Dalem: Diamond in the Duff

One of the best favours we do ourselves in a Boularderie summer is our before-breakfast 7 km ramble to, around and into Dalem Lake. Once upon a time on CBC Radio we heard a marvelous, very ancient lady reveal the secret of her extraordinary vitality and longevity: take a good long walk every day on uneven ground. I’m confident the old girl would endorse our Dalem route. Starting at the cabin we climb 80 metres up Mackenzie Hill to the local height-of-land, a fine stand of mature beeches, birches and maples. Following the shore trail around the lake we negotiate our way among conifer roots, mud-holes and hidden rocks. Alertness is honed by ardor to avoid a stumble or twisted ankle.

The lake itself is a provincial park boasting a stretch of sand on its near shore. On hot sunny weekend afternoons this spot draws crowds of H. sapiens. They loll like beached elephant seals, enjoy a nice smoke, dine happily on chips and cheezies, swill beer and pop. These park-lovers venture no further than the change rooms; it never occurs to them to follow the trail around the lake. By Monday morning between 7 and 8 all is different: we sometimes encounter Edwin, the good-natured park custodian who makes a few bucks cleaning up the Sunday jetsam.

The mornings are not entirely still at the edges of our little round lake. A month ago the woods were alive with bird song. The premier woodland songsters are the thrushes – Swainson’s and Hermit – whose ethereal, fluting melodies Nature designed to turn even the most distracted urbanite head. In breeding season we count the variety of woodland warblers going about their brood-rearing work: Black-throated Green, Blackburnian, Black-and-White, Magnolia, Myrtle, Ovenbird. 

Nursery duties are mostly done by mid-August and the woods have fallen largely silent but we still have birds. The first autumn migrants are already on the wing – a Pine Grosbeak or wave of warblers here, a Sharp-shinned Hawk or Merlin there. Best to keep eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. 

We reward ourselves with a restorative, cooling swim at Dalem’s far shore, opposite the one preferred by the weekenders. We almost always have the swimming hole to ourselves, people-wise, but do have to share nature’s bounty with feathered folk. Kingfishers and Spotted Sandpipers regularly voice objections at our arrival; the summer-resident loons voice no offence at all, indeed once we’re in the water they seem quite curious, and often permit a closer approach. A passing Osprey or Bald Eagle adds airborne drama to the scene.

Whilst circumnavigating the lake we have to mind our footfalls lest we tromp on garter snake or toad. Wood frogs, pickerel frogs and green frogs regularly show themselves along the route and – once this summer – a prize: a tiny spring peeper, the celebrated singing frog of April. Mammals too: deer mice, voles, an occasional shrew, and ubiquitous scolding squirrels.

Plenty reward enough, you might say, but in the ever-so-blithe days of August there is more. The blueberry crop on Bob’s bank may not be quite as prolific as in some years but there are plenty enough to keep us content and we do have our own bumper crop of sweet blackberries in 2013. On top of all that, when you consider the maturing apple bonanza and the periodic explosion of prized chanterelle and bolete mushrooms we see along the trail, we count ourselves just about as blessed as the mall-goers reveling in the end-of-season clearance sales, or the gambler feverishly operating a one-armed bandit at the neighbourhood casino.

Different strokes for different folks, the cliché runs. And a good thing too: we’re just as happy that if you disregard the birds, frogs and squirrels Dalem remains a pretty-much undiscovered diamond.