The Great Blue Sea – The Seeker Newsmagazine Cornwall

Today we are stuck. Not literally. Eight of us, plus a beautiful white chick, are hiking in the Mer Bleue Conservation Area, which happens to contain the largest peat bog in the region. However, before visiting the bog itself, we plan to do some miles on a larger loop through the conservation area.

Luckily for us, on this cold March morning, the muddy ground is encrusted with frost and we don’t have to contend with too much mud, at least until the temperature rises. Very soon after our walk, we see a lively place full of birds and squirrels. In the middle of it, a large tree that has over a dozen birdhouses and feeders made by children, all brightly painted, stands out like a neon sign in the deciduous forest. It is a joyful send-off.

The trails are well signposted and the sporadic, albeit aged, boardwalks are welcome. When we reach a section of mixed snow and ice, I take the time to put on my crampons for added safety. The mud is already starting to thaw and is getting more and more slippery. Occasional water hazards, some covered by a thin film of ice must be skirted. Regardless of the obstacles, the sun is burning cheerfully in an azure sky and we are all in good spirits.

After a picnic lunch, we say goodbye to the not-so-white puppy and his owner, as dogs are not allowed on the trail around the marsh. I have often wondered why this marsh is called “Mer Bleue”, which translates to “blue sea”, as its only body of water would more likely be 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 early in the morning, when the sun lit up the fog, the marsh appeared blue, giving the illusion of being a sea. his path is almost entirely composed of sidewalks, and it’s not hard to see why. The landscape is very fragile, and the signs warn us to stay on the route. Slow-growing bog plants can take decades to grow, and stray steps can cause a lot of damage. Walking in a bog can be just as dangerous for humans. Peat moss, especially when filled with water, can be very unstable and a wrong foot can be sucked in and very difficult to remove. Heaven forbid one of us becomes the next Bog Monster! The landscape is very unusual, with few trees, allowing us to see the expanse of the horizon. I’m thankful it’s not too cold today as an open moor provides some protection from the wind. The low vegetation, with its reddish hue, is interrupted by the occasional rustle of stray black spruces or needleless tamaracks. I can almost imagine sitting on one of the wooden benches patiently waiting for a moose to appear, but I wouldn’t have the persistence or courage for a close encounter. In any case, one would be unlikely to appear at this time of year when the marsh is at its wettest. Even they are not immune to swamp suction.

Closer to firm ground, we approach a shallow marshy area where cattails take center stage. These aquatic plants remind me of corn dogs, but luckily for the swamp creatures, they provide healthier nutrients to those who feast on them. Trails of trampled grass indicate creature activity, and a house of twigs and mud at the edge of the pond establishes that at least some of them are beavers. In any case, with our loud chatter, any animals there are sure to be crouching in the reeds to avoid detection, waiting to resume whatever they were doing once the loud people have left. They will soon have their chance as our boardwalk tour has come to an end.

My visit to the Great Blue Sea was a pleasant one. I hope to return in the fall to ride the other trail loop in this section that we have yet to visit. Who knows? Maybe it will be a foggy day and I will see what the French colonists once observed. And just to keep the fantasy going, maybe the ghostly outline of a moose could peek through the mist.