“The sun is glistening on the soft morning ripples of the lake; the ‘blue Canadian sky’ (thanks Gordon Lightfoot) is in fact a wonderful summer blue. Another day in this vast wilderness has begun and I am deeply satisfied.
Out in the cove, a pair of loons bask in the revery with their young one that hatched about three weeks ago. If and when they get separated both parents begin to sing a melodious and haunting song, crying out for their little one to return, and thus far it has always returned.
Last night the winds were blowing pretty good out of the west before sunset, yet as the sun set the winds began to die down. About this time, I was fishing on the western edge of Blueberry Island. Far in the distance I heard this magical noise dancing through the pine trees and echoing off the glassy waters. Somewhere back on Iroquois Island the call of the wild was being sung!
The wolves had, indeed, sounded from the chasms of the wilderness, filling the forest with the most majestic tune. How distant they were, yet how near! Most pleasing of all was to hear the attempts of the pups, the high pitched howls which seemed more of an attempt to harmonize with the adults than to imitate them.
Once the wolves concluded their natural hymn (I have to believe God enjoys this beautiful song He created them to sing), I headed back to the cabin as dark was approaching. The lake was now still, and the bright celestial bodies were emerging in the sky. The northern evening was now visible in full force. Without the moon, the Milky Way was vividly a glow overhead, and the lake seemed a mere continuation of space as it reflected the stars perfectly.
After relaxing in the cabin, night was calling me to rest my head. As I left the cabin and headed to the bunkhouse, I heard it again. Out of the dark abyss, the howl of the wolves came, this time clearer. The wolves seemed to be behind Lake Josephine, but where exactly I do not know. The scene, though, was full of enchantment, a most surreal experience.
Time and time again, I have listened, hoping to hear them across the waters or over the ridges, and seldom have I caught even a whisper of them. They have seemed more like phantoms or spirits. It is only on nights like last night that they seem more than just a fixture of the imagination.”
–An excerpt from my personal journal on August 5, 2013 while at my family’s cabin in McGregor Bay, ON.