When we began our hike on the fire road in Gatineau Park yesterday afternoon, Jackie, who had forged ahead, was surprised at his first introduction to a large grey toad, hurriedly catapulting itself out of his way. It all happened too swiftly for Jackie to respond, other than to leap back in surprise. Jilly, unaware anything out of the ordinary had happened, was busy sniffing about the damp, enclosed atmosphere. We were thankful it was a cool, partially cloudy day, with a nice breeze prevailing.

The track didn't look too promising at first. Although we're always interested in wildflowers that present themselves in all these semi-wilderness areas. Notably, while Black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne's lace were prominent at the sides of the highway, the Black-eyed Susans were totally absent from the area we were hiking in.

We did, though, see pussy-toes and plenty of asters as well as hawkweed and fleabane aplenty, and areas were well colonized with purple loosestrife interspersed with mullein. What did take us by surprise was our first on-site view of giant hogweed. We'd read about it, but never seen it before. We'd first noticed the large, unusual cut-leaf foliage, quite beautiful. And then the very tall flower stalks with dried flowerheads towering above, and that's when we realized what they were.

We came across a substantial rockfall, with large granite boulders tumbled over a slope to the right of the trail, and wondered when that might have occurred. And then we saw on the opposite side of the trail, the profile of a lake emerging, the water glimmering in the sun, rippling in the breeze. There were old tree trunks long since stripped of their bark, nudging the near shore of the lake, and the water looked clear and cool.

The trail followed the lake and we followed the trail, appreciating sight of nature's fabulous stonework alongside the shore. Opposite the lake on the far shore we could see a stonework cliff rising above the water. The sky, baby-blue and interspersed with fluffy white clouds, was reflected in the lake, as was the screening greenery below it; the image somewhat diffused because of the breeze-generated gentle waves on the lake's surface.

There was more than enough for our eyes to feast on. As we progressed along the trail, the dampness lifted because the sun was able to penetrate more than it had as we entered the forest. Conifers predominated, although there was also a good smattering of maple, beech, oak and particularly birch saplings. Underfoot the trail changed from crushed gravel interspersed with tough grasses, and at some points Jack and Jill began to leap over the grasses, much taller than they.

The lake, which we later learned looking at an area map of Gatineau Park, is called Kidder Lake, a long sparkling-blue lake large enough, yet small enough to be considered a forest 'pond'. We had intriguing views of the lake past pines and spruce and hemlock lining the shore.

And at one point we watched as a loon skimmed the surface, then performed one of the species' breath-defying dives. It must have been secure in its claims on the lake, for it was silent, and not seeing us, there was no outburst of maniacal defiance of our presence in the typical loon call of existential sovereignty.