From tumbling water to still water

On Saturday, following a complicated route to avoid Highway 17 for the sake of a change of scene, we overshot the entrance to the Eau Claire Gorge conservation area near Mattawa. We'd been driving up and downhill along unsurfaced or heavily sanded country roads through farmland following Google directions. Turned the car around to try again from the other direction and found it near a small church. Strictly speaking, the conservation area was closed for this early spring season but the entrance gates weren't shut, so we went in anyway, manoeuvring the car carefully around the fallen trees that lay half across the road. Another car was in the parking lot at the start of the trail and its owners were having a snack at the picnic table there.

"The water's really moving today," the man warned us. "Take care!" As we set off into the forest to follow the White Trail the woman hurried after us to warn us where the dangerous sections lay. Keep away from the edge of the cliff, was the gist, in case we were to slip on the pine needles. She also advised us to watch our step over the roots and rocks on the trail, rightly so, as that uneven surface continued for two kilometres. The walk began with an obstacle to climb over or under or pick our way around, a freshly fallen tree. Much of the ground off the trail was soft and muddy from recently melted snow. A beautiful forest though. We could hear the river ahead, at the top of the gorge.

The water made waves as it came rushing by. Falling into the river, we wouldn't have stood a chance of survival. We followed its bank and the path rose onto the rocky sides of the gorge. A big yellow sign said DANGER and the steps for the descent were sealed off. Once we worked out where the alternative path led, we could step down the slope to the right. A sturdy stick I'd found steadied me; I move along very slowly on this kind of hike so Chris has to keep stopping to wait for me to catch up. 

At the bottom end of the gorge the river spread itself out into rapids that gave the illusion of being higher than we were, and on the shady side was an accumulation of remaining snow, most of which had compacted itself into a veritable icefield, across which cedars had fallen. We picked our way over this to the far side then started climbing a fairly steep slope back into the woods to walk under tall maples, cedars, hemlocks, spruce, birch and pines. The smell of the sap and the pine needles was lovely.

We passed a hut with moss growing on its roof, the reconstruction of a loggers' cabin. You can go inside when the summer hiking season officially starts.

The rest of the day brought us views of calmer water, as we skirted a series of blue lakes on the drive back to Mattawa. In the evening, we observed from various park benches how the surface of the two rivers seemed to capture and retain the light that was slowly vanishing from the sky, having left the golden mountainsides in deep purple shadow.

This morning (Sunday) we left Mattawa to return to our aeroplane parked at North Bay, so as to fly home; before we reached the airport I insisted that we stop a moment on the shore Lake Nipissing, where there wasn't any wind, so that the water was utterly smooth, and here I saw my second loon of the weekend, diving. It isn't visible in this photo:

At Mattawa

In the Ojibwa language Mattawa means “Meeting of the Waters” --- specifically these are the waters of the Mattawa River and the Ottawa (aka Kitchissippi) River.

For the first time in ages (two years plus?) today we  travelled to somewhere we hadn't seen before. Admittedly our flight to North Bay was familiar enough, over the Pembroke area and the Algonquin Park, with a crosswind landing at the destination competently done by Chris. But then the FBO man handed us the key to the FBO's Volvo (promising us a cheaper rate than the airport car rental companies), and we drove it east along the 17 to Mattawa where we are spending two nights on a whim. It is peaceful here, just what we need, and we're taking advantage of perfect spring weather.

We can imagine the 17th century explorers and 18th / 19th century voyageurs camping on this point, lighting a fire and watching the sun set with their Algonquin companions who had known the way here for millenia. Etienne Brulé and Radisson were the French pioneers who came here.

We aren't sleeping out of doors but at Le Voyageur Inn that has a very friendly low-key atmosphere, clean, tidy and well run by a family from Asia who serve Thai food in their large restaurant, clearly a favourite place for the locals to dine. Everyone seems to know one another here. In its heyday at the start of the 20th century Le Voyageur must have been the place to meet, as it's one of the largest buildings in town, with a big balcony and dormer windows.

I can also imagine our late Ottawa-Vanier MP Mauril Bélanger growing up here as a boy ("our" MP because we used to vote for him). A river bridge across the Mattawa proudly bears his name. The town must have a sizeable French-Catholic population to judge by the large, strikingly modern church with two schools for the children of the parish adjoining it, plus a Garderie for the little ones called Rayons de Soleil.

A railway crosses the Ottawa River here, just beyond our hotel room windows in fact, and this afternoon we heard and saw a goods train rattling by.

There's one more thing worth mentioning before I fall asleep and that is the giant Joe Muffraw (only the francophone raftsmen could pronounce his real name properly: Joe Montferrand) carved out of a large piece of lumber, who stands by the waterfront park, a man of legendary strength and ferocity, especially in the 1820s when he frequented these parts of Canada. There's a story of him canoeing from Mattawa to Ottawa in one day, surely an exaggeration? and of him knocking 100 men down at once who had been waiting to ambush him on the Portage Bridge in Ottawa. That story reminds me of Cryrano de Bergerac:

Cent hommes! Quel courage!