Tag: Columbia River

Merry Christmas

Beside the river. The sun casting long shadows. Lola and Willow can be spotted, by a keen eye, at river’s edge.

Bright sunshine. I watched the sun come up from the river bottom at 9:28, and watched the sun go down at 3:39 from the woodpile. Very fine day when you get to stop and watch both.

A Very Merry Christmas to everyone.

Lola and I waving. Willow refused to get in the picture, choosing instead to dig for mice. Wishing everyone the best from the headwaters of the Columbia River.

A Few Pictures

It was Willow’s birthday a few days ago. She is now 9 years old.
A cow elk at dusk.
A small spike bull elk in the morning.
The last of the evening light on the mountains reflected on Lake Windermere.
Frosted tracks leading to an old haunt.

Warm Spell

The colours of winter when it warms up.

It felt like spring today. The only thing cold was my feet from being damp. Cut and split firewood. Nothing makes a body feel better. Willow and Lola ran hither and yon. They both got wet and muddy.

The snow melted, got heavy and fell off the trees. For the first time in months, Lisa and I could see deep into the bush, past thousand branch trickery and white out simplicity. No sense, walking off trail, it’s still deep, the warmth making the going heavy. It wouldn’t be long my old legs would be stuck like a long legged moose after a week long mountain blizzard. My only advantage is there is no hungry wolves following close. Perhaps I’m just too blind to know. Regardless, at this stage of the game it’s best to stay on the beaten path.

A feather under runoff. The best of nature is never perfect, it is rugged, torn, chewed up, bloody, cold, wet and beautiful.

That doesn’t mean you can’t be cantankerous, obstinate, disagreeable and ornery. The only rule: as long as it’s not towards the ones you love.

Mid January

An American Dipper on the muddy banks at the headwaters of the Columbia River.

It has warmed up in the past week, we have even had some soggy above freezing temperatures. I am still trying to get used to the new camera. I don’t shoot as quick as I could with the old Nikon. On our walk the other day I missed two coyotes passing on the trail in front of us, later I put the camera to my eye to capture two deer drinking water at the river, and before I could focus they were gone. The two Whitetail Deer would have made a good photo. Oh well.

The skies have been clouded over for the past month. Once they clear I will be giving the camera a go at capturing some star photos. With luck it would be nice to get a photo of Comet 2022 E3 ZTF. Even if it is not visible to the eye, it is possible the camera may pick it up.

The old Nixon place from across the river.

A few birds

Lisa took this picture of a Water Ouzel (American Dipper). She did a good job sneaking up. The blur in front is Lisa shooting through reeds and tall grass. This little bird is one of our favourites to watch.

It seems Lisa and I have moved into old age gracefully, one of our favourite pastimes watching water birds. The dip and dive. Some are solitary while other species stay close together. Eagles are always watching ready to pick off a straggler.

A raft of common Coots. The body of a duck, bill of a chicken and legs of a turkey. If you look them up in a bird book they could be in any category.

The grocery stores have had limited supplies in the valley. Turkeys are limited but available. Lisa’s Mom and Dad wanted one, but when they found out there is not as many available this year choose not to get one, so it could be left for a family.

They have been poor, so they know what it is like. They also know the value of depending on others. Their gesture in the world we live in is rare, where people snap up things that are in short commodity and sell them for a profit, be damned, regardless of need, going to whoever can pay the most.

Goldeneye, moving between the old pilings of the swinging bridge in Athalmer.

Moses dropped some tablets, containing the commandments while coming down that mountain. I’d bet, ‘Leave some for others’, would have been on there.

Up the mountain we saw Townsends and Siskins all too quick and crafty to get their picture taken.

Trumpeter Swans

Plenty of honking today as flocks of Swans made their way south. The cold is coming, the weather report says -19°c tomorrow.

Pulled a few more turnips. Walked the tracks to get closer to the Swans. They are difficult to sneak up on, especially with the Willow dog.

A few took off into the wind and made the turn directly overhead. Deep voices and large wingspan, mocking us bound to the ground.

It feels good to walk those tracks, hear the birds, squinting loosing the ruck.

Night Walk

Willow and I were up early for a walk under the stars. It has been clear for awhile, unfortunately we picked a morning that was cloudy with a few stars poking through here and there.

Using the lights of the Valley bottom to illuminate the trees. Pleiades and Mars can be seen above the trees in the centre.

Willow decided to drag her face through a patch of burrs and is now covered in them. She has been patient but not overly pleased with me picking them out.

An old shack nestled in the wetlands.

Walking the Rails/Women’s Day

Familiar tracks.

Walked the tracks on the weekend to the old fishing holes I used to be so fond of when I was a youngster. It was about this time of year I used to throw the first lines with the hope of hooking a nice char.

The old bridge site and brush thicker than the hair on a dog’s back.

The walk is different now. For one I don’t carry a rod. Willow enjoys trotting the banks among her namesake the Red Willow lining the Columbia. We did it early in the morning before the mud thawed, saving Willow from bringing her weight home in river silt.

A couple large Swans, either Tundra or Trumpeter, flying north. At one time they were nearly hunted to extinction. Their loud honking is exceptional, as was evident on our walk. When they are shot and dying they make a soft cooing, known as the Swan song. Incredible birds and hard to sneak up on. Perhaps they tired of being shot.

There is nothing as soothing as walking railway ties. Seeing how many you can step at once walking or running. Balancing the rail, jumping from rail to rail. Giving the engineers a wave, counting cars until the red caboose. And if lucky, on the way home, the train would slow enough to swing up onto a coal car and jump off right beside our old house where it was sure to slow due to the half mile of twined track. The trick was not to let the engineer or brakeman in the caboose see you. This required walking further up river from home while tired and often late to a bend in the tracks. Sometimes the train wouldn’t come and it was a longer walk home and a scolding for not arriving on time. Admittedly the scoldings were never much in our house. Looking back I’m not sure my parents even knew I was late until I walked in.

Willow gets ready to drive away regardless if I am ready or not or if the windows have been scraped.

Now you can get fined for walking the rails by the CPR police. Luckily they are not around much. They make a concentrated effort to fine trespassers after someone throws themselves under a train, which happens more often than you think it would. They always rule it an accident.

A young Mule Deer doe gives us a look and listen.

As a twelve year old carrying a pack and fishing rod I never had a problem. If the train was going too fast I gave it a pass even if it made the walk home long. Don’t think I could run fast enough to grab the ladder now. Besides what would Willow do?

***

It is International Women’s Day. In honour, this is a video our Granddaughter Scarlett and her Mom sent Lisa and I today.

I believe her!

Willow

Giving me the gears.

Willow loves laying on our laps, soaking up our warmth and attention. I have a heating pad I will sometimes use on my back when I’m sitting on the couch, if I get up she is sure to be laying on it when I return.

Proud, doing her ‘big dog’ walk.

Still, when we walk the creek she barks my attention, wades the water, encouraging me to throw a stick. She will fetch water logged branches and floating ice if I don’t comply.

Fetching driftwood.

Back home she approves of the fireplace being lit, sleeps deep, twitching now and again, perhaps dreaming of that water logged stick that got away.

Fluffing her feathers while shaking off the creek.

Jam

There was a time I had the bruises on the other side of my hands.

Out early to beat the heat. . . and tourists. Headed into the mountains. It’s early for huckleberries, but with this weather who knows. Took off for #2 creek. The road was rough with washboard, folks yanking trailers behind them, bouncing along, dust in clouds. Luckily we were early enough to miss them, but cursed them just the same when I hit the pot holes or sliced sideways over washboard. Lisa and Willow suggested maybe I should just slow down.

Once off the main road it was cool sailing, cedar, small creeks, fireweed lining the roads, dips and dangles instead of dust and ruts.

I’ll be your Huckleberry.

It takes awhile but then you finally arrive! It wasn’t long and we were looking up the slides for berries. The mountains were shrouded in smoke. We headed higher.

It’s early. We tried anyway and found a grove of huckleberries. We picked. I told Lisa if anyone should come up, we should pretend to make love, instead of disclosing we were picking huckleberries. In other words, get rid of them.

Fireweed.

Fortunately we were far enough away to be out of contact.

The berries were plentiful, but not large due to the hot spell. I’m holding out hope for a touch of rain. Lisa and I picked and ended up with plenty to make a few batches of jam.

For Dad, to show him, the berries are a ok.