Category: Dog days

Storm Clouds

The two starlings are quiet while they tend to their young in the nest. They are busy going back and forth. Starlings are almost never quiet, usually kicking up a fuss, but they are not taking any chances giving themselves away. The hole at the top of the tree is mostly covered now too, with the leaves fully out.

Lisa says she can hear the young ones, but I can’t. My ears have been plugged from a head cold. This morning I drove out of the mountains and the change in altitude really plugged them up. I stopped at a gas station and when I went in to pay, a woman started talking to me and I couldn’t hear a word she said. I just nodded along with, “Ya,” “Ah-huh,” “Oh ya,” “Ya.” She could have been telling me my fly was undone, or that I’d just won a prize. To top it off, I’d forgotten to put in my front teeth. Deaf without any bite. Oh well.

Up the pass the creeks were flowing muddy from the recent rains. Lola again was on loan. We found some yellow orchids, though they were not blooming yet. The Venus orchids were out in large patches and were even starting to die back.

I was very happy with the photo I snapped that leads this post. To think that this delicate plant lives all year beneath the moss and bark that make up the forest floor, then picks just the right time to bloom in such a magnificent show that only lasts a short while before disappearing almost undetectably for another year. They are sometimes called fairy orchids as they flutter just above the forest floor. It would be a shame not to celebrate them while we are here.

***

A month or so ago I was doing some work at a set of fancy condos overlooking the lake. I saw a guy walking by from the lakeshore, stopping here and there to look around. I thought he was lucky to be out for a walk, unhurried, with time to take in the sights looking back toward the lake.

Not long after he had passed, I felt eyes on me. Busy working, I looked over my shoulder and there was the same guy hiding behind a partition, videoing me.

Once spotted, he tried to hide better. I said, “Hold on, you look like you have some questions.”

He told me he was on the strata board and that he saw me putting hot tub water on the grass. I told him he didn’t see that because I wasn’t, not that it would have mattered much if I had — it probably would have done the grass good. I also told him it wasn’t a very good idea sneaking up on people. All in all, it was an okay but strange interaction.

A week ago I was back at the same condo complex. This time I heard a yell that made me jump.

“I told you not to put hot tub water on the grass!”

Again, I wasn’t. But this time I couldn’t see the guy. I knew it was the sneak from last time. He was somewhere above me on one of the balconies.

I said, “Come on down here.”

And he did.

I had been nice the first time. This time I wasn’t.

***

It sure is good riding the backroads. Here is a picture from coming off the mountain toward the storm clouds down in the valley bottom.

Searching

Everywhere we looked, animals were ducking for cover, which was essentially what we were doing. We got higher than we’d been since November. The clouds quickened. A rabbit jumped off the trail. Squirrels had left their cones shredded on the deadfalls. A small falcon tested the wind, curious enough to hang around and get a good look at us. Several light-coloured swifts flew like bullets through the timber. They must have an amazing navigation system. Thrushes, robins, and juncos scattered, disturbed by the two of us early on the trail.

And the quiet was wonderful, exactly what the ears needed.

We stopped below a rock bluff with a view north. The valley bottom was long gone. We could see storms forming above Baldy, sheets of misty rain rolling closer while the clouds directly overhead kept flowing north. A great collision, perhaps. Would the rain get through?

We spotted a large black bear below, near where we had come from. It was accompanied by a few crows and several grey jays perched on the top spikes of spruce and pine. We kept our eyes on them as they turned back down the mountain. We wished them peace, and for them to stay hidden, the same wish for ourselves.

The northern clouds won. Hail and snow started to fall. It wouldn’t last; it was spring after all, and blue sky was already showing through.

***

The other day I was cut off by a tourist in a shiny little sports car with all its windows tinted black. All the stuff I had on my seats ended up on the floor when I slammed on the brakes. If Willow had of been there she would have crashed into the dashboard, which she has done before on similar occasions.

I cursed, not at the driver, who had long sped off, but at this reminder that we are again on the verge of another busy tourist season.

Orchids

A couple of days ago, Lisa mentioned that the Calypso orchids should be blooming. I’m usually on top of these things, but I don’t get out into the bush as much anymore without Willow spurring me on.

Today I left the gardening behind and headed out to see how spring in the mountains was progressing. To make things even better, the kids lent me Lola to tag along.

Lola is a wonderful dog — well behaved, sweet, and kind. She’s recovering from an injury, so I have to keep her close, which is no problem at all. Although she’s a big dog and can look a little menacing, she is anything but.

This is how a conversation with Lola goes:

Chipmunk chirps somewhere off in the distance.

Lola: “Did you hear that?”

Me: “Yep.”

Lola: “What was it?”

Me: “Sounds like a chipmunk.”

Lola: (worried look) “Do you think it’s friendly?”

And this is how a conversation with little Willow went:

Willow: “Bark, growl, bark, growl, bark, bark, bark!”

Bear runs and climbs tree.

Willow: “Did you see that?”

Me: “Yes. You scared the bear up a tree.”

Willow: “It’s lucky I can’t climb trees, or I’d go up there and kick its ass.”

Then she’d scrape her paws on the ground like a bull getting ready to charge and puff out her chest like she ruled the mountains.

Lola and I did find some orchids growing on the soft, mossy forest floor. We even sat together and watched the sun rise above the mountains and warm our faces.

Two years ago, on May 10 and 11, we experienced an incredible solar storm. Lisa and I spent the night outside, and neither of us had ever seen anything like it. Auroras pulsed and waved in every direction and continued throughout the entire night.

This photo is from that unforgettable evening

Slow Release Rain

That’s as far as we are going up that road.

A good snow storm blew through. Lola and I were caught out digging Willow’s grave. Big flakes, heavy falling straight down, the mountains and valley bottom obscured. By the time it stopped there was about a foot where we were and a few inches in the garden. It will do everything good.

We got Willow’s name carved into a rock. She is going far off the trail. No-one will ever find her unless they know where to look. She would like that.

Crocuses before the snow hit.

The Crocuses are just coming out. I had expected them earlier considering our mild winter. The Osprey’s are back, also on time. The back roads are muddy as the frost comes out of the ground. This is the time I usually get stuck, pushing my luck along the mountain creeks trying to get back to November high. It’s easier when the frost is going into the backroads. Wet snow doesn’t help.

Lola is coming back from a pretty good injury, so her and I just poke about.

This guy will overlook Willow’s spot. She always gave this stump a bark then looked at me embarrassed. I wonder if he knows The Birchman.

Lunar Eclipse

Rolled out of bed early to get a look at the eclipse. Once in full eclipse it was brilliant red. It is intriguing as it goes from full moon to eclipse. Once the moon is in the shadow of earth the stars come out. Including the rising Milky Way in the east.

This is a quick picture. This is the first time taking a lunar eclipse with a higher resolution camera. I will look over the rest of the photos in the next day or two.

Willow would have really enjoyed the morning. So strange without her keeping the perimeter.

Willow

November 2014 – February 2026

Before Christmas, Willow started coughing. At first, I thought she might have swallowed some water or picked up something she shouldn’t have. But when it didn’t stop, we took her to the vet. An X-ray showed that her heart was very enlarged — so large it nearly filled her entire chest cavity and was pressing against her trachea, which was causing the cough.

The vet prescribed medication, and thankfully the coughing stopped. She seemed to return to her old self.

From the time she was young, though, we were always told she had an irregular heartbeat. Sometimes it beat so lightly that, over time, her heart grew larger. It’s almost funny, everyone who knew Willow always said she had a big heart. In more ways than one, that was true.

Unfortunately, the coughing returned in February. Even then, she still loved her routines; eating well, going for walks, and sitting in front of the fire. During the day she managed quite well, but the nights were harder.

On her last day, she visited all her favourite places. She even barked at her favourite lady at the Tim Horton’s drive-through, and of course, she was rewarded with a Tim Bit.

On February 17th, Willow passed away. She was not in pain. She was in Lisa’s and my arms.

Willow shared so many adventures with us. The mountains feel different now without her. We always had an unspoken agreement to keep each other safe. She took her job seriously, more than once chasing bears up trees, and doing her best to keep flying creatures away (not ideal when you’re trying to photograph them). The Wire-Haired Dachshund is known as courageous, intelligent, stubborn and loving. Willow was had all of these traits. She could also be funny and seemed to take joy in making her people laugh.

During the Olympics there was a commercial featuring an AI figure-skating bear. Every time it came on, Willow, even though she wasn’t feeling good, would leap up, run to the television, and bark.

Willow gave us everything she had for eleven wonderful years. We are all going to miss her. It’s going to be hard without her.

Friends

Dog, departed companion
I told you that the sky would fall in
and it did. How will we see each other again
when we’re without eyes? We’ll figure it out
as we used to when you led me back
to the cabin in the bush in the dark.

Jim Harrison

Willow with her winter coat. February 2026.

The Big Little Dog.

Tracking.

Summer coat.

The Line Up

There is a line up of planets worth taking a look for. I knew it would be very unlikely to see them from our spot on Earth. The mountains get in the way and it would be light. Still you won’t see them if you don’t try. I was hoping to get Venus, Mercury and Saturn in one shot. Unfortunately I was only able to see Saturn in the twilight with Venus and Mercury already below the mountains. I might give it another try tomorrow. I did get a good look at the waxing moon, Orion and Jupiter. Very bright twinkling Sirius, reminded me of Willow absent on this walk above the river with the geese honking below.

Early 2026

Scarlett, Lisa and Cooper skating on a freshly frozen Lake Windermere.
Scarlett giving me the eye!
Cooper practicing his one-timers (look at the whip in that stick).
Lisa teaching the kids Grandma still has it!
Lisa about 40 years ago skating in the same spot.
Cooper takes Scarlett for a ride.
The kids make a crash landing.
Lisa and Lola sliding down the hill.
Cooper and Kelsie staying warm.
The Old Man rings in the New Year. Two posts and in!

White Christmas

Merry Christmas from Palliser Pass at the head of the Columbia River in British Columbia, Canada.

Ice-Out on Lake Windermere

Only a thin layer of ice remains on the south end of Lake Windermere. Looking close you can see the ice breaking up. The ice is about midway in the lakes 12 mile length.

Incredibly mild weather for December. +6°c, rain and a stiff south wind. The ice on about half of Lake Windermere has gone out. In the sixty, some odd, years I have been observing the lake I cannot remember it doing so in December.

The ice was late forming this winter with only a thin skim by the end of November. I am usually skating on the lake by the end of November. This year I went for a swim instead.

Standing at the north end of the Lake near dark. The ice in the foreground has been blown to the shore.

In the early 2000’s, when I was with the newspaper, I can remember writing an editorial mid December to be careful on the lake ice as it could be unsafe. It had been mild that year. The point of the article was to warn tourists and second home owners to be mindful as they may have been used to driving on it in December. The way it looks this year the tourists and vacation home owners could be putting their jet boats back in for the Christmas holidays.

The lake in winter has always been a special place for me. Skating, skiing, driving and fishing. There is nothing like being out there in the cold and quiet. Whenever I have had to endure pain I’ve always thought of the lake and the silent white surroundings while standing in the middle to get me through. It is what I imagine heaven to look like. It truly is a remarkable place.

We are expecting more warm weather. If so I can only guess the rest of the ice will break up and flow down the Columbia.

If my old friend Ray was still alive, he passed a few years ago at 103, I’d ask him if he’d ever seen this before. I would bet he would say no and be equally surprised. As I’m sure my Dad would have been. Christ, I’m an old-timer now and I’ve never seen Lake Windermere open in December.