Tag: adventure

A Kick in the Groyne

The Akisqnuk First Nation, which is part of the Ktunaxa Nation, has recently opposed a couple of projects regarding Lake Windermere.

The first was dredging a portion of the lake to create a boat marina at Thetheway Beach. Thetheway is a vacation home area in Windermere. The new boat docks would be for the exclusive use of Thetheway residents, most of whom are from Alberta.

The second is the refurbishment of a boat launch at Athalmer, located on District of Invermere property. At one time, the District considered buying a crane to expedite putting boats in the lake. That’s probably still coming.

The general consensus among many residents is that there are already too many jet, motor, and wake boats on Lake Windermere.

The Akisqnuk First Nation’s stance is that there is a state of lawlessness on and around Lake Windermere. Docks and boat launches are being built off the ever-growing number of lakeshore second homes. Buoys are being placed along the shores to moor motorboats. There is also the claiming of shoreline ownership by many second-home owners, even though land up to twelve feet above the high-water mark is designated as public. In addition, there has been the takeover of public rights-of-way to the lake by homeowners.

These homes along the shores of Lake Windermere are worth millions and are mostly owned by people from out of province who feel entitled to do as they please.

The District of Invermere is very much in favour of this takeover by vacationers of Lake Windermere, as they reason it brings money into the valley. Since the District’s mayor and councillors are made up of people who own businesses, I can understand why they would want to support the agenda of second homeowners as it puts money in the pockets of businesspeople, and they are, above all, who they represent.

Also on the agenda is the potential removal of the rock groyne at the mouth of the Columbia River at the north end of Lake Windermere. Every year, at least a few expensive motorboats are damaged when they run into it, even though it is clearly marked.

The groyne has been there since the 1800s, and it is unclear what its purpose was. It could have been to deepen the channel to make boat passage easier, or it may have been used for fishing when salmon spawned in the area. It may also have been built to prevent Toby Creek from changing the channel.

Regardless, boaters and the District want it gone.

I am glad the Akisqnuk First Nation has stepped in. Someone has to try to protect the lake from this kind of unchecked development.

Back Country

Breaking through the trees for the first sight of the lake.

It was good to leave the valley where everyone is trying to separate tourists from their money. It is a scourge, troubling watching the lake and town gasp at it descends into overconsumption.

We were off into the mountains to a place my father and I hiked until his legs ached. I didn’t then but I appreciate it now. He let me go following the dry creek runoff all leading up.

Dave and I hadn’t hiked together for awhile. My fault as work has consumed me the past two years. 

Once we turned towards the Palliser, the people were gone. The trail head was deserted. I slipped off a boulder at the creek crossing and had one wet foot that lasted the hike. Certainly not as sure footed as I once was.

The trail hasn’t seen much use.

The old skid trail was overgrown. We both carried bear spray. We remarked at the amount of bear sign. Dad used to attach bells to me a long time ago. I also carried granddads 30 30 rifle so often dad said I had one arm longer than the other.

The trail gained elevation through the alders and skunk cabbage. It has been wet and Dave stopped to take pictures of various plants and mushrooms. The spruce had new dark blue pitch covered cones at their tops. The nuthatches and grosbeaks will be plentiful come November. 

A Rocky Mountain peak rising above the trail.

Strata once layered horizontally, under a sea of prehistoric shell fish, is pushed vertical in the highest spots. Millions of years work which we can’t fathom, thinking a lifetime is a long time. That these mountains don’t consider us is peaceful. We are of little significance in the hands of time. Even our damage will one day be undone the same as the trail we followed was grown over and hard to follow. 

Mountain asters blooming and abundant along the trail and slides.

Once off the rise we stopped for a bite. I scoped the old trail across the slides north for grizzlies and moose. The trail we were on was much better than the one my father and I followed. 

The remaining trail was flat with only a few deadfalls across the trail. The lake was right where we left it. It still takes my breath away as we clamoured out of the spruce and soft footing onto its rocky shore.

Cow moose yields the trail for a swim.

The slides on all sides of the lake were overgrown. On rounding a corner a large brown hump appeared. I started reaching for the bear spray and realized it was a cow moose. A moose can be as dangerous if it decides to charge. Since we had no where to go we took a few pictures before it turned our way and trotted not fifteen feet from us into a small pond leading to the lake. A fine encounter.

Tadpoles swimming in the shallow pools.

We found a flat rock to have another bite and look around. I took some directions measuring where the stars would align during the night at this time of year. Dave pointed out thousands of tadpoles swimming the shallows. Fish jumped in the middle and around the shores. I had caught some big fish here long ago. I found the old camping spot completely grown over.

Dave picks his way over the trail roughed up with bear sign.

After lunch we picked up the trail and headed above the lake to get a good look at the emerald water. We stopped as long as we could before we turned to follow the trail back as we were due back at the bottom three valleys over.

When ever I leave this place, even when I was a boy, I always wondered when or if I would ever see it again. To be here on this tiny sliver of time sharing the earth with these large spruce, rocks, flowing water and animals is a gift.

Sometimes you get lucky. 

Slip Slide & Away

The Milky Way above the Fairmont Range. The Dark Horse Nebula can be seen to the right of the central bulge of the Milky Way.

Willow and I were up early. The moon was due to go down at about 4:30am. Our goal was to catch a bit of the Milky Way before the coming sun started to wash it.

We were off for the end of the lake. The pick-up slid in the mud. It has been clear and warm during the day, but chilly at night. We broke through the ice skimmed over the mud holes, churning this way and that trying to stay out of the ruts.

Just about at our parking spot, damn near level with the lake, I underestimated a strip of mud, letting the truck slide deeper and we were stuck.

There was no going forward or back. We were already in four wheel drive. I shifted the beast into 4 low and it still wouldn’t budge.

I got out and surveyed the situation. It is usually a foot and a half step to the ground out of the truck. This morning the step was just about level with the mud. We were stuck. It was dark. There was only one thing to do. Go looking for the Milky Way.

Willow looked at me sideways as if to say, this is where we are going to park?

We walked up the hills overlooking the lake. Willow stayed close with the coyotes yipping.

The moon was down in the west. The Milky Way stretched east to south. Antares, the heart of Scorpius was well up above the horizon. The Prancing Horse whinnied as if chuckling at our predicament.

We walked to the waters edge. The geese were at it, establishing territory, gearing up for flight. Once it started to get light we headed back to the truck.

I laid some broken branches in a corduroy fashion, shovelled mud and water and did some rocking, lots of rocking. Finally, like a stubborn tooth, the muck let loose and the ship sailed onto solid ground.

The only way out was forward, so I had to turn around and go back through the cranky puddle. Fortunately, I had realized the err of my ways and picked a more favourable route without incident.

Once home it was like Lisa knew I had got stuck. It could have been we were later than usual or the mud soaked up to my knees. She reminded me I wasn’t thirty anymore. I assured her we weren’t stuck, just parked for a while.

Interesting morning.

Picking a trail back through the bog.

March 31

Dad and I used to go up Shuswap Creek. The road was always bad. Perfect for the old Scout. The road followed a narrow draw that rose quickly to the foot of Mt. Baldy. The creek was just off the side of the road, 10 or 20 meters below. As a youngster, it seemed like a special place to me. Perhaps so, because large Cedar trees grew beside the creek, these trees seemed rare and majestic to me.  Or maybe it was the abundant rabbit and grizzly bear tracks Dad would point out along the way. I remember once, Dad and I were stuck up there while we coaxed life back into the Scout. At the time, it would have bothered me naught if we were ever to return.

By the time I was a teenager the lower bridges had washed out and slides devoured the road. To conquer Baldy meant a sturdy walk through the Cedars. I did it often. I considered planting tracks beside a Grizzly’s an honour.

When I was young I made plans for the city. I wasn’t sure if I would ever come back. It was the middle of winter. Before leaving, I grabbed my skiis, skins, tent, bag and pack. I was determined to have one more look. I skied as high as I could and pitched a saggy tent. The night was long, starry and beautiful at the foot of Baldy.

The next day on the way back out I took a nasty fall and was lucky not to tumble into the creek.

Many years later, long after I was back from the city, I went back to find a couple items I left behind up Shuswap Creek. One was a tent pole. It was easy to find. It was right where I left it. The other item was a knife that fell out of my pack when I took the tumble. It was harder to find. But there it was about ten meters below the spot.

On that trip back into the Shuswap, I noticed a large Cedar that seemed to be growing leaves. On closer inspection, I discovered, it was a dead Cedar and a Birch had grown up through the rotting center.

I went back and told Dad. He was beyond hiking at this time in his life. He wasn’t surprised I found the pole or the knife, but he was interested in the tree. Where exactly was it – before the second bridge?

Later, over crib or coffee, between laughs we would talk about that tree. How phenomenal it was to find.

The knife, the pole, leaving home, youth, old-age – all of it was left behind and unimportant. We talked about the trees, the Grizzly, the drumming chicken, slides and runoff.

All this time later – I miss those conversations.