Big Blue Sea

We are getting bogged down today. Not literally. Eight of us plus a beautiful white pup, are going hiking in the Mer Bleue Conservation Area which just happens to contain the largest peat bog in the region. However, before visiting the bog itself, we plan to put in some kilometers on a larger loop through the conservation area.

Fortunately for us, on this cold March morning, the muddy ground is crusted over by frost, and we don’t have to contend with too much muck, at least until the temperature rises. Very soon into our walk, we spot a lively spot full of birds and squirrels. In its midst, a large tree sporting more than a dozen child-made birdhouses and feeders, all in brightly painted colours, stands out like a neon sign in the deciduous forest. It’s a merry send-off.

The trails are well-indicated and the sporadic boardwalks, although aged, are welcomed. When we arrive at a stretch of mixed snow and ice, I take the time to slip on my crampons for extra security. The mud is already starting to thaw and getting slicker by the minute. Occasional water hazards, some covered by a thin film of ice must be skirted. No matter the obstacles, the sun burns cheerfully in an azure sky, and we are all in high spirits.

After a picnic lunch, we bid the now not-so-white puppy and his master goodbye as dogs are not permitted on the trail around the bog. I’ve often wondered why this bog is called “Mer Bleue,” which translates to “blue sea” as its only body of water would be more likely described as a pond. The mystery is solved by an interpretive sign explaining that it got its name from early French settlers who noticed that in the early morning when the sun lit the mist, the bog appeared blue thus giving the illusion of being a sea. his trail is almost entirely composed of boardwalks, and it is not hard to see why. The landscape is very fragile, and signs warn us to stay on the trail. The slow-growing bog plants can take decades to grow and stray footsteps can cause much damage. Walking in a peat bog can be just as hazardous to humans. Peat moss, especially when waterlogged, can be very unstable and a misplaced foot could get sucked in and be very difficult to remove. Heaven forbids that one of us should become the next Bog Monster! The landscape is very unusual, with few trees, allowing us to see the horizon’s expanse. I am thankful it is not overly cold today because an open bog offers little protection from the wind. The low vegetation with its reddish hue is interrupted by the occasional pop of stunted black spruces or needle-less tamaracks. I can almost imagine myself seated on one of the wooden benches waiting patiently for a moose to show up, but I would have neither the perseverance nor the courage for a close encounter. In any event, it would be unlikely for one to appear at this time of the year when the bog is at its wettest. Even they are not immune to the suction of the bog.

Closer to firm ground, we approach a shallow marshy area where the cattails take centre stage. These aquatic plants remind me of corn dogs, but fortunately for the bog creatures, they provide healthier nutrients to those who feast on them. Trails of tramped-down grasses point to critter activity, and a twig and mud house on the edge of the pond establishes that at least some of them are beavers. In any event, with our noisy chatter, any animal out there is sure to be crouched down in the reeds to avoid detection, waiting to resume whatever they were doing once the loud humans have departed. They will soon have their chance as our boardwalk tour has ended.

My visit to the Big Blue Sea has been a pleasant one. I hope to return in the fall to hike the other trail loop in this section that we have yet to visit. Who knows? Maybe it will be a misty day and I will catch a glimpse of what the French Settlers once observed. And just to keep the fantasy going, perhaps the ghostly outline of a moose might peek through the fog.