Return to Trail Pond

I just posted about an experience I had on Trail Pond in 2007. I decided to return to the lake on July 21st 2013 having found last year that the lake was sequestered behind a logging company gate. I bought a new canoe cart to assist in the effort, since the lake is about a kilometer inside the gate -- too far for me to comfortably carry my canoe.

New Canoe Cart

The walk in was uneventful, despite the huge number of bear turds freshly studded with road gravel, and the  eerie quiet that accompanies the heat of mid day.

The trail to the water's edge was completely grown over. Small firs had grown larger and one small tree had fallen across the trail. But once I negotiated my way through the bracken fern, raspberry, and salal, and climbed over the fallen tree, I found the shoreline and the old log where I used to put in when I first started visiting this lake in 2007.

These two shots are from slightly different angles, but you can see common markers in the snags and log. The water is higher by more than a foot and the young fir on the left was not even visible in 2007.

It took me a few minutes to collapse my cart and stow it in my canoe, and I confess I paused a moment to take in the pond in all it's summer glory. I don't think I have been on the pond at this time of year before and the verdant lushness was impressive.

 After the dusty walk and effort to make my way through the underbrush, I was happy to get out on the pond where a nice breeze cooled me down, especially when I was across the lake and into the shade on the far side. I made the following video after exploring the shoreline for about an hour.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from this trip. For more, see my Trail Pond set on Flickr.

I was delighted to find I could paddle into areas of the wetland that had previously been blocked by sticks. Here is an image from 2007:

In 2013 I was able to paddle past this point right down to where the beavers had been busy.

Looking towards the beaver dam from the place I used to have to turn around.

The dam itself was impressive. I estimated a 4 or 5 foot drop on the downstream side.

A Healthy Beaver Dam

Looking downstream from the dam revealed a lush outflow, demonstrating the value of beavers in maintaining and improving wetlands.

Looking Downstream from the Beaver Dam

With my water bottle empty I decided to pack up and head home, stopping to enjoy one last look back before heading to Tim Hortons for an Ice Cappachino with an espresso shot!

A Note about logging and pretension. 

Readers of this blog have sometimes criticized me for being pretentious when I express my sadness over the ugliness logging creates beside treasures like Trail Pond. While I do mourn the loss of beauty often in my writing, I am careful to balance it with an appreciation of logging as a mainstay of the BC economy and I do value being able to use logging company and forestry roads to access these locations.

I have commented lately to family and friends that cuts are much less ugly than in years past. This is due in part to the practice of creating smaller cuts, spread out over the whole island, rather than large clear cuts as was the practice before. For example, only one hillside was logged here at Trail Pond and it is actually not ugly at all. The presence of a gate, which appears to be locked indefinitely, seems also to have kept the yahoos out. I didn't see any beer cans or other litter. No torn up ground, burned logs, discarded sleeping bags, or other evidence of human impact. It was, I have to say, a welcomed surprise. While visiting this place in the last few years I have met bicyclists, hikers, and one man riding an impressive and beautiful horse. It seems to me that all such uses place a very light load on the road and land; and the gate's strategic location has also kept ATVs out, which adds to the quiet and tranquility of the location. Now before all the ATVers start up, I'm not opposed to the responsible use of quads but have seen some ugly scars created by quads on hillsides and in forests. Worse that any skidder now in use!

I know I am uncomfortably sentimental for many when I write and talk about these beautiful places, but I am unapologetic. Beautiful natural settings and tranquility seem to be diminishing in our world. I see houses being built and "no trespassing" signs going up, where previously the wider public enjoyed the views and scenery. I love these places and want to see them respected and preserved so that future generations can have the same experiences we who now visit them have. I hope trail pond continues to be a haven for turtles, beavers, and the odd ducks like me.

Antler Lake

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook 4th Edition - Map 30 G5
Atlas of Canada Link: Antler Lake

Latitude/Longitude

Degrees, Minutes, Seconds: 49° 48' 15" N 126° 3' 1" W
Decimal Degrees: 49.804° N 126.05° W UTM
Coordinates: 9U 712224 5521062
Topographic Map Sheet Number: 092E16

Trip Date: July 30, 201

Paddling North near the first picnic area

 Antler Lake is a sedgebender's dream.  There are two picnic spots and the second one affords a short set of stairs to the water where canoes can be carefully placed amid sharp rocks. We paddle north along the western shore, enjoying the shade and avoiding the late afternoon sun.

At the little point just past the first picnic area we find a sunken boat. This seems to be a common feature on many of the island lakes. I've seen sunken or abandoned boats in Lawson, Blackwater, Mirror, Sumner, and a ditch near Ward.

We head back along the shady side of the lake and examine honeydew on a log near the southern boundary of the main lake.

Paul heads for the marsh

Then we head into the marsh beyond. This area of the lake is easy to overlook on maps. In the Atlas of Canada link it is the area under the "e" and the "r" -- a magical world of beavers and yellow throats.

 The first opening in the marsh is warm and full of sunshine and Paul sees a family of otter (or maybe beaver) before they instantly disapear under the water, not to be seen again.

The second section is closer to the shady western shore again and we slow to take in the striking colors and contrast of shade and sunlight.

At the end of this pool is a small opening in the reeds and we slide through.

This brings us to an intimate backwater where we spy a beaver lodge and a large under-water store of branches. The beavers will have a happy winter this year.

Paul drifts past the beaver lodge

Note the collection of winter food the beavers have stashed in the lower left

We investigate the inflow further, but before long have to turn around

Eventually we make our way back out of the beaver's private pond, and watch fish swimming over the algea covered bottom of the larger pools beyond.

The spot is alive with birds. As I am turning to follow Paul out of this area I see a small hawk or kestrel diving towards me, swooping up over my head to catch a bird in mid-flight and then returning to a high tree with it's catch.

 Paul puts the glasses on it, but can not make out what it is.

We keep paddling and soon round the bend that brings us back to the wide entryway to the lake.

Along the eastern shore is an expanse of sedges

Paul can't help bending a few...

 Back on the main lake again we rest in the shade and watch the brilliant greens of early evening reflect across the water.

 As we arrive back at the picnic spot a family is unloading their inflatable dingy and fishing rods. We wish them luck with the fishing and head for home.

Moran Swamp

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 24 D6
Atlas of Canada Link: Moran Swamp
Latitude and Longitude: 49^o 22' 0" N - 125^o 1' 0" W

Trip Date: June 7th, 2008

Constantine Samuel Rafinesque-Schmaltz was an odd fellow. He could not stop naming things in Latin. Born in 1783, by the age of twelve he knew botanical Latin and started a collection of plants (a herbarium) which grew into thousands of specimens until it was lost, along with his collections of shells (60,000 of them) when the ship carrying both, and 50 boxes of his books, sank off the coast of Connecticut in 1815. It is hard to imagine what a loss of this magnitude would do to an collector of his caliber but apparently undeterred by this disaster Sam began collecting again and by 1818 (two years later) he had collected and named more than 250 brand new species of plants and animals. His unquenchable desire to find and name things in the natural world is perhaps unparalleled by any other human. We have Sam to thank for naming both the mule dear(Odocoileus hemionus) and the white footed mouse (Peromyscus leucopus), two of my personal favourites.

In Medical Flora, a Manual of the Medical Botany of the United States of North America published in 1828 Sam wrote that the underside of the water shield leaf is "...covered with a coat of pale jelly, sometimes purplish, first described by Schreber (Johann Christian Daniel von Schreber)" He went on to explain that, " ...the leaves afford one of the few instance of pure homogeneous vegetable jelly, being spontaneously produced, and covering the whole under surface of the leaves and the stem. Deer and cattle are very fond of eating these leaves; (the animals) even swim in the water in search of them. They are mucilaginous, astringent, demulcent, tonic and nutritious. The fresh leaves may be used like lichen in pulmonary complaints and dysentery. When dry the gelatinous matter almost disappears yet they impart mucilage to water...unnoticed as yet by all medical writers but well known to the Indians."

A scanned copy of the book is available online (http://www.botanicus.org/title/b12058269) and from it one gets the undeniable impression of a man manic for meticulous observation and curious about the healing properties of plants.

I thought about old Sam while puffing my way up through the forest from Moran Swam with my canoe on my shoulder. I wondered what it must have been like to be the first person to put a name to a new plant, to categorize it and research its medicinal properties. Much of Rafinesque's information of the medicinal properties of the plants was gleaned from first nations experience with the plants and as I read them, I wondered what process first nation's people went through to test each plant. It is ancient knowledge, I suspect, passed on from nameless healers in the distant past.

As it turns out the tender jelly-caked floating leaves of Water Shield that are so sought after by deer and cows are also prized by Japanese culinary mavens. The young curled leaf tips, replete with the thick transparent mucilage, are eaten as a salad with vinegar, sake and soy sauce. They are also used to thicken some soups. In Japan, transparent bottles full of the delicacy line the shelves of better markets. Similar in nutritional make up to other greens like spinach, their unique texture has kept me from harvesting them for my own table. Maybe I need the recipe for the vinegar, sake, and soy sauce combination. Lots of sake I suspect.

As I reached the road -- the shoulder muscles under my canoe spasming -- I pondered how many edible plants surround the average paddler, sliding past bull rushes, and bog lilies. Of course edible does not equate to palatable. I had read that indigenous residents of our coast picked and ate vast numbers of Salal berries and so plucked some ripe ones at the end of a long warm August and popped them in my mouth. Pithy and sour, I could imaging enjoying only their laxative properties, the taste disappearing in the overwhelming texture of fibre and roughage. Unlike the less plentiful but equally well utilized huckleberry, I do not seek out Salal berries to supplement my mid day meals.

I am, at the end of a long day paddling, often humbled and awed by the myriad bounty in the woods, and especially on the margins of any waterway. Salmon berries are always a favourite and I was surprised one year to discover that the large skunk cabbage leaf carefully pressed from the year before had turned into a remarkably resilient parchment on which I could write notes. But the real wonder was the smell. Unlike the flower, the skunk cabbage leaf, when dried, becomes faintly fragrant and it is not at all an unpleasant fragrance. I plan, at some distant date, perhaps when I retire, to take dried skunk cabbage leaves, blend and screen them and see what kind of paper they will make.

Moran Swamp contains wonders beyond water shield and skunk cabbage, however. It contains the beautiful Eriophorum Chamissonis or Chamisso's Cotton-Grass. I had never noticed this wonderful reed in seed before. I had driven all day, visited different lakes in search of something special, felt frustrated because I had run into snow on the way to Oshinow Lake, and had finally settled for the floating honey dew gardens of Lois Lake, before packing up to head home near 8:00 pm. The summer sun was descending and I was wondering if I could find some place to explore and photograph during the golden hour just before sunset. I had passed the turn off to Moran Swam earlier in the day and my heart had fallen because a crew of loggers was working the ridge beside the swamp harvesting every tree and filling the air with the smell of sawdust and diesel. It is private land, however, and I respect the crew's dominion so I had driven past.

Now however, on the way back, I saw no sign of activity, and decided to try an old road I knew of that ran below where the crew had been working, hoping that it might still lead to the edge of the swamp. The old road turned out to be badly overgrown and Alder branches squealed and rasped along the side of my Tracker as I made my way along it. I kept looking through the forest on my left for any sign of a path or trail down to the swamp.

The Road suddenly climbed sharply and merged with a secondary road which turned me directly into the active cut. Large road building machinery sat motionless like slumbering dinosaurs and I drove past several of these muddy toothed giants until I reached a sign that forbade me to travel further. I got out and looked down the road and could just see in the distance the area that used to give access to the swamp. It was now buried by a massive pile of logs. I turned around and drove back along the recently widened spur looking through the trees towards the swamp. Gaps in the branches gave occasional glimpses of open water with sunlight slanting through rugged shore pines on the far shore. After backtracking one more time, I finally settled on a route that began as a steep bank down into a dark forest and then pushed out through dense bushes onto a soggy and bushy shoreline.

With my canoe slung on my shoulder, paddles and camera in the other hand, and wearing my pfd, I made my way with some effort to the water's edge. I wore knee high paddling boots, which sunk deeply into the reedy meridian of the swamp and when the mud was finally up to the tops of the boots, I set the canoe down and climbed in, pushing my way through the remaining 6 or 8 more feet of soggy reed zone before breaking out onto the open water of the swamp, startling a passing beaver, who slapped her tail wildly and dove under the canoe. She surfaced on the other side a few minutes later to watch me intently before slapping again and then surfaced again on the other side of my boat. She continued to swim near by, occasionally diving with the slap of her tail until I had paddled out into the middle of the open water. I was hot from struggling through the bushes with the canoe on my shoulder and I welcomed a gentle breeze that riffled the water of the swamp as I paddled along. I made my way toward the island which forms the centre of the swamp, and smiled with delight at the sunlight illuminating the sedges and rushes that bordered the island.

Sedges blowing in the wind glinted pleasingly in late sunlight and I thought of a woman's clean hair. The sound it made in the breeze reminded me of the rustle of skirts, and I had to quell the urge to anthropomorphize the swamp as a living presence birthing graceful water spirits. The beauty, however, was stimulating - the brilliant greens of the sedges in the setting sun, the skeletal trunks of dead trees next to dark green moss-hung living companions, the densely crowded hummocks rising here and there from the water crowned with bobbing white flower heads. It seemed like a planted garden, a carefully tended space that someone had worked at diligently for years until the Sweet Gale formed cloud-like pillows above the darkening water.

I paddled around the island, watching a bald eagle chased by smaller birds, listening to the evening call of sparrows, the distant gawk of a raven, and finally, just as the sun is winking out behind the western ridge, a loon, somewhere on the other side of the marsh. Then, rounding a corner, I saw the Cotton-Grass. Like characters from Dr. Seuss the tufted heads rocked on the shoulders of their tall graceful stems and the sunlight yellowed the trees behind them giving the scene a dreamlike feel. I idled along the shoreline my eyes skipping from tawny tuft to tawny tuft. I realized that few people would see what I was seeing, that quiet, nameless garden rising to fame in the obscurity of my little mind. I considered that no one knew where I was, that quite possibly no one else had seen this estate of enchantment. Certainly not as I was seeing it then, light draining from the sky, greens resolving into darkness beneath the hemlock and fir.

So as I strapped the canoe onto the Tracker, thinking of Samuel Rafinesque and his passion for naming, I tried to think of my own label for this place. profundus tabernus silentium (beautiful hut of silence) or perhaps, locus recolligo una profundus (place where little combinations flock into beauty). I thought of Sam, gone so many years, and felt a kinship with him, my own odd delight in finding words for a place of wonder, bordered so close by the buzz of cutting chains and rumbling reapers, my herbarium tucked away as pixels on a thin magic wafer inside my camera.

For more photos of Moran Swamp, in higher resolutions, visit the "pictures only" page that accompanies this trip report at: http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/MoranSwamp/index.html

©Richard R. Powell

Cowichan Valley Lakes

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Maps 9 and 10

Google Earth: Type in Cowichan Lake and zoom out a bit
Mayo Lake Latitude: 48°48'8.89"N by longitude: 123°57'15.06"W
Beaver Lake Latitude: 48°48'45.75"N by longitude: 124° 4'45.54"W
Mesachie Lake Latitude: 48°48'42.39"N by longitude: 124° 6'32.37"W
Bear Lake Latitude: 48°48'52.75"N by longitude: 124° 7'41.78"W
Kissinger Lake Latitude: 48°55'6.90"N by longitude: 124°28'46.76"W

Trip Date: December 12, 2007

After a late breakfast I headed south from Nanaimo to the Cowichan Valley to scout out six different bodies of water for paddling.

The first stop was Mayo Lake located on map 10 at D3. Reports indicated that it was a beautiful little lake suitable for paddling and I found the lake on Mayo Road just off of Old Cowichan Lake Road. The lake was partially iced over and smaller than I expected. The western section of the lake which appears on the map to be open water is now filled with vegetation. Great place to sit and eat your lunch, but not large enough to paddle, even for me.

From Mayo Lake I drove up the Old Cowichan Lake Road, through Cowinchan Lake municipality, observing the towns lovely waterfront, and on to the Beaver Lake turn off. The only access road to this lake takes you to a private campground with signs indicating access for guests only.

I continued on to Mesachie Lake (Map 9 A3), which is a pretty little lake right beside the South Shore Road.



The lake is dominated by Camp Imadene which occupies a peninsula on the south shore. It would be possible to drop a featherlight canoe into the lake from the South Shore Road, but not comfortably, there is a fairly steep bank from the road down to the lake.

I continued past Camp Imadene and turned right down the Mesachie Lake village’s main street, looking for an alternative access to the lake. There did not seem to be one. I crossed a small bridge that spans the creek that runs between Mesachie and Bear lakes, and looked at the creek carefully. It may be possible to paddle between Bear and Mesachie Lake along this water way.

I then turned around, and drove to the public beach and boat ramp on Bear Lake. Several empty boat trailers suggested that boaters were on the lake, but I could not see them anywhere.
The picturesque public wharf gives a good view of the entire lake. I later examined the lake on Google Earth and discovered that a wide channel connects Bear to Cowichan Lake, so I suspect the absent boaters were out on Cowichan Lake.

The water of Bear Lake was high and muddy and not inviting, so I decided to continue on along the south side of Cowichan Lake to Kissinger Lake. I had never driven the South Shore Road before so took my time, consulting the map at several intersections. The road turns to gravel just past Honey Moon Bay but it is an exceptionally good surface and I drove along at 70 km/hour on the good sections. I stopped the vehicle on a height of ground across from Youbou. The lake was calm and the winter afternoon light soft on the distant hamlet.
I made a wrong turn past Nixon Creek and went left (South) up the Caycuse Main. It was a fortuitous error as the valley contains Nixon Creek and was beautiful. Large Broad Leaf Maple trees are covered in moss and I stopped the vehicle near a bend in the creek to examine a large heap of logs recently deposited at a curve in the channel. Sand and stones were mixed in with the wood detritus so the creek must have really been thundering when it deposited these logs. Clearly this valley gets a lot of rain and subsequent run off.

Caycus Main


Nixon Creek


North End of Cowichan Lake

I turned the vehicle around and headed back to the intersection where I made the error and headed on to the end of Cowichan Lake and stopped to take a few photos of the Heather Campsite across the water from the boat launch. Smoke and RVs indicated that people were there.

The map (9 A1) indicates that access to Kissinger Lake is off the Nitinat Main and I inadvertently passed the Nitinat Main and turned left instead at the North Shore Road intersection. The Mapbook has a dashed line where this road continues away from Cowichan Lake, so I didn't immediately realize I was on the wrong road. I guess the old the road has been re-activated.

I drove for some way along this road into an area of active logging, turned right in what I thought was the direction of the lake but ended up on an old road that was paved! This must have been the Nitinat River Road, but why it is paved, I’m not sure.

I backtracked, got my bearings, and found the Kissinger Lake Recreation Area, which had a gate, but the gate was open. A large sign said the gate closes at 8:00 pm, so I drove through the campsites and found the lake.

A group of fellows in their twenties had a fire going in an iron pit on the rocky bank overlooking the lake. I chatted with one fellow who informed me that they had been doing a little fishing, but only caught two small trout which they threw back.

He told me they were leaving, and with good cheer they load their ATVs on three large trucks and roared off leaving me with their dwindling fire.

The lake shore was picturesque, with a little road running right up to the edge of the water and curving in a loop to go back to the campground.

There was a little dock and two small sandy/muddy beaches on either side. Several Alders stood at the lake shore and several more shaded the picnic area on the small hill. The lake’s prominent island was attracting the last rays of light off to the left (see photo).

Red stemmed bushes; willows maybe, lined the shore on the left side, and evergreens on the right.


I took down my canoe, launched, and coasted out onto the glassy surface.

The smoke from the remains of the fire drifted to mingle with a mist rising from the lake surface and I listened to a grader working somewhere in the distance, the changing pitch of the engine and the odd clunkof rock and metal. I could see my breath in the dying light.

A fish broke the surface somewhere beside me and I watched the trees lose color on the shore. By 6:00 it was too dark to see much so I put on my head light and paddled back.

Kissinger Lake is completely ringed by logging roads now, and active logging has left a large raw area to the west of the lake. None of this is visible from the water, however, because the loggers have left a band of trees that give the illusion that all is well.

Back on the road again, I passed two large trucks, burly young men grinning at my little Tracker and canoe.

I imagined what the place would be like in the summer and decided that I probably should not find out. Better to be somewhere a little less utilized at that time of year.

© Richard R. Powell 2008