Tag: Jock River

Marlborough Forest — Part Two, the Jock River

On one of the first warm weekends of spring, I loaded a Vrtucar with my canoe, bicycle, and canoe trailer, and I headed to the Jock River.  Leaving the car at Jock River Park in Richmond, I hooked the trailer and canoe on the bike and cycled into a stiff breeze out of the Village along Franktown Road.  The gravel shoulder provided plenty of room for comfort, although sections remained soft from the previous day’s rains.  A left turn on to Green’s Road and a right on to Jock Trail Road eventually took me to Munster Road, just a few meters from where it crosses the Jock River, 12 km by canoe from the Village.  I hauled the canoe off the trailer and down the embankment, packed the bike and trailer in front, and set off down river.

A calm river curves between a wooded shoreline and a grassy shoreline, reflecting the blue of a clear sky.;
The Jock River at the Munster Road Bridge
A bicycle and canoe trailer are packed in the bow of a canoe, which is pointed downstream on the flat water of the Jock River..
Canoe Packed with a Bicycle and Canoe Trailer

Some people, perhaps, might not consider the Marlborough Forest to extend as far north as the Jock River.  For several kilometres, however, the river winds through the swampy north end of the Richmond Fen — the large, provincially-significant peatland that occupies much of the north half of the forest.  In the spring, when the creek spills its banks, the swamp appears like some southern bayou, with huge red and silver maples rising from the water to spread overhead like the arches of a cathedral.  Blackbirds and grackles call incessently and flit overhead.  Wood ducks, mallards, and even a few a teal shelter in back bays and sunlight-dappled pools.  Flocks of Canada geese rise noisily from the channel ahead of the canoe as I come around a bend.  The scene is both ancient and timeless.

Looking downstream, the river channel curves into a dark band of bare trees.
The Jock River Entering the Richmond Fen Swamp
Cedar trees lean over the water from the bank of the Jock River.
Cedars Beside the Jock River

I can hardly imagine the hardships faced by the early settlers of Richmond and its surroundings in the early 19th century.  Initially settled in 1818 by demobilized British and Irish soldiers of the 99th Regiment, the village languished for a long time, with little construction or settlement.  According to histories of the area, the well-known settler Hamnett Pinhey said of Richmond in 1832, “if you get into it in the Spring, you can’t get out till Summer; and if you get into it in the Fall, you must wait till the Winter…”.  The difficulties rose in large part, no doubt, because of the low, boggy land through which the Jock River runs.  Much of that land has since been effectively drained for agriculture.  However, even today, the swamps bordering the Richmond Fen extend far north of Franktown Road, and new developments on the low, west side of the village rely on sump pumps for dry basements.

A dilapidated farm building sits on a high bank beside the Jock River.
Farm Building
Brown grasses and sedges cover a partially flooded peatland in the Richmond Fen.
Richmond Fen Peatland

All of that swamp, however, plays a critical role in protecting the Village of Richmond, the suburb of Barrhaven, and much of the intervening farmland from serious flooding.  On this particular spring morning, with the river running high, the main channel almost vanished in the swamp as the water flowed outwards into the forest, backwaters, and old oxbows.  Spreading placidly over hundreds of hectares, the water slowed and calmed, like a charging bull finding itsef suddenly in a grassy meadow.  Why the hurry?  Further downstream, at the bottom end of the swamp, the water lazily eased back into the channel again, before running down some last riffles into the village.

Floodwaters flow out of the channel of the Jock River into a flooded swamp.
Floodwaters Spilling from the Jock River into the Richmond Fen Swamp
Floodwaters flow from the channel of the Jock River into a flooded swamp.
Floodwaters Spilling from the Jock River into the Richmond Fen Swamp

The Rideau Valley Conservation Authority has calculated that the wetlands in its watershed reduce peak flood levels by at least 10% by the time they reach Ottawa.  More recent work by the Credit River Conservation Authority and Ducks Unlimited shows that local benefits — such as the influence of the Richmond Fen on the Village of Richmond — can be much greater.  In fact, the influence goes much further downstream.  Many of the new neighbourhoods and homes bordering the Jock River in Barrhaven simply could not be built safely without the protection provided by the Richmond Fen.

A wide lake of floodwaters spreads toward a distance stand of trees beside the Jock River.
Floodplain of the Jock River in the Richmond Fen
Floodwater surround trees in the Richmond Fen swamp along the Jock River.
Floodplain of the Jock River in the Richmond Fen

After a long winter, however, the poetic virtues of the swamp have more immediate appeal than the practical benefits:  the warmth of the sun through the bare trees, the squak of a blue heron rising ahead, the dance of tree swallows over the water, the reflection of a silver maple in a glassy pool, the unfurling of a fern, the bright green of new grass and sedges on the shore.  I dawdled down the river, detouring up side creeks and under the railway bridge into the moat (the “lagg”) surrounding the open fen.  Whenever possible, I set down my paddle and leaned back with my elbows on the thwarts drifting with with the current and watching for turtles.  A Cooper’s hawk passed overhead.  A snapping turtle slid reluctantly into the stream.  A carp swirled from the weedy shallows into the deeper water.  The river carried me along.

A large silver maple reflects in a backwater pool in the Richmond Fen Swamp.
Silver Maple, Richmond Fen Swamp
Tree swallows perch on an isolated snag in the Richmond Fen.
Tree Swallows, Richmond Fen
Young ostrich ferns unfurl amidst tender leaves of trout lilies.
Ostrich Fern and Trout Lily, Richmond Fen Swamp
The Jock River meanders between marsh meadow in the Richmond Fen Swamp.
Jock River, Richmond Fen Swamp

 

 

 

Chapman Mills and Heart’s Desire, South Nepean

When I visit the woodlots of South Nepean, I think of my years growing up in Esquimalt, Victoria, British Columbia.  I didn’t know, living in Esquimalt, that I was privileged to have one of Canada’s most endangered ecosystems in my backyard.  Highrock Park, or the “Cairn” as we knew it, was simply the place where we played after homework on a school night or rode our bikes on the weekend.  It rose above my neighborhood:  a rock bald, surrounded by a skirt of open woodland.

I didn’t know about Garry oak parkland and savannah.  No-one told me that I couldn’t play in the Cairn because it was special, or because I might damage myself.  Sure, I came back with skinned knees and bee stings.  And on warm summer evenings, when the local teens would sometimes gather in the twilight under the trees to consume beer or other elicit substances, my parents didn’t forbid me the adventure of the dark.  We climbed the twisted oak trees and played hide-and-seek in the thickets.

I think that I first learned my love of rock on the Cairn.  I couldn’t identify the hill as an exposed “pluton” of granite — a lump of igneous rock formed far down in the earth’s mantle 400 million years ago.  I didn’t know that the cataclysmic formation of western North America had thrust it to the surface.  I traced the long, parallel grooves on the smoothed rock without knowing about the pebbles that had gouged them under the weight of two kilometres of glacial ice.  I just loved the feeling of the hard stone under my hand, as I scrambled over the flanks of the hill or sat with my legs pulled up to my chest, looking out over my home.

Perhaps that’s why tree-forts and home-made mountain bike tracks usually don’t trouble me, even when I find them in some of Ottawa’s protected natural areas.  When I see bike trails, jumps and obstacles worn and carved into a place like the Chapman Mills East forest, I think of how much I would have enjoyed them as a kid.

A wide, dirt mountain bike track cuts through the middle of the Chapman Mills East Woodlot.
Mountain Bike Track, Chapman Mills East Woodlot

Most people driving past on Strandheard Road and Prince of Wales Drive likely give little more than a glance to the three adjacent patches of forest.  Few of them would suspect that these emerald gems contain some of Ottawa’s largest trees:  maples, beeches and oaks that rise like the pillars of a cathedral.  Under their boughs, a profusion of wildflowers bursts forth in spring:  trilliums, trout lilies, false solomon’s seal, violets, jack-in-the-pulpit.  Vireos sing high overhead.  With their windows rolled up and air conditioners running, few of the passing drivers will ever feel the coolness of the woods, or hear the susurration of the leaves as a breeze passes through the canopy.

The thick trunks of two maples and a beech rise from the forest floor.
Maple and Beech in Chapman Mills East
A blanket of white and painted trilliums bloom in Chapman Mills East
Trilliums in Chapman Mills East
A small patch of wood betony blooms is fleck of sunlight beside a stone in Heart's Desire.
Wood Betony in Heart’s Desire

The neighbours, I suspect, would prefer to keep it that way.  Walking through Chapman Mills East on a warm, weekday afternoon, I marvel at the lack of traffic.  I pass a few dogs and their owners sauntering the trails.  The occasional runner pads past me.  Most of the time, though, I have the woods to myself.  Apart from the distant sounds of traffic, I might be alone in the world.

Hopefully the evenings and weekends see more visitors.  Each of the South Nepean woodlots has its own charms and attractions.  Chapman Mills East, along Cresthaven Drive and Serena Way, is the easiest to love, with its towering maples, huge decaying logs, and dense mat of herbs and wildflowers.  Deep shade gives way to a patch of sunlight, where a snag has finally crumbled to the forest floor.  In the sunny gap, new growth reaches to the sky.  Bumblebees travel from flower to flower, then circle and drone off to a hollowed, old tree.  A pileated woodpecker hammers at a rotten white birch, while squirrels scold the intruder.  Old stone walls lie along the perimeter, marking the edges of old farm fields.

The massive trunk of a downed maple tree lies in a blanket of seedlings on the forest floor.
Rotting Log in Chapman Mills East
A path crosses a tumbled wall of old boulders, through a frame of trees, into the Chapman Mills Woodlot.
Entrance to Chapman Mills East from Serena Way

Chapman Mills West has a different character.  Lying astride Clearbrook Drive, it consists of two very different forest types.  In the southern, larger section, a dry cedar forest surrounds and hides a small, pretty, swamp.  Frogs croak along the marshy edges, while pairs of mallards raise chicks in the dense underbrush.  Just inside the south edge of the woodlot, the City’s Park Planners have cleverly threaded a fitness trail from Mancini Park.  Next door, where the School Board has allowed a small portion of the woodlot to remain in the yard, the worn earth under the cedars attests to affinity of children for trees.

A dense stand of cedar trees shades a dry, almost bare forest floor.
Cedar Forest in Chapman Mills West, South Section
Bright green leaves reflect in the water of a swamp in Chapman Mills West.
Reflections, Chapman Mills West Swamp
A pair of adult mallards and a chick sit on a log in the Chapman Mills West swamp.
Mallards, Chapman Mills West Swamp
A stonedust trail runs through large cedars, beside a bench and an inclined sit-up board.
Fitness Trail, Chapman Mills West, South Section
Two massive maples trees rise from the forest floor in the Chapman Mills West Woodlot.
Maples On the Fitness Trail, Mancini Park, Chapman Mills West

The smaller, north portion of Chapman Mills West appears younger, higher and drier.  Between scattered patches of cedar, an open forest of light-loving shrubs and trees creates a more pastoral feeling.  And, indeed, the woodlot may have provided pasture for cattle or horses before Chapman Mills was transformed from farmland to suburbia.  Over time, the forest canopy should fill in, especially now that the Ottawa Stewardship Council, with help from local schools and Ward Councillor Michael Qaqish, have taken an interest in managing and improving the woodlot.

A showy cherry tree blooms along the edge of the Chapman Mills West woodlot.
Cherry Tree, Chapman Mills West
Sunlight bathes an open forest of young trees in the north section of the Chapman Mills West Woodlot
Open Forest, Chapman Mills West
The perched roots of a birch tree still drape over the decayed stump on which it sprouted.
Life From Death, Chapman Mills West
Canada Mayflower grows near the roots of a tree. The plants have a single leaf each, typical of the non-flowering individuals.
Canada Mayflower, Chapman Mills West

Heart’s Desire, on the north bank of the Jock River, appears superficially like Chapman Mills East.  Here, though, massive oak trees dominate the forest.  And whereas blue cohosh seemed to blanket the floor of Chapman Mills East, false solomon’s seal carpets Heart’s Desire.  However, Heart’s Desire really gains its charm from the Jock River.  Spilling over a small weir and then flowing under Prince of Wales Drive, down to the Rideau River, this reach of the Jock runs along a stoney bed, with alternating riffles and pools that beg for a well-placed fly.  Through the summer months, large boulders provide tempting stepping stones to the other side.  The steep, wooded south bank provides an idyllic backdrop and creates a sense of wildness and privacy that belies the surrounding suburbs.

A massive red oak tree reaches to the canopy of Heart's Desire.
Red Oak, Heart’s Desire
A view of the Jock River through the foliage in Heart's Desire.
Jock River, Heart’s Desire
Boulders fill the bed of the Jock River, providing stepping stones to the far shore.
Stepping Stones, Heart’s Desire
White boulders lie on the south shoreline of the Jock River, against a emerald background of trees.
Across the River, Heart’s Desire

When I visualize South Nepean’s woodlots, I see children.  I see them racing bicycles along the paths, searching for frogs, and leaving damp footprints on white riverstones.  I hear unrestrained shouts and laughter under the trees.  Perhaps in my heart, I still feel myself with them.

I certainly feel torn.  When I look at the damage that already occurs to our woodlots — the trash, the yard waste, the bags of dog faeces — I wonder if the wildflowers and other delicate organisms in the forest floor can also withstand the trampling of young feet.  I think of myself as a boy, wriggling through the underbrush in Highrock Park and bouncing my bicycle off tree roots on dirt tracks.  Perhaps, along the way, I trampled something rare or special.  Perhaps the butterfly in my jar shouldn’t have been there.  But those experiences, and my other childhood explorations, taught me to love the natural world.  They set me on the path to where I am today.

A pile of grass clippings and other yard waste smothers the native plants in Champman Mills East.
Yard Waste, Chapman Mills East
A pile of trash lies along a path in Chapman Mills East
Trash, Chapman Mills East
Broad-leaved toothwort blooms on the forest floor in Chapman Mills East.
Broad-leaved Toothwort, Chapman Mills East
In this close-up of a jack-in-the-pulpit flower, the clublike spathe can be seen emerging from the hooded, tubular, green and red flower.
Jack-in-the-pulpit, Chapman Mills West
A cluster of false solomon's seal blossoms in Heart's Desire.
False Solomon’s Seal, Heart’s Desire

Yes, we need to protect our urban natural areas from careless and unnecessary damage.  We should educate our children to cherish and respect these marvelous places.  We can even try to direct their enthusiasm.  But we should never tell them that they can’t ride their bikes or build tree forts, imply that they don’t belong among the trees, or frown on their ebullience.  We need more children in our urban forests, not fewer.