The stillness of this place, along with the bracing and lung cleansing air off the lake, are always first impressions as I return from my jaunts into the heartland. All who travel here share this experience. I'm discombobulated by what seems to be unrelenting sound - the whir of tire noise on nearby freeways, the roar of jets arriving and departing from hub airports, and in summer, the steady hum of numerous neighborhood air conditioning compressors. When I tell my city friends of Harbor nights so still that softly sung songs can be exchanged between beach fire gatherings on the Harbor's east and west beaches, nearly a mile apart, they wonder if perhaps I've been in the bush too long. Yes, we do have sound.
Nature can be boisterous.
The steady roar of gale driven big lake waves crashing against the rocky shore after their hundred-mile journey, penetrates deep into the hillside forest, serving as directional guide for the bush hiker. All who venture into the bush on a windy summer day also know the bustling yet soothing sound of wind brushing through the tops of tall pines. And, in winter, the eerie, sometimes frightening, howl of swirling wind protesting the interference of bare limbs of trees shorn of their summer splendor. Even when the wind is at bay, the restless harbor waters lap quietly, but noticeably, up and down the shore. And in winter, as the cooled water increases in density, heavy waves steadily slap against the frozen beaches.