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 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.

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.

Late July

Each day has had a little rain. Plenty of blue sky between. Cool at nights. Almost a perfect summer compared to what we have had the past few years.

The berries are raging on into August. Lisa and I could get used to this time off wondering the mountains with the grandkids. Picking our fill to take home. They are proud and, of course, turned it into a competition with Scarlett and me picking against Copper and Grandma. Luckily it is evenly matched.

It is good to be up there sharing the sky and tree tops, watching for wild flowers and hummingbirds, pointing out the big berries, showing them how to plink, plink at tins, wishing time could stand still or at least slow down.

Rain

A Mule Deer doe and fawn get ready to bed-down for the night beside the shed.

It is refreshing to have rain in July. The land is still green, unlike in recent years where it was yellowing and tinder dry at this time of year.

Lisa and I avoided the valley bottom yesterday opting for the higher country. The berries were abundant with the excess moisture. We could smell them on the cool mountain breeze.

We came across a new batch of huckleberries that deserves a better look. It could be a good year for this delicious fruit. We picked a few handfuls that we enjoyed on the spot, letting Willow also have a few.

The garden has taken off with giant heads of broccoli and lettuce. The garlic is just about ready to harvest. Peas and beans are developing pods. Raspberries are ripe. Carrots are fingerling. All and all it’s looking good.

Thank goodness for the coolness.

Notice the fawns camo spots between its eyes.

Osprey

The river is full reaching almost to the top of the banks. Flowing quickly to the north. Catching the red willows, straight as arrows, flicking them forward until the spring back in a gracious whip. Green mud that mixes perfectly with the sky. Colours you only see at this time of year. A calendar without dates only sounds, bird calls, trickles and thunder. Smells like heat and moisture, the service berry ripening, some call Saskatoons, sweet, and the river running with high country snow and last nights rain.

The osprey doesn’t recognize me. It leaves its nest and circles above. Sizing, evaluating threat. I try to let it know we are old friends, but feel its distrust.

So often they would follow above as I walked the paths of bush to the lake. Back then it watched as my mind was on fish, railroad tracks, the spring in poplars, the wind putting a ripple on the water, just enough to obscure the weeds and fish swishing shadows, languid almost undetectable during calm, as I wondered how they saw their prey during a storm with a chop on the lake. Other than that I was oblivious most of the time, happy to roam the shore. A whistle would make me turn skyward or to a snag then back above to the railway and someone approaching. My signal to move along, to avoid the day being interrupted by the crudeness of conversation or worse, a scolding or beating. Once further down the shore or back under the canopy of bush the osprey would have followed. But I didn’t keep track back then.

The mosquitoes had me. Lifting me among the clouds. They buzz in my ears and around my nose, I shut my eyes and try not to swat, in case I am to fall from such a height. Above the river I can’t see the fish through the summer murk. The osprey still holds me in its eye, assessing, wary. Its wingspan and hooked beak, turbulent, knowing honour can put it at risk. I hope it can see through the chop on the surface, through time and hurt, even if I can’t.

Wet

Willow, low to the ground, soaks up the rain enthusiastically running the bush.

Lisa makes me keep my boots outside. She says they stink. Sometimes she makes me put a blanket over my socked feet when I am sitting inside for the same reason. If I let her have her way the socks have to live outside as well.

We have been getting some rain lately. On the weekend I failed to move my good boots into a sheltered area outside and they got rained on soaking them thoroughly during the night.

I had to wear on old pair of boots that had holes in them. My feet got soaked on my weekend hikes with Willow. Lisa didn’t seem to be sympathetic to the problem. Meanwhile my good boots still aren’t dry 3 days later and my feet keep getting wet in my old boots.

I realize these aren’t much for problems in this day and age. I’m just happy Lisa thinks it is the socks and boots that stink. If she ever figures out who the real stinker is I’ll be locked outside in the rain.

An old pair of my boots Lisa has repurposed.

Scatter

Noticed a big waning gibbous moon a couple mornings ago. It stayed well into light, hanging around till damn near noon. I used to be up on these things. Moons, birds, when the orchids would bloom to the day. Now it is lucky to get out.

It could be age taking the energy, or the job. Can’t work like I used to. It takes a bit to recuperate. No sense bitching. It’s not my invention. There is only bone on my shoulders these days and it ain’t coming back.

Good sense cackling in fury and ranker, or high in spirit like the Redwings in the marshes dashing between the cattails, leading hither and yon, it is hard to tell, regardless there it goes, fluttering jumping in the breeze getting smaller between clouds of mosquitos, still a marvel, one day gone for good.

Calypso Bulbosa

Like the old saying, been up to my ass in alligators. Was able to step away from the grind a few evenings ago to lay on my belly on the forest floor and study the first orchids of the season.

They were abundant, small fairies hovering above the moss and crumbled deadfalls.

***

Lisa and I took our grandkids for a walk in the bush today. We unfortunately came across the carcass of a black bear, shot and skinned. The kids didn’t see it and we changed our route.

They are in season right now. I am amazed there are any bears left considering the pressure from hunting and poaching. Parts of the bear are valued in traditional Chinese medicine. The gall bladder, liver, testicles, fur, paws and head are highly valued.

I have found dead bears cut open with head and paws missing.

***

It is warming up. The grass is already burning. The garden is coming along with the weeds. The garlic has scapes and they are damn spicy!

Geomagnetic Storm

St. Mark.s Church and cemetery near Brisco. One of the oldest buildings in the Valley.

A dazzling display of aurora a few nights ago. Willow and I headed north and stopped on the mile hill overlooking Radium Hot Springs. Knowing they can stop as quick as they start we kept going towards darker skies.

These Northern Lights were caused by activity on the surface of the sun. This coronal mass ejection struck Earth’s magnetic field and lit up the sky. It should have been a dark night, but Willow and I were able to walk around like it was a full moon.

By 3:30 the aurora borealis pulled way back and I could tell dawn was on the horizon. I forget how early morning breaks when the days are long. The longest days don’t even permit a fully dark night.

It was good to get out.

The Mile Hill overlooking the Columbia River and Radium Hot Springs.

Garden Planted

Damn it feels good to have a few days off. The rest of the garden is planted. The tomatoes started in the basement are on their own and look healthy. They looked happy to be planted. Of course we had a short windstorm today that knocked them around. It’s up to them now.

We’ll see if anything comes up. The birds are enjoying the sprinkler as it has been dry with not a lot of runoff due to low snowpack in the mountains.

***

The other day Lisa thought she heard something in the basement. She was right, it was a scratching and banging in the stove pipe. I opened up the pipe and nothing. I checked the chimney and stove, still nothing.

That night the banging and scratching started back up. Willow did her job letting us know of potential intruders. We didn’t get much sleep.

In the morning I took it all apart again and nothing. Once I put it all back together the noises resumed.

We went to Cooper’s soccer game. When we came home the noises were still coming from the pipe but now they were coming from where the pipe joins the stove.

I opened it up and there was an American Flicker, a type of woodpecker hiding in the flume. It must of, somehow flew down the chimney. When I had opened everything up it would go back into the chimney where we couldn’t see it. Once it went down the pipe to the stove it couldn’t get back up.

Lisa opened the basement door. I reached in and gave it a nudge. The Flicker burst into flight and flew across the room and straight out the door.

We couldn’t have been happier. I’m sure the bird felt likewise.

Thin Moon

A tight crop of a 200mm frame. The crescent moon is 6% or 7% illuminated.

A crystal clear morning. Venus came up in the morning dawn. The sun caught the top of the peaks in the west before it rose over the mountains. The thin moon rose just before the sun. It was an old waning 6%. Due to its thinness and the morning light it was hard to see. I needed the binoculars to spot it at first. A Robin came and sat close to me and a heard of young Bighorn Sheep ran, about 50 yards in front of me. The way they were going I expected to see something like a coyote or cougar on their heels, but nothing. Something riled them however. The river is still clear and runs slow beside the tracks. Not long now the wetlands will be full. Next moon probably. Very fine morning.

Palliser Pass

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