Magic Drone Day In Caledon
Esther and I like to visit the Caledon district, but last week was the first occasion as the fall colours were emerging. In any season, it’s a magical zone, a protected area, a friend to animals and vegetation, and home to a network of Niagara Escarpment trails.
We spent several hours walking the Caledon Trailway, part of Canada’s Great Trail, launching the drone from time to time to capture the beauty of the region from the sky.
The trail sits on a trackbed built 150 years ago by the Hamilton & Northwestern Railway. I can imagine the old steam engines chuffing along this corridor, fueled by wood or coal, hauling vital loads of freight and passengers.
They would have spewed vast amounts of soot and carbon dioxide into the air, while at the same time contributing immensely to the health and wealth of the district.
In the interest of fuel economy, it was the railroad designer’s task make the tracks as level as possible, with the result that today’s trail is a very easy hike, at times gently sloping.
Much of it borders on farmland. Across the fences as we walked, we caught a glimpse of fields, evidence of the hard work involved in producing crops to feed us.
But when I launched the drone, surprisingly, there was more. It captured images identifying the farmer as not just a labourer on the land, but also an inadvertent artist. The ploughed fields retain a visual impression of the labour expended.
Every tractor track suggests intelligence exercised, precision honed, effort expended.
Out of the farmer’s labour emerges a singular beauty, one that can be fully appreciated only through low altitude aerial photography. This image features precise, graceful curves, where the farmer has adapted her/his art to the canvas at hand, that is, the contours of the field.
And the autumn trees, never passive, have seized the opportunity to contribute to the picture, decorating the furrows with hundreds of brightly coloured leaves.
As we walked the trail, we were passing dozens of hikers and bikers, not all of them masked. So when Esther spotted a little path to the side, we happily followed it into the forest. Now we saw no one, and appreciated the solitude.
Deep in the woods, we discovered a meadow, which became for the moment our private world. A great opportunity for an aerial selfie.
Deeper still in the forest, the drone showed us the intricate details of a marshy area, bordered by brilliant autumn leaves, and cut with tiny streams.
The surface of the water, protected by the trees around it, lay calm and flat in the still air, perfectly reflecting the clouds above.
The drone’s eye allowed us to enjoy this unique opening in the woods without disturbing a delicate ecosystem by sloshing through mud and water.
It was a few days later, playing Scrabble with Esther, that I laid three letters on the board: F E and N. While I knew the word existed, I had to admit that I had no idea what it meant. So I looked it up and discovered a definition: a form of wetland.
That’s why, when I came to name this image, I called it, with appropriate hesitation, “Autumn Fen”.
I’m always drawn to photographs of the autumn colours, but as I inspected these particular images, the question arose: what is it about them that I find particularly striking? The answer, I think, is the contrast.
If all the leaves were red or orange or yellow, they wouldn’t have nearly the impact. A crucial aspect of the delight I experience is that the trees contrast beautifully and randomly with each other.
As well, each of them differs from its neighbouring evergreens.
But the thing that is extra special for me in this image is the contrast of coloured leaves with the standing dead trees, which were probably drowned long ago by changing water levels.
In death, their grey branches impose a striking punctuation on the bright forest, an insistent reminder in the cycle of our lives, of the permanence of impermanence.
By Timothy Bentley