
Eventually the trail came to a fine place to take a break. Cool enough under the shade of an oak, but warm enough to inspire a swim. The water wasn’t deep, so I had to wade in. I find this difficult when the water is really cold. And despite the heat of the day and the smallness of the stream, the water was very cold.
I dipped in and floated. Moving upstream, I held on to a couple of boulders and let the cold water stream over my body. Sun glistened through the leaves of the trees above, making the water sparkle. I was thirsty.
I had a water bottle in my pack, yet the urge to drink this fresh wild water consumed me. I thought about the topography, about the total absence of industry or occupation of any human kind upstream. I thought about the powerful, purifying ultraviolet rays of the sun over the full length of this watercourse. I thought of the rush and tumble of the water over the rocks, and the bubbling flow of water that cooled my body.
I cupped my hands and filled them with water. I held it up to the sun, giving thanks. And I drank. Delicious.
Coming out of the water I sat on shore for a while, gazing into the stream. A couple of small trout moved across the gravelly bottom. They were hard to see in the dappled shade. It was very peaceful, like a Japanese garden.
I feel fortunate to live in a place where I can drink the water while I swim. When I travel, I seek out places where the water is clean and naturally pure. Water is life . . . for everything that lives.
There was once a time that people never had to worry about the safety of water in the wild. While it is sad that so many of our water bodies are not safe to drink, if we are conscious of it all the time, especially when we travel in the wilderness, the water will once again become pure.
Viki Mather has been commenting for Northern Life on the natural world and life in Greater Sudbury since the spring of 1984.
