First hike of the season

Opposing slopes revealing the daily pattern of the sun's path and strength.

There is always that awkward time between snowshoeing and hiking seasons where the paths are not yet solid, still soft and muddy with the last of the melting snow, but temperatures lure us out of our dens and make us yearn for the hills.

This was one such weekend. It was a glorious 13 degrees, pleasantly warm and cool at the same time. Delicious. Still cool enough to need a jacket, but at times warm enough to be able to leave said jacket unzipped. Saucy.

The road through Gatineau Park is still not open, and there was enough snow lingering, for diehard skiers to squeeze in a last ski. So we hiked up the road around Lac Fortune, sticking to the very edge to allow the skiers full access to the road, although it was nearly slush, and very bare in many parts.



This was not a quiet hike. Lively sounds of spring surrounded us: slick, hollow bubbling of seasonal rivers rushing through the forest, the quick drip, drip, drip of water falling off rockfaces, and subtler sounds too: like the exuberant pop of each blade of grass and fern snapping up, newly unencumbered, reaching skyward. Stopping and listening to the sound of snow compressing as the moisture seeps from it, being pulled to lower ground, creating rivers under the snow, and occasionally causing hollows beneath the snow, detectable from the change in the sound of each footfall.

Revelling in the small moments of beauty: a lightweight leaf skeleton sunken into the once-solid snow. Inverted tree rings at the base of the trees, a record of each snowfall. Everywhere, things unfurling, ready to bask in the happy, hopeful warmth.