Like a slow steady stream, evening flows through the land, calming wind rippled water, filling rough shores with it's somber mood, slowly climbing bright trees until they darken and merge and close into a wall of mystery.

On the shores of the Haggart River, the weary pines stand now in shadow, their roots gripping cracks and fissures in the hard granite. Servants of the wind during the day, they're still now, waiting in silence, as if they sense that the land will now change, and all that was, will, for a time, be no more.

The wilderness shore offers a small patch of smooth rock and the canoe travelers gratefully land and stretch and walk around their home for the night. A few steps from the shore, there's a small patch of soft green moss, perfect for their small green tent. There's a place nearby where water can be drawn for a bath or to put out a campfire. Dead trees and driftwood are everywhere, and with no wind they can build a small fire on the level rock next to the river. Just behind their fireplace, the rock offers a gently sloping couch, perfect for gazing at the Milky Way as it glows like a soft cloud against the dark September sky.

During the day, separated in their canoe, the travelers spoke little. Bright skies and bright thoughts and the exhilaration of travel kept them apart. They lived a world of sights and sounds and smells, of strains and pulls and small triumphs. Now, as darkness shrinks their world, the fire draws them together to talk and laugh and wonder. Later, as hot coals glow on the wilderness shore, they lean back and watch stars slowly drift across the sky.

It's evening along the Haggart River, in Ontario's Woodland Caribou Park...