BARRY^ BURGESSFOCAL POINT by Larry Oakley
tance, a chorus of pond frogs sang out a
warning, perhaps to the heron, telling it
their wetland was “too deep, too deep,”
while the coarse voice of a lone bullfrog
croaked, “Go round, go round.”
My friend asked, “When was the last
time you looked down and saw a blue
heron fl ying?”
Night in the wilderness does not
descend from the sky, as it does in the
city. It creeps out casually and quietly
from the dark places where it lurks,
waiting patiently for the sunlight to
fade away. As night inched forward
around us, soft and sudden glows fl ick-
ered and faded from beneath the wings
of busy fi refl ies.
Then she appeared, rising slowly
over the treetops across the lake, as if
ascending from some royal coffer out ofGreeting the
Queen of Night
Two friends linger late at a remote lake to savor a regal display.
THAT NIGHT, the trees surrounding the
shoreline of Hidden Lake looked like an
army of crowned kings, standing with
arms interlocked. Halted at the water’s
edge, they seemed to be patiently
waiting for a glimpse of a secret and
solitary queen, who was about to pass
before them. My friend and I also were
in attendance, perched high above the
treetops on a smooth, rocky bluff that
overlooked the lake.
As darkness approached, day reluc-
tantly gave way to night and its accom-
panying sounds in the surrounding
swamps and forest. Not far off, a whip-
poorwill called its name, while lonely
tree frogs called out for a mate. The
long, wide wings of a great blue heron
creaked as it fl ew below us, searching
for a place to land and hunt. In the dis-sight beyond the intervening stand of
forest. Perfectly round, timeless, as red
as grass is green, enthroned on high,
the undisputed queen of the night sky
had arrived.
“Shall we howl?” my friend asked.
We only laughed. Perhaps we’d
become too civilized to howl at some-
thing so powerful and beautiful.
Where the moonlight touched the
rippling water below us, the lake came
alive. A glimmering pathway of light
danced across the surface from the
shoreline beneath us, growing brighter
as the Moon rose higher. Mosquitoes
tested our resolve to stay and watch
from our outcrop, even as they werehunted by hungry dragonfl ies, which in
turn were pursued by bats.
A single loon, black-hooded, white-
breasted, and checker-backed, paddled
into our view, immersed in that beam
of celestial light that penetrated deep
into Hidden Lake. The loon’s melan-
choly cry, unearthly yet unmistakable,
only enhanced the harmony of the
silent spectacle before us.
We spoke few words, preferring the
company of our private thoughts as the
moonlight reached deep into new cran-
nies in the rockface below.
A long time later, we fi nally left our
stone perch, but our adventure that
night had not yet ended. We followed
our Moon shadows on foot through the
woods to our bicycles, which we’d left
behind along the old railway bed. In the
ashen moonlight, we pedaled a long way
back to the car. Finally, we loaded the
mountain bikes onto the roof rack and
motored home to Kingston — far from
the railway bed, the forested lake, and
the Queen of Night.¢LARRY OAKLEY lives in Kingston,
Ontario, and is the author of Inside the
Wild and Inside the Wild 2.84 JANUARY 2020 • SKY & TELESCOPE
The loon’s melancholy cry,
unearthly yet unmistakable,
only enhanced the harmony of
the silent spectacle before us.