East Side of Georgian Bay, Ontario July 1-7, 1978
I drove at a more leisurely pace from Thunder Bay east and south, following the northeastern coast of Lake Superior, stopping every now and then for a photo – and a bug check. Yup, still lots of bugs. Too many to picnic or play flute. It wasn’t until I got much further south, to Georgian Bay, that I could stop without fear of being eaten alive.
I spent several days at Killbear Park, hiking trails, reading and relaxing. And spending time near the water's edge, where aquatic forests of water lilies bloomed in the mid-day sun.
I didn’t go very far from Killbear Park before I saw a sign for Awenda Park. The first turn I took was not very promising.
The next road looked much more inviting. Complete with my favourite trees - birches!
I spent a few more days at Awenda, which is situated on a little peninsula that juts out into the southern bay of the larger Georgian Bay of Lake Huron. Canada’s ‘Great Lakes’ are indeed great. From the shore, they look more like oceans than lakes. The horizon ends in a line between water and sky – no ‘other side’ visible. The waves can whip up, with impressive white caps, in windy weather. In a way, it felt more like ‘home’ for this wild West Coast woman.
As I sat looking out at water, waves and rocks I recited John Masefield’s poem ‘Sea Fever’, which I’d learned by heart in school so many years ago. It’s such a great poem; I’m glad I had to learn it, as ‘dumb’ as it seemed to me then.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
The thought, the realization, comes to me clearly, and resonates deeply, I must not only go down to the seas again, I must live by the sea. I need to taste the salt in the air, feel the fresh moistness of the ocean breezes, know that I am somewhere close enough to walk there to see the ‘lonely sea and the sky’.
That’s all I ask.









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