Hanging Out At Bass Rock on The Muskoka River

"These beautiful spring crocus appeared on my front lawn today (Wednesday, April 17th) with the promise of spring weather’s arrival in the very near future.    Photographing spring flowers is one of my favourite activities, so stay tuned for more photos from me once the temperatures rise and spring officially arrives" - Photo and Quote by Fred Schulz

HANGING OUT AT BASS ROCK WITH THE HIPPIES

AN OASIS ON THE BANKS OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER

     IT WAS ABOUT THIS TIME OF YEAR, THAT WE WOULD START VISITING OUR OLD PRIMEVAL RETREAT, SITUATED CONVENIENTLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE URBAN AREA OF BRACEBRIDGE. BASS ROCK. IN APRIL THE WATER FLOW OVER THE RAPIDS, AND THROUGH THE NARROW ROCK CHASM, IS AN AWESOME DISPLAY OF NATURE'S POWER. TO SEE THE WHITEWATER SLAPPING UP HIGH ON THE ROCK FACE, MADE US FEEL PRETTY VULNERABLE AS MERE MORTALS. WE MIGHT HAVE THOUGH WE WERE PRETTY COOL, WHEN WE ARRIVED THERE WITH OUR GIRLFRIENDS, BUT IN THE FACE OF THIS UNCLENCHED POWER, OUR CAPABILITY TO IMPRESS THE LADIES, WAS MUTED IF EVEN RECOGNIZABLE. SLIDING DOWN THE LICHEN COVERED ROCK FACE, COULD BE DEATH BY DROWNING. EVEN CLOWNING AROUND HERE, COULD BE FATAL. IF YOU WENT INTO THE WATER AT THIS NARROWING PART OF THE RIVER, IF YOU SURVIVED LONG ENOUGH DOWNSTREAM, YOU WOULD BE HEADING OVER THE RAPIDS ABOVE THE BRACEBRIDGE FALLS, AND THE GOING AFTER THIS, OFFERED ABSOLUTELY NO RETURN. I DON'T KNOW IF ANYONE, AT THIS SPRING PEAK OF RUN-OFF, HAS EVER GONE OVER THE FALLS AND ACTUALLY LIVED TO TELL ABOUT IT…..ALTHOUGH I DO KNOW OF FATALITIES.

     BASS ROCK WAS THE ROCK, TALL PINE AND WATER OASIS, WHERE THE KIDS FROM HUNT'S HILL, AND THREE OTHER NEIGHBORHOODS, COULD ESCAPE THE ADULT WORLD, AND WAX POETIC ON THE BANKS OF THIS BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA RIVER. IN  THE LATE SPRING, THE LILACS WOULD BE BLOOMING AROUND THE SITES OF OLD HOMESTEADS, AND WILDFLOWERS, SUCH AS TRILLIUMS, BORDERED THE PATHS THROUGH THE THIN WOODLANDS, JUST OFF RIVER ROAD. THE ROCKS WOULD WARM UP IN THE SUNLIGHT, AND BY LATE AFTERNOON, ON A CHILLY DAY, YOU COULD BE WARMED WHILE YOU SAT AND PONDERED LIFE.

     Many times, back in the late 1960's, we'd meet up with hippies camping out along the shore, hobos wandering about, as there was a nearby "jungle" along the railway line, and there were a few draft dodgers, from the United States, who often found temporary housing at the monastery, of the Society of St. John The Evangelist, on the high hillside of the river's east shore. There were the restless kids, who flocked there, who called Bracebridge their home town, and at times, this natural sanctuary could get pretty busy. The hippies liked to wander the shorelines, and connect with anyone who would be willing to converse, including the Brothers of the SSJE, who had a canoe shed, along the shore, with a small platform, where they used to retreat on sunny afternoons. Many of the Brothers wore long black frocks, and for students of Canadian history, it would look at first, like some time warp, back to when the Jesuits travelled these Ontario woodlands, tending the spiritual needs of the people of the First Nations.

     In the summer season, it was a romantic and alluring place, because of its calm water, reflective bay, just before the rock narrows; and wonderfully picturesque, with a border of stately pines, and a silver and black ribbon of water flowing north to south, at this gradual bend in the river. You could find poets and artists sitting here, writing and painting, and we would just sit back and watch. Late on summer evenings, with still a trace of light, it was one of the most enchanted places in the Muskoka lakeland. Outside of the trickle of water along the rock face, and possibly the splashing of a beaver or otter somewhere out of sight, the environs evoked peace and solitude, and for some of us urban kids, it was a pleasure to be out of public and parental view…..a secret place, where skinny dipping was spectacular, with the potential of getting caught, even more incredible to the young rapscallions, always willing to follow through on a dare…..except of course at this time of the year, when getting too close to the watershed, would mean an agonizing departure from this mortal coil.

     It was a restorative place a short distance from urban neighborhoods. You could hear the town bell, in the clock tower. You get hear sirens from the fire hall. Dump trucks thumping down the dirt road nearby. Yet, there was a solitude here despite the urban textures, and the din of progress everywhere else. At Bass Rock, we enjoyed our respites from societal demands.  We were all poets then.