Leaving the highway, heading for a two-lane asphalt road leading to the east coast of Avalon, this road is often patched, so that it is uncertain that the road has more pedigree and squares than the original asphalt.
This is the barren land of Avalon, with the only tree above your shoulders, blocked by the wind, hiding in the valley.
Ponds and barren bushes are laid out like massive quilts, extending to the horizon on both sides, sunny and hot, the ground is dry, and the smell of bushes and peat bogs overflows.
I parked my car on a small piece of dirt and gravel, where I could see a large pond with a sudden rise of cliff-edge rock on one side. This place often has deeper water and schools of trout. It’s about one kilometer away from the road, but the distance here is tempting: there is nothing in your eyes to grasp and set a clear scale, only the soft undulations on the ground and the fluff formed by wind-swept plants.
Then, I walked down the swamp bike trail among the almost brittle swamp plants. Only carnivorous sunbathers still looked wet enough to survive, their star-shaped leaves were fascinated by the attractive sticky droplets. The pitcher’s plants were stiff and fragile, as if rain was coming quickly. By the side of a small road, suddenly a small flock of birds was in front of me, peeping and cheering, for some reason, always fleeing in exactly the same direction as me. My rehearsal party will not fly away until the rock wall appears directly in front of me.
I took the line, lifted and hooked a medium-sized fish, then sat on the edge of the rock, took off my boots and socks, leaned against the rock, and stepped on the warm brown water. I can hear the loud and bright call of the Osprey, but I cannot see its sound in the sky. There was a breeze on the water, and I thought about swimming. Before my eyes, cars and trucks occasionally drive along the road. The raised gravel and sidewalks make the road a boundary between heaven and earth, so vehicles are driving to some extent.
Ponds and barren bushes are laid out like massive quilts, extending to the horizon on both sides, sunny and hot, the ground is dry, and the smell of bushes and peat bogs overflows.
Therefore, entering the car, along the coast, flows into a shallow and wide brown water and small stone river, washed by the water for a long time, so that they all have the same waxy and round appearance. There are not many fish, and where they are, they are trapped in deep holes, under the cut banks, the river water bends and cuts the ground under the trees, and the fast flowing water at the corners drives the stones downstream Push to form dikes and dams. The stout went out and was bitten by the flies by the rainbow eyes, but so did the dragonflies, they pounced on the surrounding flies before biting violently.
On the curve, the sound of the shoal of flowing water seems to be devouring other sounds, so there is only the gentle washing noise of water rolling over itself. The sun is very hot, and the river rocks on my back are even hotter. No rest for a day.
Russell Wangersky’s column appeared in the SaltWire newspaper and website on the Canadian Atlantic coast. You can contact him at russell.wangersky@thetelegram.com-Twitter: @wangersky.