Tag: writing

Blue Skies

Toast gets a run in.

September is a good month. Still no frost in the valley bottom. Soon though, and I’m looking forward to it. Most of the tomatoes and the last of the cucumbers have been picked.

Toast and I piled wood this afternoon. I split a few so she gets used to the sound of the axe hitting a block. She will also have to get used to the sound of the chainsaw. So far nothing seems to scare her. She is a little reluctant with new people, but I don’t mind that.

These days the skies are blue. The tourists have receded somewhat. However, as I write this I can hear vehicles doing burnouts. There is a classic car rally in the valley that brings participants from far and wide. They can’t help it.

I expect the next month or so to be busy as people start realizing they have to get things done before the snow flies.

The trip to Quebec has renewed my interest in Canadian history and I have been reading some old journals and books in the public domain. I’m also rereading The Orenda by Joseph Boyden. Boyden was cancelled in the Canadian literary scene, maybe rightly so, however he sure can write. His books, based on historical events, are from the individuals perspective. That’s what I find interesting. I know dates and how it all panned out, I am interested in what people where thinking and how the world was changing in their eyes.

Boyden did this well in Three Mile Road about a man coming home from the First World War. Some of the stories within the book were similiar to the ones my father and grandfather told. There is an authenticity to his stories. So it is quite ironic that Boyden was cancelled due to his own lack of authenticity. Things change, soon people will be judged by their work or art. That’s not now however.

The moon is growing. I point it out to Toast. She gnaws on a piece of bark and doesn’t look up. I know she feels it though.

Off the ridge.

Quebec

Nortre Dame de Bon Secours Chapel, Montreal, Old Port.

Lisa and I are just back from a trip to Quebec. We spent time in Montreal, Quebec City and the Eastern Townships, where we picked up our new puppy, Toast. Toast is a Standard Wire-Haired Dachshund, the same breed as Willow and Slinky.

We met with the breeder, who runs a kennel at her home and breeds dogs for tracking and hunting; instincts that come naturally to the Wire-Haired Dachshund. We also met Toast’s parents. Her dam was a lovely, very affectionate dog, while her sire was one of the finest examples of the breed I have ever seen. He came from Germany and had won many awards for both tracking and show. He was spirited but kind with us, and I could easily imagine him loving every minute spent in the bush.

The breeder was exceptionally knowledgeable and completely committed to her dogs. She even allowed Lisa and me to stay overnight, which was a welcome relief after walking many miles through the streets of Montreal and Quebec City. We came away very impressed with everything we saw.

World Press Photo Exposition 2026, Montreal.

Before visiting the breeder, we treated ourselves to a holiday in Montreal and Quebec City to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary. We had to pack very light so were not able to take our camera which would have been phenomenal. Subsequently all photos were taken on our phones.

Our first stop was Montreal, where the highlights were almost too numerous to list. The restaurants, history and welcoming culture were wonderful. We stayed in Old Montreal and spent our days walking through the Old Port, marvelling at the architecture, historic buildings and churches.

Montreal City Hall

On our first day of exploring, we unexpectedly came across the World Press Photo exhibition in Montreal. I knew the exhibition was taking place in the city, but I hadn’t expected us to stumble upon it. Lisa and I are both big believers in letting things unfold rather than planning every step of a trip, and this was one of those fortunate moments.

Downtown Montreal from Mount Royal. A keen eye will spot Leonard Cohen.

We spent several hours looking at some of the finest press and documentary photography in the world. The presentation was exceptional and, at times, heartbreaking. It was impossible to walk through the exhibition without being moved.

Notre-Dame Basilica of Montreal.

Another stop was Notre-Dame Basilica of Montreal, where we took in the nighttime light show and learned about the history of this remarkable Gothic Revival church. The light show itself was quite an experience. Lisa and I both agreed it was probably a good thing we weren’t tripping on any substances while watching it.

On another outing, we realized we were close to the cemetery where explorer David Thompson is buried. Again, it wasn’t planned, so we set off to pay our respects to a man whose name is so closely tied to the Columbia Valley and whose journals my father and I spent so many hours studying.

David Thompson’s monument in Mount Royal Cemetery.

We first managed to go to the wrong cemetery. I hadn’t expected two enormous cemeteries to be sitting side by side, but after being pointed in the right direction, we headed farther up Mount Royal. Before long, we were standing in front of David Thompson’s monument. For me, it was certainly one of the highlights of the trip.

Duc De Lorraine French Patisserie & Bistro. We bought a few things here and they were fabulous!

From Montreal, we travelled by train along the St. Lawrence River to Quebec City. We stayed just outside Old Quebec and once again spent much of our time walking and taking in the history around us. It is certainly a very touristy area, but we thoroughly enjoyed it. We gravitated toward the museums, historic buildings and churches. One museum, in Montreal, even took us underground, where we walked through part of the city’s early sewer system and saw the remains of one of its earliest settlements.

Feast your eyes on a petite, curvy beauty, whose feisty retort can really go boom when you light her fuse . . . and to the left of Lisa a canon, Quebec City.

There were so many wonderful sights and experiences throughout the trip that I know we will remember for years to come. But what made it particularly special was experiencing it all with my best friend and the woman I have loved for more than 40 years.

And then there was Toast.

It is wonderful to have a puppy in our lives again. Lisa and I have missed Willow terribly. My excursions into the bush and my nights spent out under the stars simply haven’t felt the same without her beside me.

Training a new dog will be a lot of work, and I expect Toast will be different from both Willow and Slinky. She will have her own personality, her own quirks and her own instincts. We aren’t looking for another Willow. We are looking forward to getting to know Toast for who she is.

And I am especially looking forward to the first time I take her into the bush, let her put that dachshund nose to the ground, and watch her discover a world that already seems to be in her blood.

Stay tuned for Toast.

Cloud and Smoke

Tamaracks

A few drops of rain this morning. They were welcome, as they helped clear some of the smoke. Unfortunately, the Perseids will likely be hidden tonight by smoke and clouds. It’s disappointing, as it seems to be becoming a regular thing to have them obscured by smoke.

This year they fall during a new moon, so under good conditions they would be quite a sight in a dark sky. That’s the way it goes sometimes. Will keep a look out regardless. A hole in the din may develop.

Here are a few pictures of wildflowers from the other day. The names I use may not be proper. Just like creeks and mountains I tend to call them by the names I learned long ago.

Rocky Mountain Heather

Umbrella Plant

Fireweed

Pasque Flower

Smokey Tarn

Red snow algae.

Alpine Forget Me Not

Indian Paint Brush

Arnica

Rock and Snow

A change of plans today. Originally, I was going to hike with Cooper and Scarlett, but the smoke was very bad. Since my heart was set on seeing some rock and snow, and my pack was already loaded with a couple of treats, I set out alone.

This mornings sun filtered with smoke.

The sun came up red at 7:30. Luckily, the trail started in the cool bush and climbed quickly. It always seems to take me an hour or so before I work the kinks out and start to feel comfortable. I spotted a lone black bear cub that scattered quickly into the trees. This is the second one I’ve seen this year without its momma around. Hopefully, she was just off in the bush.

The wildflowers were abundant on the slopes and along the trail; paintbrush, columbine, fireweed, potentilla, violets, white pasque flowers, mountain forget-me-nots, and many others.

The pikas let me know I was intruding once I’d made it into the alpine, while buntings and creepers followed me through the forest. The smoke cleared somewhat at the higher elevation. Looking back down, I could see just how thick it was below. Definitely not a day for the kids.

Rising above the smoke on the trail.

I opted for the back of the basin, keeping close to the mountainside where there was at least a little shade from the sun.

There was still snow in the basin. Being August, perhaps it will remain all year, something I haven’t seen for many years. I always think that if a little snow remained each year, it wouldn’t take long to build the glaciers back. When I say “not long,” I mean geologically speaking, hundreds or thousands of years. The moraine I crossed was once covered in ice. Before that, it lay beneath an ancient ocean. Cracking shale in this area often reveals fossils of sea creatures from that distant time. The Rocky Mountains are full of places like that.

The snow felt good beneath my boots, and I promised myself I’d walk across it on the way back instead of picking my way down the loose rock, which is tough enough going up.

I reached the back of the basin at about 11:30. Time to pissass around, as my father used to say. I wandered among the rocks and flowers and found a small tarn the melting snow had created.

Once I stopped moving, I could hear voices.

There was no way anyone else would be up here. From this perch I would have seen anyone coming or going. I stood perfectly still, slowed my breathing, and there they were again. They were far enough away that I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were voices nonetheless.

Or so I thought.

This went on for a while.

Finally, I stopped once more and calmed my breathing. There they were again, faint, as though carried from somewhere in the distance. I held my breath, trying to catch a word.

The voices stopped.

I started breathing again, and they started up.

Damned if it wasn’t a wheeze in my chest that sounded exactly like distant conversation. Perhaps the smoke was worse than I thought, and the quick ascent had caught up with my lungs. That gave me a good laugh.

Not my favourite to walk on.

As promised I stayed off the rolling rocks on the way down. The sun was unavoidable by then, but it felt good as I crossed the lingering snow. From there I retraced my route through the rocks, into the bush, and down to the creek bottom where I’d left the truck.

Very fine day.

Columbine

Tamarack

Old Friends

The old frame with a repurposed matt and rhubarb leaf print done on Environment 110 lb card with printers ink.

I don’t see many people at work anymore. That’s by choice.

My jobs come to me through an app the night before or first thing in the morning, and away I go. With a little planning, it’s easy to schedule jobs for times when people are less likely to be around.

My phone is set to accept calls only from work or immediate family. My bosses contact me through the app. Everything else is screened by AI.

It’s a survival tactic after years of being available at a moment’s notice to everyone, business and personal. This is where I am right now, and it’s working. It means less money, but more peace of mind.

The other day, though, I had two unexpected encounters with old friends.

While pulling into the gas station to refill a propane tank, I noticed a man standing beside a beat-up truck with a jerry can. He was holding a sign asking for gas money. He looked like someone I hadn’t seen in years. As I was leaving, I pulled up behind him. Not completely sure, I walked over and said his name.

He looked at me and replied, “Rob.”

Not many people ever called me Rob. He always had, ever since we met in grade school.

I hadn’t seen him since high school. He was a year ahead of me. He grew up in a small house close to the school with a short fence around it, kept in immaculate condition by his parents, who were wonderful people. He had several siblings.

We talked for a while. He introduced me to his wife, who was sitting in the truck. They were living out in the bush and invited me to stop by if I was ever in the area. I knew exactly where they had set up.

Living in the bush is something more and more people are doing these days. Of course, no one really wants to. The cost of living, especially housing is simply beyond the reach of many people in the valley.

Lisa and I were fortunate to buy our house almost forty years ago, when our money had much more buying power and owning a home was still within reach.

It was good to see him again and to meet his wife. I helped them out with some gas money, or whatever they felt they needed most. Lisa was saddened to hear about their circumstances. We’ll keep an eye out for them through the summer.

It seems that whenever I run into longtime locals, their circumstances are rarely good. Progress and unchecked growth, instead of delivering on their promises, have too often displaced the very people who built this valley.

The second encounter happened only about an hour later.

I pulled into a parking lot beside a Hummer covered in a realtor’s logos. I know the realtor. As far as realtors go, he’s one of the better ones. I saw him walking toward me and thought, Oh shit… I’m going to have to talk to him.

Just then a little beater car came flying into the lot, slammed on the brakes, kicked up a cloud of dust, and blocked both me and the Hummer in.

It was B. I hadn’t seen him in quite a while. He was another I went to school with. We’d also worked together years ago, and I never tired of his sense of humour. He delivered everything, good news or bad, with the same grin. He could get away with saying things no one else could.

The realtor looked more than a little surprised as B threw the car into reverse and cleared a path for the Hummer.

Then we stood there laughing and catching up.

B is on disability now with a bad back. His father had recently died just shy of a hundred years old, and B told me he’d taken to riding his mobility scooter down to the beach.

“Jesus, B,” I said. “You can walk.”

“Sure,” he said. “But this way I’ve always got a chair to sit on.”

That somehow led us onto another cheerful topic – dying.

B told me that years ago his ex-wife had suffered a series of heart attacks and was lying in the hospital on life support. When he went to visit, the staff assumed he was her current husband.

“They asked me what I thought,” he said. “I told them, ‘Pull the tubes. Unplug her. No one should have to live like that.'”

While the staff went to get the doctor, her actual husband arrived.

“He told them not to unplug her,” B said. “‘She’s the only thing I’ve got.'”

B looked at him and said, “That’s bullshit. She’s just another welfare cheque to you.”

I stared at him.

“Holy shit,” I said. “What happened to your ex-wife?”

“Oh, she’s fine.”

“She recovered?”

“Oh yeah. This was years ago.”

“Damn, B,” I laughed. “You almost killed her.”

“Yup,” he said with that same big grin.

Then he peeled away, kicking up the dust that had finally settled since the beginning of our conversation.

I’m still laughing.

It’s good to only see the people you want to.

Mid June

A Highland Cow enjoying the abundant grass.

The garden is on the verge of catching hold. The cucumbers have not enjoyed the rain but are still hanging on as are the tomatoes. Not exactly flourishing though.

A few things came up very spotty. Beets and lettuce for instance, strange as they usually come up like gangbusters. I did use old seed, perhaps that made a difference.

The starlings have vacated the hole in the top of our tree. With the foliage out in full force one could hardly see the hole. The young ones have learned to fly and flown the coop.

My trips in the bush have not been as frequent. Still missing Willow. Lisa has been trying to track down another Wire-Haired Standard Dachshund but they are hard to come by. They are much more popular in Europe. I have joked that I’m going to go to Poland to get a hound. Our Wire-Haired before Willow, Slinky was from Poland. She was also a fantastic dog.

Here are a few pics from June.

A Roundleaf Orchid. I returned to this orchid recently to get a picture of the flowers open and it had been munched off. Flowers are a favourite of bears. There was plenty of sign to confirm this suspicion.

Lola helping me find Orchids along the game trails.

Coral Orchid. These were everywhere and reminded me of Asparagus.

Following a game trail. I often followed game trails when I was young, hunting, but often, just trying to learn from the animals. Where they were going, what routes they chose, where they would dip down for water or rise onto the mountain side, the tracks they left and which animals shared the route. My young self figured they knew the bush better than us, so why not learn from them. Older now I have trouble managing the deadfalls.

Bog Orchid.

An Oldtimer harvesting pine pollen. This was taken on a walk with Lisa, Cooper and Scarlett. The kids asked what pine pollen is good for. I told them it was good for the immune system and can even be used as an aphrodisiac. Cooper wanted to know what an aphrodisiac was, Lisa said it can give a man an erection. Cooper’s response was, “Why would somebody want more of those.”

Wood Frames & Wild Orchids

Yellow Lady’s Slipper (Cypripedium calceolus)

My mother used to enjoy going to garage sales. She would find all kinds of treasures, some of which she would pass along to me. There were books she thought I would enjoy and old picture frames that I liked restoring. She had a great eye for a bargain.

Recently, I found an old wooden frame. It still had its original glass. The picture and mat inside had been badly damaged by water and could not be saved, they crumbled when I removed them. The frame, however, was still solid. I removed the rusted finishing nails that held the picture in place, along with the old hanging wire and the glass. The glass itself was old, with a few air bubbles trapped in it from when it was made. After a good cleaning, it was almost like new again, although it retained the slight tint that old glass often develops.

The frame was made of oak and had originally been stained black. Over time, the stain had weathered, allowing the grain to show through. That aging is exactly what I like to preserve. It is amazing how well some old frames were built. For one thing, they are made of solid wood.

After cleaning the dirt from the grooves with a toothbrush and giving it a very light sanding, I rubbed it with tung oil. This really brings out the patterns in the wood and helps nourish it. You can almost hear the wood saying, “Thanks!”

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the frame once it’s ready for its new life. I’ll have to think of something.

***

Mountain Lady’s-Slippers (Cypripedium Montanum)

Lisa and I were poking around up the mountain the other day and spotted a few yellow lady’s-slippers and some mountain lady’s-slippers. They are right on schedule and seem to be enjoying the rain we’ve been having. These photos are from that outing.

How High’s the Water, Mama?

The mouth of Lake Windermere. The brown water from Toby Creek can be seen backing up into the blue water of Lake Windermere. Picture taken on May 28th, 2026 before the rain started.

We have had a good dose of moisture starting about a week ago. It has been nice. The grass is knee deep. My plan was to mow it today, as the rain looked like it was going to stop, but overnight it started again.

Yesterday, I hilled the potatoes. Everything is up in the garden and enjoying the moisture. Once the sun shines, everything will take off.

These pictures were taken a week ago. They show the Columbia River leaving Lake Windermere. As often happens at this time of year, when the mountain snow melts and we get rain, the river flows backwards into the lake.

This is caused by Toby Creek backing up where it enters the Columbia about a mile to the north. The course of Toby Creek has been altered over the years to help prevent flooding in Athalmer. In the past, Toby Creek would rush out of the mountains and create an alluvial fan stretching from the mouth of Lake Windermere to well below where it enters the Columbia today.

Standing on the benches above Invermere and Athalmer, one can almost see where Toby Creek once spread out across the valley. It was in this area that salmon spawned before dams blocked their passage from the Pacific Ocean.

The Columbia River flowing backwards is a reminder that nature cannot be denied.

There have been several instances over the past decade when Invermere’s sewer system has struggled at this time of year. Panorama has also experienced problems with its wastewater system. Both systems discharge treated wastewater into Toby Creek.

A couple of years ago, I wrote to several District of Invermere officials expressing concern that untreated sewage could potentially flow into Lake Windermere when the river backs up. The fact that untreated sewage could enter a river is troubling enough. I specifically mentioned the possibility of it backing into Lake Windermere because the lake is viewed as central to the region’s tourism economy, and tourism appears to be what attracts the attention of local decision makers.

However, I received no response. Not a word. Other than what I viewed as an attempt by District of Invermere Council to assassinate my character and make my views illegitimate. https://palliserpass.ca/2023/06/17/mid-june-2/

We are blessed to live at the source of the Columbia River. Over the years, we have changed it to meet our needs. Many of those changes have been devastating to its natural flow, its native species, and the Indigenous peoples who relied on its life giving gifts for thousands of years.

Today, it sometimes seems our primary goal is simply to keep Lake Windermere clean enough to support tourism, large wake boats, and the second home market.

Instead, each of us who lives here should consider ourselves a guardian of the land. Of course, every one of us leaves a footprint, and every footprint has consequences. But why take more than we need?

Some things are more important than growth and convenience. The lakes and rivers that sustain us are among them.

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.