Originally published in Lake of the Woods Area News, Volume 55, Number 1, Early Spring 2025
“Sometimes the March Lion arrives early—
other times it eats the lamb.”
—Grandma Woltz
My partner Chip (the dog) and I took a late March walk to a nearby snow-blanketed marsh on the western region of Rabbit Lake. The sun blessed a -10°C day with no wind; it was late-winter perfection. Chip was dressed in his little blue parka to prevent snow from clumping on his curly, poorly insulated, not-meant-for-Kenora winter coat. We clambered over the tired snowbank beside the road and entered the forest, which no human or snowmachine had sullied over the past few weeks.
The snow was threatening my shins and almost reached the dog’s back who wisely decided it was best to wallow in my footsteps. Although visible animal life was sparse, we were not alone. There were sufficient mystery tracks to pique our curiosity about what was under the snow.
The winter forest on such a day is clean, bright, and surprisingly uncluttered. Snow lies along horizontal branches and on sprigs of conifer needles. The trunks of naked deciduous trees readily indicate the direction of the most recent heavy snowfall. Lichens and mosses grow on the trunks of trees but not necessarily on the north side. Deer welcome mosses and lichens (particularly old man’s beard) and, during the hunger moon of winter, will seek this as a rewarding food source.
Some of the tree trunks had a definite browse line where deer had cleared the lower few metres. Our path was blocked by a blow-down whereby a tree was uprooted because of a combination of factors: heavy snow, wind, shallow soil, and tree mortality. This slender giant measured 25 metres in length and became hung up on surrounding trees and shrubs, making the trail impassible to any motorized transportation. As it was, the dog had no trouble whereas I was pleased that this was the only such problem we encountered.
Finally, we reached the marsh, and a beautiful vista welcomed us. The area is surrounded by great forested hills of granite. To the left, the lake lay under a blanket of glittering snow crisscrossed with snowmachine tracks. Ahead lay the marsh, a narrowing of the spring-fed lake where the water drains into a small creek. Spikes of last year’s cattails emerged from the ice and snow while the edges of the marsh were populated with reeds, sedges, rushes, and numerous other wetland plants.
A few snowmachine trails ventured into the marsh and thus our drudgery was at an end. Walking became a pleasure again and once more the dog was able to run and cavort with the energy and spirit of young doghood. I no longer run nor cavort but that does not mean my spirit was not willing.
The cattails were worn, torn, broken and weary, their seed pods brown and fluffing. The leaves and stalks were a light tan colour and rattled and scraped against each other as we pushed our way through. Alas, these sad-looking wetland plants are the bane of open marshland because they spread so tightly and vigorously, effectively ridding the marsh of many competitive plants and in time turning the wetland to dry land.
It was also hard to believe that this is the same marshland that was alive with so much variety of life forms last summer when dragonflies were swooping for mayflies, bass streaked through the shallow water, and painted turtles and frogs tumbled and leaped from the rocky shoreline into the safety of deeper water. Here, water lilies floated among huge green leaves, muskrats performed their duties, and ducks and geese raised their families. Loons yodelled and beavers slapped tails when we interrupted work on their lodge and dam.
A winter marsh and a summer marsh are two different worlds and maybe add a third: the world below the ice.
We are grateful for winter-faithful birds and by late March, some eagles, owls, ravens, and Canada jays are already nesting. Above the trickle of water over the beaver dam, we hear the chirping of finches, the familiar voice of the chickadee, the ‘yank’ of the red breasted nuthatch, and the heavy hammering of a pileated woodpecker.
This year, March 20 marks the official arrival of spring, what we like to refer to as Calendar Spring. As all residents are aware, our Lake of the Woods area can be very fickle about the arrival of our true spring. Sometimes we don’t see spring until well into April and on rare occasions it hits us before the calendar date.
Among the great benefits of March is this one: we don’t have to fight off biting-insects.
