Far North Rambles #28: That Was Unexpected
In the north, there are many small circular lakes that occur in wet, poorly drained areas. Many of these small lakes are surrounded by an apron of floating sphagnum moss dotted with a few shrubs (Photo 1).
Photo 1: View of a small, circular lake surrounded by a floating apron of sphagnum moss around the edge of the lake. That apron grows from the edge towards the centre and will eventually cover the entire lake. Vegetation decays very slowly in the cold, acidic waters of the bog lake. Dead vegetation accumulates below the water surface to become peat. Photo composed during a flight from Fort Hope (homeland of Eabametoong First Nation) to Thunder Bay, Aug 18, 2015.
The floating moss apron grows in from the edge towards the centre of the lake. The sphagnum moss apron is water logged, springy and soft. Native orchids, cranberries, and carnivorous plants may grow on the wet apron (Photo 2). Generally, trees are absent. These are the classic bogs that dot the northern areas.
Photo 2: Standing on the bouncy sphagnum moss apron that surrounds a small bog lake located south of Sudbury. The sphagnum moss apron supports a variety of plants adapted to the harsh growing conditions, including leatherleaf, tamarack, wild cranberry, orchids, and carnivorous plants. Photo composed by Andy Fyon, June 21, 2008.
The bogs, and their poor drainage, owe their origin to the last ice age. Over the millennia, water from rain and melted snow filled the depressions to form stagnant lakes. Dead vegetation decays very slowly and accumulates below the surface to form peat.
My first experience walking on a floating apron just just too funny. With each step, the whole moss surface bounced up and down. It was like walking on the surface trampoline. Now, for most people, that would have been a not-too-subtle warning. The floating apron is a mysterious place - a place were monsters must live.
Just north of Timmins (Ontario), I was returning to truck with 60 pounds of rock in my pack sack. I was by myself. I was tired, hot, and it was late afternoon. I knew there was a bog with a moss apron just ahead. I decided to deviate from the boreal forest bush and walk along the edge of the floating apron. It would be windy and cooler. There would be fewer bugs. It would be faster.
For about the first 5 minutes, I motored over the mat. Suddenly, without warning, I wet through - like a ski pole without a basket into the snow! Instinctively, both my arms went out horizontally. My arms stopped me from disappearing into the black abyss. My body was below water from my arm pits to my boots. I did not touch bottom. I dragged myself out, still wearing my pack, which now weighed considerably more. I headed quickly to the edge of the bog where the trees grew. I paused and thought “well, that was … unexpected”.
The reality of what had just happened struck me. Had my arms not stopped my instant descent through the apron, I would have disappeared like a bullet into the black water. I had no idea how deep the water was. I assumed it was deep, and we all know that monsters only live in deep, dark water. The weight of the pack would have taken me like a rock to the bottom. The sphagnum moss apron would have quickly closed up to conceal its meal. No one would have known what had happened. No one would have found my remains. Over time, the bog waters would have mummified my remains. Perhaps, 100 years later, I might have been discovered when the bog was drained to build a new housing subdivision. Or when the bog dried due to climate change. I would have become famous and known as the “Lindow man” of Timmins.
I don’t dwell on that day, but I do reflect on my thought at the time “well, that was unexpected”. With the benefit of hind sight, it was ... quite expected.
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Andy Fyon, Oct 21, 2020 (Facebook, July 31, 2020).