Morning Quietude as the Wilderness Wakes

By Alice Petty

The day breaks in Atikaki Provincial Park. A yellow light shines upon the silent rocks, still, among a nestled blue lake, coated in blankets of fog sweeping up into the grass of the island shore.

A gray, smoky haze from a nearby forest fire is slowly creeping over the pines as it begins to mask the morning blue sky. Our group of eight begins packing up tents and getting our gear together. The red canoes are carefully slipped into the frigid water, causing slight ripples across the lake that eventually fade into its great mass.

Brynne Davis makes coffee at sunrise on the Pigeon River. (Meredith Freshley)

The blue and yellow paddle I hold pulls into the water as the canoe glides forward. As I sit in the bow of the boat, I hear the cry of a lone loon calling to its family. There is no reply. Across the way is a break in the island where the loon lay, giving us a chance to take a rest and begin a floating breakfast of cold oats and black coffee.

As we eat in the silence of sleepiness, an eagle flaps its wings, diving down from a rotten tree from the green, thick walls of the forest, then disappears into the mist. Then a seagull swoops from a nearby cliff, stops for a moment, and moves on.

As the sun begins to reach over the woods, so does the ever-changing land. The paddle pulls and we move forward, and after a time the mist flickers away and the smoke finally masks the whole sky.

I listen to the noises around me. More birds awaken, and chipmunks begin to squeak along with other creatures of the deep, rich forest. The branches rustle louder and louder, and I listen. Lifting my paddle again, dipping it into the water, I pull the red canoe forward.

The article was originally published in the Fall 2019 issue of Songs of the Paddle.