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.