Category Archives: Kinross Creek

Foraging stone for Ali’s pond

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I’ve visited Kinross Creek several times since spring. Each passing month reveals a new chapter in the annual cycle of the little creek and the natural world around it.

— In April, the creek was gushing with spring run-off. Reaching a cliff downstream, it cascaded into a bigger stream feeding Minden Lake. In the surrounding forest, a hard pack of snow, criss-crossed with deer tracks, continued to melt after the long winter.

— In May, the creek ran strong as trilliums and wild leeks popped up around it. The plants were getting a brief moment in the sunshine before the hardwood forest spread its leafy canopy. The forest filled with the song of returning migratory birds, after their winter in the south.

— In June, Kinross creek was still burbling nicely. With about 50 stones gathered from an abandoned farm field nearby, I built my first one-rock-high check dam. It would direct and slow the water flow into an expanded small pond downstream.

— In July, the creek was slowing to a trickle. This afforded the chance to create a semicircle of stone, enlarging a natural pond — a stone smile in the forest. We’ll call this one Ali’s Pond after our oldest daughter, an adventurer now living half-way around the world in New Zealand.

These small so-called “check” dams are permaculture techniques often used in more arid areas to preserve water run-off. Permaculture may sound virtuous, but the best reward for me is mucking about with stone, augmenting the little creek in this watershed.

I was back at the creek just once in August. From our cottage, it looks tantalizingly close — near a hydro tower west of us. (In the photo below, you can see a second tower at left in the distance — that one is near Kinross Creek.)

In reality, it is a trek to get there. Once you leave the road, there is some bushwhacking through forest and a reasonably steep climb.

I discovered that the creek had partially filled my new pond, but barely flowed below it. To reinforce and shape the two check dams, I foraged for smaller stone in the stream bed to fill gaps in them.

Then I went on a treasure hunt. Years ago, the people who farmed this area moved stone off their fields into rough rows or piles. In my trips to Kinross Creek, I’ve stumbled upon several caches of nice stone. When I find a new cache, I know I can return to mine it later.

My August trip yielded about 25 more larger stones for the next pond downstream. That will be Colleen’s Pond, after our youngest.

Two months after the longest day of the year, the nights were longer, cooler and heavier with dew.

With some more rain, I expect the creek will start to run steadily again in fall.

Smile! — you’re at Kinross Creek

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Late July, and the little creek is almost dry.

The stream had started to run in April with the melting snowpack, and was still gurgling nicely in late June. But despite some rain lately, this summer’s heat has slowed the creek to a trickle.

On my walk along Horseshoe Lake Road, an old draft horse looks up briefly from his grazing to greet me. Next time, I gotta bring an apple for him. Alongside an inlet of Minden Lake, a Great Blue Heron startles and takes flight with slow flaps of his long wings.

I cut off the road into the forest, and climb the hill under the hydro line. It’s maybe a 40-minute walk to get to this peaceful spot in the woods.

A feast for the Grackles

Chokecherries are ripening. My father-in-law once recalled making choke-cherry jelly, using liberal amounts of sugar to balance the bitterness of the berries. The birds in Minden Hills certainly like the tiny, red berries. The black Grackles have started to mass in bigger flocks now, and perform gymnastics on the berry bushes to obtain their treats.

The blackberry canes are also putting up this year’s crop — the long, spikey canes in the open area under the hydro line can easily rip your blue jeans, so I keep to the woods nearby, where the shade keeps the blackberries at bay.

Enlarging the pond

Today’s mission is to enlarge a little pond on the creek, using some stone I collected earlier in the season. A few dozen larger stones are placed to create a big smile — a semicircle dam.

In the middle of the dam, a couple of smaller rocks create a drain to direct the pond’s flow downriver over a splash pad of thin stones. Once the creek starts flowing fast again, I will be able to adjust the height of the pond by changing up the stones around the splashpad.

In the new dam, mossy-green pond stones mix and match with others collected from the edge of an abandoned farm field nearby.

I’ve mucked about with stone quite a bit, but these techniques are not my inventions; they come straight from some cool YouTube videos focusing on permaculture. In arid areas such as India and the southern US, check dams help retain water before it flows away quickly. Minden Hills is not lacking for water — at least so far — but I wanted to experiment to enlarge some existing ponds on the creek. Maybe the deer who crisscross this area will appreciate a new watering hole.

Upriver from today’s stonework, a smaller “one-rock-deep” dam checks the flow of the creek coming into the new pond site. It will be neat to see how both stone features built this year respond once the water flows faster, perhaps in late fall.

Some stepping stones would be nice too in future, to make it easier to cross the creek at this spot.

A drizzle begins to fall through the thick summer canopy of mature hardwood trees. Luckily, the walking stick I used to get up the hill this morning is also an umbrella — rain protection for the trip home.

Messing about with stone at Kinross Creek

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To my surprise, Kinross Creek is still burbling on a visit in late June, 2023. I had suspected that this little creek, which carried away the spring run-off from a melting snowpack, would be dry by now. On the other hand, we’ve had a few periods of heavy rain lately.

The creek drains a mostly forested watershed north of Minden, Ontario, next to a hydro corridor and abandoned farm. It’s a green and peaceful place.

My goal today is to build a little “check dam” using about 50 stones I gathered on previous visits to the creek. These stone features are used particularly in arid climates to “check” or delay the flow of water in a creek or river.

Arid areas in places like India or Arizona sometimes get heavy rains, so a series of check dams can preserve some of the water before it runs off. The word “dam” is somewhat misleading, as these features delay water flow but do not stop it entirely like some dams.

Minden is not an arid place, although we’ve had spells of drought in summer. But I like messing about with stones. So thought I would try building a few check dams on my favourite little creek back in the bush.

Kinross Creek already features some small ponds created by deadfalls of trees, so my plan is to enhance those pond features by adding some local stone. There’s no shortage of stone in these parts: the first farmers spent a lot of time clearing stone and placing it in piles and rows so they could grow crops and pasture cattle.

Building a tiny dam — check!

One design I came across is called the “one-rock dam.” Another misleading title. The dam is in fact one-rock high, but built out of many rocks. And again, it’s not a dam, but more of a stone feature that checks the flow a bit as the water runs through it. The check dam also blends in with nature by following the contours of the existing creek bed.

The first step is to place a few slim, flat stones in the centre of the creek. These will act as a splash pad, as most of the flow will be directed over them. Then I use progressively thicker stones to build out the one-rock dam upriver and to the sides of the creek. Finally, I use small stones to fill gaps in the bigger stones. I’m following methods of some folks from different parts of the world who have shared their one-rock-dam methods on YouTube, often under the permaculture theme.

I find myself placing stones with one hand and swatting away mosquitoes with the other. Above, a big crow is commenting on my work with his rough cry.

A crow commentary

Last time I was here in May, the forest was filled with birdsong. Today, there is just one black American Crow, high in the trees. Is he mocking me? Perhaps all the songbirds I heard before are napping now, or were just stopping here before on their migration north.

The creek seems to appreciate my efforts. The water gathers and flows through the centre of the stone feature, dancing around the stones along the way.

My next goal is to build a slightly bigger version of this check dam just downstream. If I get it right, this will create a small pond, with an overflow.

There are many deer in these parts, especially in winter. When snow was still on the ground in April, I saw their countless trails crisscrossing in the woods. So given there are rarely humans here, perhaps the deer will appreciate my pond. Maybe they’ll stop here to have a cool drink.

I’ll be back next month. If the creek has dried up by then, all the better for building the next little check dam at Kinross Creek.

Wild leeks and birdsong

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Kinross Creek, the little seasonal stream I found high up a hill north of Minden, is still running strong in Mid-May. I’m on a mission to pick up some wild leeks here for supper.

At the top of the hill on the hydro corridor, huffing and puffing from the short but steep hike, I ditch my fleece and jacket. The sun is out — it’s T-shirt weather. I pause and look back down at the green fields of a nearby farm. A blue tractor chugs in straight lines, spreading manure to enrich the crops. An old draft horse munches his way through the fresh shoots of grass. I will take a pic of him when I get back down.

The tall hardwood forests are filled with birdsong. Last time I was here, I recognized one or two calls, like the feisty screech of a red-winged blackbird. Today there is a richer chorus as many more birds have completed their spring migration north.

The birds are back

To fill in the gaps, I pull out my cell phone with its Merlin app. Cornell University created this app to identify birds by their song. Within 46 seconds, it picks up eight different species: the Great Crested Flycatcher, Ovenbird, Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Scarlet Tanager, American Redstart, and three different types of Warblers: Black-and-White, Nashville, and Chestnut-sided.

Amazing! I can’t see any of these birds, and recognize only one of the species identified, but they are with me, singing out in the forest canopy.

In the clearing along the hydro line, I do spot a lone turkey vulture, floating clockwise on a thermal, looking for his next meal. The feather tips at the end of his enormous wingspan look like fingers. I hope it’s not me he has in his sights.

I tramp down to the small valley that feeds the creek. My plan is to visit this creek throughout the year to track its lifecycle and the natural world around it.

Catching the sun

Today, my mission is simple. I’m after the tiny, tasty wild leeks of Minden Hills. Before the trees come into full leaf, these tiny greens spring up and catch the energy of the sun. In this area, they grow in clumps of hundreds. In some spots, they carpet the forest floor in the thousands.

After tracking downstream maybe 50 yards, I find the first clump of leeks, kneel down, and carefully dig up a few with a garden trowel. I knock off the dirt to see the purple and white stems below tender greens.

The entire plant is edible. These will go nicely fried with mushrooms, atop the mini-pizzas Nadine is planning for dinner. I put them and my garden trowel into a small bag.

A peaceful spot

This is a peaceful spot with the little creek still burbling. I’ve been gathering a few stones to improve a small pond along the watercourse. The first trillium blooms against a fallen log.

But today I’ve noticed that blackfly season has begun. The little critters are going after my ears and neck.

Mission accomplished, I pick up my jacket and start the hike back down the hill, leeks in hand.

April — up on Kinross Creek

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There’s a little place in the woods near our cottage where I enjoy a peaceful moment and the natural beauty of Minden Hills, Ontario.

Let’s call it Kinross Creek.

The first time I came upon it, I had hiked up a steep hill along a hydro corridor north of Minden, Ontario.

The hydro line, high above Minden Lake, runs alongside hardwood forest, and through an abandoned farm and pasture. Massive stones of the Canadian shield protrude from the earth, and many pieces of stone have been tossed and scattered about by glaciers long ago.

Because there is no designated trail, and the going is a little steep, there is nobody up there except the birds and other creatures — like deer, whose trails crisscross under old maples, and follow time-tested routes through the forest.

At the beginning of April, the ground still had a crust of hard-packed snow, making it easy to get around, except for the odd time when my foot punched through the crust.

Kinross Creek was bubbling up from its headwaters next to a massive granite face. It meandered and burbled for a few hundred yards through a forest valley, then cascaded off a cliff. Below, it joined other small creeks flowing into Minden Lake.

In this area, the spring run-off is called “the freshet” — a time when the winter snow and ice thaws and flows into lakes and rivers. I believe Kinross Creek is one of those seasonal small rivers — it likely flows mostly during spring and perhaps after a heavy period of rainfall.

Getting to know you

My plan is to visit Kinross Creek throughout the season to get to know its annual cycle better, and to enjoy some of its natural surroundings.

And because I find its splashing and gurgling sounds soothing.

When I returned in late April, the snow had all gone and the creek was still running vigorously. I explored northwards a bit and found another section of the same creek — bubbling up as a spring and then draining into crevices under the massive granite shield.

Altogether the little creek, including its two sections above-ground, and its subterranean route under rock, is maybe 400 yards long. Its downstream section also collects water from a small forest valley.

Signs of spring

Before the trees had put on their leaves, trilliums were sprouting with their trios of green leaves. Their iconic white flowers were just beginning to open. Here and there, a patch of wild leeks created a green carpet on the forest floor. Robins pecked for worms, and a turkey vulture floated and circled on an air current above the hydro corridor.

I noticed that Kinross Creek had developed a couple of natural ponds along the way, from moss-covered fallen trees that partially blocked the flow of water. I decided to try to expand the ponds a little bit, and collected some nearby stone to be ready to do the work when the creek was drier in summer.

Besides the glacier-tossed bits of stone, I came across old stone piles placed there when the area had been farmed, perhaps a hundred years ago. Further along the hydro line, there is evidence of a cattle pasture. In the adjacent woods, there are the remains of a barbed-wire farm fence.

“Stone farmers”

It’s no understatement to call the people who once worked this land “stone farmers”. Year after year, they had to remove and pile stone to make their pasture or crop fields more productive. Before them, people of the Michi Saagiig and Chippewa Nations hunted, fished and trapped in this area.

The stones I had found would now help me enhance the water features of Kinross Creek — perhaps creating two slightly bigger ponds, and augmenting the little waterfall.

I would be that little kid again, messing around in his galoshes and using stones to divert a small stream and make a pond.