Our Carden outing started like any other I’ve attended. We met at the parking lot where Wylie Rd intersects with McNamee Rd. My wife Sue and I were uncharacteristically early but the lot was already filled with cars. We posed for the obligatory group photos by the sign that was uncomfortably close to twin plastic outhouses. There was a suggestion that some of us should pose, peering out the doors but the idea of willingly spending time inside these unglamorous necessities deterred all volunteers. The formalities taken care of, we could start to enjoy the alvar habitat and its denizens that we’d made the trek to observe.

The carpets of pink Prairie Smoke were obvious and abundant, perhaps 3 or 4 days away from their peak. So were some of the birds that seem to prefer this habitat to all others. Meadowlarks could be heard singing their thin sweet songs and for an instant I swore I could hear the bubbly song of Eastern Bluebirds. That sighting was never confirmed and Bluebirds remained scarce throughout the day.

We didn’t linger here. Carden Alvar has so much more to offer. So we mounted up and headed down Wylie Rd. We were last in line, burdened as usual by a camera and long lens, binocular bag and various straps that insisted on getting tangled at every opportunity. This would be a pattern that repeated itself after each stop. This is not a complaint. My challenges are strictly self imposed but are nevertheless part of our outing experience.

Next stop was Bluebird box number ten. This is traditionally where shrikes have been observed. After gearing up again we searched the trees and favourite perches for Loggerhead Shrikes but came up empty. We milled about looking here and there, tried our luck in the viewing blind and enjoyed a variety of birds, then once again decided that it was time to move on. I stowed my gear and once more, caught up the rear on our brief and bumpy journey to Sedge Wren Marsh. Here we disembarked the vehicles. A few of us thought that we were going to walk the Sedge Wren Marsh trail and we squeezed through the narrow opening to make our way past the barbed wire that separates the trail from a nearby cattle ranch. That assumption proved incorrect. We had the keys to a normally closed section of the Couchiching Conservancy’s protected lands and we intended to make use of the opportunity.

Once again we entered our vehicles and once again we brought up the rear. Our progress would take us along a narrow and rutted causeway through Sedge Wren Marsh itself. Or would it? After a brief convoy the driver of the lead vehicle, Ken MacDonald, encountered an insurmountable obstacle, a shoulder to shoulder pond in the road, of unknown depth, that threatened to swallow the car and it’s occupants. At the end of the conga line I couldn’t ascertain why we’d stopped.

There is an old saying that if you’re not the lead dog, the scenery never changes. That summed up our current situation quite nicely.

Eventually word came down the line that we’d reached an impasse. I made my way on foot to the roadblock and joined in skeptical musings on the depth of the moat that was thwarting forward progress. One of our group had the foresight to have rubber boots on hand and after plumbing the depths of the puddle the decision was made to retreat. That was easier said than done. The road here is little more than a donkey track and turning the car around nearly impossible. But finally I had a chance to lead the group! In reverse. Back to where we’d been parked just minutes earlier.

Once back on terra firma we faced a decision. Should we proceed on foot? The car swallowing puddle remained an obstacle for those without hip waders and even then we were faced with a long walk just to reach the beginning of an even longer walk, not to mention the return trip. Ultimately we chose to enjoy Sedge Wren Trail which we’d previously shunned in our quest for greener pastures. In my opinion it was a wise and pragmatic choice.

Gearing up again we headed down trail and got to the serious business of observing nature. Our first observations were literally right underfoot. Pretty white blossoms lined the trail and if INaturalist is to be believed, they were Mouse-eared Chickweed. A few paces further brought us to a clearing with a view over the marsh. Ovenbirds’ strident songs could be heard from the woods beyond the creek while a Rose-breasted Grosbeak pair sang and courted in a nearby tree. A smattering of Prairie Smoke decorated the fields perfect for closeup shots.

The path twisted its way into dense cedar woodland, the kind of place where you’d expect to be eaten alive by mosquitoes. Some of these bloodsuckers were awaiting us but in surprisingly limited numbers. I think that our cool spring had worked in our favour. Peering out from the forest we strained unsuccessfully to see the Virginia Rail we could hear so clearly. A Red-breasted Nuthatch sang its nasal song and a few warblers announced their presence in similar fashion. The drumming of Ruffed Grouse betrayed their unseen presence.

Before long we re-emerged into the open. Here an Indigo Bunting sang to us from its lofty perches, never coming quite near enough for a really good photo. In the same clearing a Northern Flicker appeared obligingly close allowing me some spectacular photo opportunities. The looping trail rejoined our outbound route and as we drew nearer to the cars, proof that we shared Carden Alvar with working cattle ranches asserted itself.

Why I should be surprised by a herd of cattle on a cattle ranch is a mystery even to me but that was the case as dozens of black steers crashed their way through the woods to stare at us inquiringly. These are not stealthy animals! They appeared both annoyed and amused by our small party and after browsing nervously as Ken sang for them they barged back the way they’d come with a thunder of hooves and the crash of breaking branches.

Now at the trailhead we debated where to head next. I personally wanted to walk out into the wetland that I had seen mainly from my reversing car. My complaints that I’d seen nothing other than the taillights of the car ahead evidently elicited some sympathy. The group decided to humour me and indulgently escorted me back down Wylie Rd as far as we could get without swimwear. I was not disappointed. We could hear a Least Bittern singing from the reeds almost constantly and although we never laid eyes on it, it was still a delight. We heard no Sedge Wrens despite the name of the wetland but its cousins, Marsh Wrens were abundant and vocal. I and the others managed some really good images as they chattered their cheerful tunes. Yellow Warblers flitted about and sang alongside Swamp Sparrows from shrubby perches but eventually we’d seen whatever we could and we made our way back to the cars.

We’d acquired a new traveling companion, Deepthie Rajapakse whose car pool driver had other demands on her time. Deepthie wanted to see wildflowers, especially Prairie Smoke. I promised that we’d make that happen. After rearranging our car to accommodate Deepthie we once again played follow the leader. We progressed as quickly as possible back down Wylie Rd and had the good fortune to stumble upon a Black-billed Cuckoo. I was feeling smug that our laggardly position had brought us a sighting that the rest had missed. That was short-lived though as we discovered that Peter and Lucia had seen three of them at the opposite end of the road!

We finally caught up with the others and decided that we should try for Loggerhead Shrikes where they’d recently been reported. We headed down Shrike Rd South to some likely locations. We struck out again but were rewarded with a marvelous consolation prize. Two Sandhill Cranes were far off in a field accompanied by two bright orange colts. We all got some blurry photos thanks to the distance and heat shimmer but just the sight of two young cranes in their natural habitat was the real prize.

The day was wearing on. By now there were only six of us in two vehicles. We headed for the single Eastern Bluebird nesting location that we were to see on the entire outing. There a male and female Bluebird were taking turns feeding the young inside a Bluebird box. They seemed wary of our presence but eventually came closer to pose for photos.

Ken and his group departed, enticed by the allure of Kawartha Dairies ice cream in Orillia. Deepthie, Sue and I pushed on in hopes of some late sightings. Our perseverance paid off – in a way. We finally encountered one of the wildflowers we’d hoped to see in Carden. Indian Paintbrush poked its bright orange blossoms above the tall grass. I don’t recall seeing this wildflower anywhere else on the outing so this meager display seemed like a triumph. With unfading optimism we drove to the very end of Shrike Rd North until after finding nothing magnificent, there was nothing left to do but head back home.

Our Carden outing didn’t so much end as disintegrate. We all drifted off until nothing remained of our entourage. But a day in Carden is its own reward despite some less than perfect moments. I remembered the nature sightings we’d made while ignoring the “might-have-beens.” What stayed with me on our tedious drive home was the same as always after an outing – the warm feelings of having spent a day in nature with friends. That’s what our outings are really all about and I’m never disappointed, no matter how far I’m forced to drive in reverse.