Today's landscape turned out as overcast as yesterday's was clear, the sun illuminating the area; the difference between a dark room and one where the light switch was suddenly turned on, giving detail and colour to all the eye beholds. One thing both days had in common, however, was the mild temperature, just hovering around freezing, and the icy conditions of the forest trails.

We set out in mid-afternoon for our daily ramble in the ravine, once again accompanied by our younger son. When he's with us -- admittedly all-too-rare rare occasions since he lives so far away -- there are always new revelations pointed out to us from his perspective of noting and noticing everything, as a biologist might be expected to.

So we tend to discuss things that may seem abstruse to those disinterested in nature, such as where, if lightning is going to strike a tree, it will tend to do so. Such as how some types of mould or lichen on decaying tree fibres present during different seasons. And he makes observations about some of the more puzzling behaviours evinced by Jackie and Jillie on our travels through the woods, associated with their darting into the interior in avid search of the source of a tantalizing odour that happens to be inordinately repulsive to the human olfactory sense.

At one particular juncture on an upper trail where groundwater tends to gather from the higher plateau of the forest floor, then freeze over a large portion of the trails in areas difficult to avoid, we met up with a young woman and her daughter walking their companion, a large black-haired Newfoundland, still yet a puppy, but whose size was truly impressive.

A playful giant of a dog, good natured and of such a compelling size one is drawn to watching the beast lumber along, yet otherwise no different than any other companion animal, seeking notice and affection, and hoping other dogs will play with him. His name was Ollie, we were told, though it seemed to me that 'Bear' might have been more appropriate.

They were on a short circuit of the trails, to our longer one, so we met up with them again as they were intent on exiting the ravine and we were just halfway through our chosen route linking trails for a wider circuit. And then along came our old friend Scott with his two little terriers and Ollie was pleased to have a wider audience, while Jackie and Jillie reacted with their usual excited greetings.

Both of Scott's little fellows looked in fine fettle, though both have contracted cancer. One is undergoing chemotherapy in a Montreal-area clinic, and the other is scheduled for surgery to remove returning malignant lumps on his back end; this will be his third surgery for the recurrent lumps. But the two little fellows were happy and energetic, more so than when we last came together about a month earlier, and Scott is pleased with their progress and hopeful for an optimistic outcome.

When we finally all moved on, we eventually approached the creek again, as we do within five minutes of our entry and the reverse on our exit. We hadn't seen any of the bright orange little goldfish about on yesterday's hike, and thought the Great Blue Heron we'd seen the day before had had itself a feast. But, explained our son, the water had been muddy yesterday and was clear today, and there were the fish, roughly where we've seen them the past several days.

Moreover, beyond the half-dozen we had noted, he informed us of the presence of hundreds more, smaller and not orange, but black, identified by his keen eye, representing generations of offspring. So the casual event of someone having dumped some goldfish years back in the creek far upstream from where we were standing this afternoon, has resulted in a proliferation of little fish among whom some will grow to a respectable size, animating the creek and its tributaries running through the bottom of the ravine and eventually reaching the great Ottawa River. Introduced species or not, it's fascinating to see them there.