Beware the Milk Swamp in Muskoka

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Canadian cottagers dread the arrival of the Labour Day Long Weekend - the first weekend in September marks the end of summer. There's a great conversation on Wondercafe.ca about how religious service providers change the tone of the sermon this weekend. I believe it. Everyone with a cottage in Canada feels the sadness autumn brings, and my friends are no exception. On Sunday Sept 2nd 2007 six companions hiked the trails at Hardy Lake, in the heart of the Muskokas, on a desperate attempt to capture the last warm days of summer. Little did we know how easily summer could capture us...

Hardy Lake is a provincial park with no facilities. Mountain bikes are not allowed, and there's no camping permitted on the 81 hectare park. Canoing is tolerated, but we didn't have enough watercraft at our cottage to accommodate all of the participants, so we decided on a short hike with our dogs instead.

The Hardy Lake trails begin at the parking lot on Highway 169 about 12 kilometers west of Gravenhurst. Each relaxing route is well shaded and full of beautiful scenery. Most footpaths circumnavigate the lake, although two trails lead almost directly toward Lake Muskoka. There are three trail heads in the parking lot, but only one, at the west end, is obvious. This is the main loop, which has an awful start down an old stretch of blacktop that I understand to be the 'old road to Torrance'. Our crew happily paraded down this broken asphalt concourse which eventually fed into a dirt path and then gave us a beautiful view of the lake through many different varieties of trees and vegetation. Early in the hike we had a taste of the misadventure when our dogs leaped into a muddy drainage ditch for a quick drink of water. They emerged black with an unhealthy, oil grim dripping from their faces, legs and bellies...

Fortunately Hardy Lake is excellent for swimming and there's a fine peninsula further down the trail with flat rocks under a brown carpet of pine needles. The scene is compelling it often persuades hikers to become swimmers and then sun bathers for a spell... Some of the more prominent slabs of black granite are splashed with pink and yellow quartz veins and ribbons of bright red potash that would delight any geologist. Our posse encountered two other couples relaxing on the rocks here and I marveled at a Labrador retriever swimming alone, twenty feet from shore.

This provincial park boasts a rich community of Atlantic coastal plain species. A unique mixture of trees and grasses and forest creatures exists here today, because when the ancient Lake Algonquin receded, it left behind a large variety Atlantic Ocean shoreline plants. The park also contains an inland section of displaced Georgian Bay shoreline.

Just after our crew crossed the three quarters mark, disaster struck. Both of our beloved pets, which were continually been running ahead and scouting the trail, stumbled into a treacherous swampy 'barrens' that contains very hazardous sink holes. These bogs are quite dangerous - the holes in the rock are deep enough to drown a dog, or a man; the mud is a thick black stew that defeats all attempts to float or tread water, or even claw yourself free... such was the plight of both dogs. One pet was quite close to the rocks and easily rescued, but the other dog was six feet away and sinking fast.

A dog stuck in the mud is a dismal sight, a heart break, and a sinking dog that will soon drown is a tragedy. But alas the sight of a sinking human in the same situation would be a far greater calamity. With fear and apprehension many heated warnings were shouted toward my brave companions who dared rescue their reckless dog. But what to do? Their dilemma was obvious - one couldn't simply throw the animal a line, or extend a tree branch. There was in fact no way one could help the creature except to risk oneself in the same hazards. Upon forming this realization my friends formed a human chain - by grasping each other's wrists we extended our bodies out into the swamp to save our beloved pet.

Thirty seconds later the deed was done. A very muddy dog was beached on solid ground. The poor pet was so heavy with mud it could barely walk; although the animal tried to shake the sludge from its body, the mud was too heavy and it collapsed in exhaustion. So now myself and my companions had to hike back to the open shore on Lake Hardy again to wash our canine and our shoes and, I suppose, the whole experience from our consciousness.

Eventually our hike continued past the milk swamp and on around the lake for another thirty minutes. We marched silently through a large grove of hemlock and cedar and white pine growing from the decomposed stumps of an earlier forest - this natural reforestation was complete with such typical bog vegetation as Virginia chainfern.

At the top of a granite hill there was a large grove of red blossom sumac trees growing in thin soil beside the bone white skeletons of their ancestors. It was a very pretty sight. Ten minutes later we emerged back at the same gravel parking lot from which we had earlier departed. It had been a good robust walk with more than a little excitement on a beautiful lake in the middle of The Muskokas - not one man or beast had been lost to the treacherous milk swamp on Hardy Lake, this time.

Roberrific

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