Trekking Tale #246 – Belatedly

This was written last July after the “real trek”. Much has happened since then, of course, with more long overdue Trekking Tales still to come your way, even though I do not write them as regularly as I once did.

A Real Trek – to the Bee Farm

 

“Trek (v.) To make one’s way arduously” says my battered Merrill-Webster dictionary in part. I’m told I am a positive person, and I am positive that’s what our weekly hike of June 1^st was!

Our group, eleven hikers and five dogs, parked vehicles by the barriers on Stillwater Road. The usual entrance to Wells Gray Park was a bumpy 1.5 km behind us.

“Anyone need mosquito spray?” It’s rather obnoxious odour soon filled the air, our skin, clothes and hair. “Anyone bring bear spray?”

“Left it at home, but my son gave me a bear banger that I don’t know how to use.”

“I have bells,” said several, “and yes, I know they are dubbed ‘dinner bells’ so won’t wear them.”

Obviously well-prepared, off we went for our anticipated 5 km walk. Oops – somehow missed the fact that’s just one way. Good thing I didn’t know for my body was definitely not prepared for that. Almost immediately we passed a sign saying “Smith Lake Loop Trail”, although the official map beside it was not helpful since its section of trail was not marked. “Up we go,” said those who had been before. Up indeed, and up some more.

“I can always take you back,” I said to a struggling gal.

“Just need a break,” she panted, and valiantly carried on.

At the top of this seemingly endless hill, we hung a right past that “Smith Loop Lake Trail” sign, and were soon beside a pretty, tranquil lake. Molly the blonde Labrador got stuck in its muddy edge, but was easily hauled out and sported a grubby dark vest for the rest of the day.

Now on a trail that went up and down and along blessed level sections, we encountered a feature I’d never seen before. Successive smooth mini-ditches at right angles to the trail were presumably made by horse hoofs depressing soft earth, leaving the equivalent of railway ties across it. Long-stepping from the top of one to the next was definitely a challenge for this ole gal and others. On and on we went beneath towering trees, spring green growth all around brightened by flowers that are old friends. Indian Paintbrush, varying shades of red, stood tall; white four-petalled bunchberry flowers lined our path with Queen’s Cup just beginning to bloom. Violets and more added to the bush fragrance.

“I can hear Hemp Creek,” we grinned, one after another. “Must be nearly there.” Wrong. Seeing a “Bee Farm” sign for the first time, we hung a left and, perhaps two and a half hours (less for a couple of the group) after leaving the vehicles, we were rewarded by the sight of buildings. Two had been repaired by Parks and Friends of Wells Gray Park. Oh yea! Sandwiches tasted delicious at this almost creek-side location with its interesting history of two sisters and their successful honey-producing business following the fire of 1926.

About this time, discussions began about the other side of Smith Lake Loop Trail which none of us had been on. Ignoring the “rumour” of steep sections, we soon delighted in seeing a steep-sided canyon, rapids, and a small but roaring waterfall beside and below us on Hemp Creek. Once again, on and on we trudged along the undulating trail, often negotiating those “railway ties” and a few boggy sections. Comments about the re-grown, enclosing forest, scat from moose and wolves, plus flower and mushrooms distracted us from labouring legs. The dogs now just walked the trail too, rather than bounding after each other or into the bush. A couple of junctions sported a familiar sign, but the biggest challenge for me came when we estimated our wheels were still about an hour away.

Although we’d had plenty of ups and downs throughout, we knew we were way above those comfy seats. A picturesque, narrow trail wound us down – and down further still. We were tiring and joints complained. Not us – just our joints! “To think you asked me three times if I wanted to go back,” chuckled my new pal. “Imagine if I had missed all this…”

No ATVs came along to “save us” in the final section, but with those now-familiar “railway ties”, their passage would be slow and bone-bending. So, we all made it without any help. Oh Yea indeed! Soon we were airing our bragging rights over coffee and cake at Sharon MacKay’s second Bear’s Den Cookhouse by the entrance to Wells Gray Golf Course and RV Park.

The following day I could still walk – tempted onwards from Sunshine Valley by the thought of a buttery pancake soaking up maple syrup at the Elks Saturday breakfast.

 

I will try to send the next one before too long.

P.S. My memoir, Gentle Journey, is once again available on iTunes, if you have Apple technology. Who knows why it showed up there, but could not be purchased. (I suspect if you receive this blog, you already have a heavy book called Gentle Journey!)

Trekking Tale #245

Since I have already published #255, this is another from almost a year ago!

 

Fun with Friends from Near and Far

 

“Company’s coming!” While big discussions occur at our house re menus, finding places to go in and around Clearwater is never a problem.

Two gals arrived from the Lower Mainland on Saturday of May long weekend (2018). However, having been up in the wee hours watching the Royal Wedding, they missed seeing Rotary’s Parade here.

“Waterfalls will be roaring,” I announced next morning.

“Let’s go!” they responded. Picnic lunches packed, we set off and were soon enjoying “elevenses” beside Clearwater Lake. The river exiting the lake was so high Osprey Falls were almost non-existent. Conversely, conversation was difficult during our lunch stop beside Bailey’s Chute and its splashing, rushing, dramatically-descending river.

Our longer hike of the day was the Ray Farm loop. “Did you go all round?” I asked a young couple just leaving.

“There’s one flooded spot,” the young man answered, “but you can bushwhack past it.” He was right, though several other would-be loopers turned back.

“I wasn’t going to walk along the logs and end up in that stagnant water,” stated one. They had assessed the wrong side of the trail. Following our more successful round trip past Alice Lake, we headed back to the paved road. Helmcken Falls, the Mushbowl, and Dawson Falls made dramatic viewing to end Sunday’s outing.

These gals having participated in a 7-day Hut to Hut adventure with glorious leader Tay Briggs in 2009, they know some locals who enthusiastically joined us on the holiday Monday. Two rainbows and spray from thundering Moul Falls had us gasping and slightly damp, but pleased we’d made the final descent, now challenging for this aging body. Going behind it was definitely not an option. “Where for lunch?” you might ask. How about Belgian waffles at Spahatts Falls? Excellent idea… One more gal, Joan from Williams Lake, met us at North Thompson Provincial Park that evening for our regularly-requested wiener roast. Our favourite spot for this is on the Clearwater River, but would be feet deep in fast-flowing water at this time.

Tough to see the Vancouverites leave next morning, but Joan stayed for the rest of the week. Since both of us had discovered golfing about the same time, we played every day. Well, she plays, I am still pretending! Lacarya Golf Course saw us twice on two days. In between, we tested our swings at Chinook Cove and ice creams in Barriere, as well as Wells Gray Course in Upper Clearwater. “You’ve time for a Buffalo Burger,” grinned a player as we waited on the course to let two men go ahead of us. Thus we discovered the newest Bear’s Den Cookhouse right at the entrance to the golf course.

But time had marched along. Everyone has gone home and now I am back weeding the strawberry patch.

And as the snow now leaves at the end of March 2019, all too soon those strawberries will be reminding me to do something with them once again!

New (Old) Trekking Tales #243 & #244

Anyone remember receiving emails that show my latest Trekking Tale? It has been way too long, and I have actually written several and submitted them to the local Clearwater Times. The October referred to below is — 2017! However, I shall send it on its way, and add the rest gradually.

 

Family Travels in Late October, Part 1

 

One best thing about travelling with folks from overseas is showing off Beautiful BC, this province I chose to be my home in 1968. Another best thing is when the visitors are family members coming from Down Under to visit their Canadian relatives. One big worry this time, given the October date, was the weather. “It’s your fault for having a birthday so late in the year,” teased my sister Vera as we set off from Clearwater under grey skies and uncertain conditions.

With her husband Merv and our sister Valerie from Quesnel, I pointed our well-laden SUV south to Kelowna where niece/daughter and her family live. The girls scrunched into different beds so we could all fit into their comfy home. Their dad, Jeremy, toured us through his workplace. “We host a myriad websites,” he told us. “Security is paramount,” he explained, punching in yet another code as we entered the inner sanctum.

With our next destination to see nephew/son in Nanaimo, I had hoped to traverse the Hope – Princeton, but time constraints sent us up over the Okanagan Connector. Sprinkles of icy cold, wet white stuff were Vera and Merv’s first experience of fresh snow. “Look at the picturesque way it outlines the crevices in that rock face,” they said. But no one wanted to try to scrape up a handful. “It’s freezing out there!” stated one of these Queenslanders firmly. Of course we had to wait at the ferry, but without a snowflake in sight, nor any blue sky, the visitors happily went off to explore tiny Horseshoe Bay Village. When they returned full of fresh air and milkshakes, I couldn’t resist taking a short walk.

On the ferry I told them about an experience on a different crossing. “A naturalist announced she was going to talk about Cetaceans, so I sat in glorious sunshine to listen. As soon as she mentioned ‘whales’ a pod showed up a short distance from the ferry’s starboard side, spouting and playing!”

We’d all been to Nanaimo in the past where a warm welcome again awaited us. A recent job change had taken my nephew, an electrician, to a Cowichan Bay sawmill. Unlike the downpour of the previous night, sun was interspersed with showers as we picnicked at pretty Transfer Beach Park en route to this work place. Safety helmet and more were required of that Sunday tour although most machines were quiet. Then, who can resist a stop at Chemainus with its innumerable murals depicting realistic scenes of the past? Not us!

With the weekend now over, all members of that family headed back to work and school, so we travellers drove up-island. Despite dark skies we took the Oceanside route to Courtenay. After enjoying delicious homemade soup with friends there, we drove to our next ferry. “Sunshine Coast – here we come. Please live up to your name!” But the skies remained dull and overcast as the new ferry with its unusual design took us from Comox on Vancouver Island to Powell River back on the mainland.

“This doesn’t look the least bit like our Sunshine Coast north of Brisbane,” chuckled Vera as the town of Powell River with its pulp mill and back drop of forested mountains showed up under dull, grey skies. “Just a few days before we boarded a plane to cross the Pacific Ocean, Merv and I were walking on its sandy beaches in spring warmth.” Now however, with our motel room looking out onto Georgia Strait/Salish Sea, we didn’t complain about either the weather or the setting.

 

Family Travels in Late October, Part 2

 

My brother-in-law Merv and two of my sisters and I stayed two nights in Powell River, followed by two more at Gibsons Landing. “Come on, Sunshine Coast. Show us what you can do,” I begged as our time there began. Answering our prayers, clear blue skies and sunshine accompanied us for the rest of our trip, showing us the unique beauty of that rugged coastal part of BC. We watched in delight from the balconies of our Powell River motel rooms as herons came and went, seagulls swooped, seals bobbed in and out of view, distant whales spouted, and boats of every description chugged north and south in the salty Salish Sea. “That barge might be dragging its log boom to my son Richard’s sawmill in Cowichan Bay,” remarked my Quesnel sister Valerie.

“Be sure to stop at Dinner Rock on your way north to Lund at the end of Highway 101,” Clearwater friend Shelley had advised us. After winding down a narrow dirt road, we arrived at an unoccupied but ruggedly delightful seaside Forestry Recreation Site. “The view is spectacular,” I assured Shelley later, “but it’s a sad story about the shipwreck at Dinner Rock.”

Lund is a place of fond memories for me. “I hiked parts of the Sunshine Coast Trail with some Girl Guide Buddies in my fitter days,” I boasted. “We took a water taxi from Lund and had to leap off onto the sand to begin our first day’s hike. Soon we were well above the ocean in a rocky forested area, but later we were down again on the opposite side of this peninsula, trudging along the seashore in our hiking boots. We certainly deserved dinner cooked over a fire back at our campsite.” Now, in 2017, gentle ambles in warm sunshine around the wee village of Lund had to suffice, while conversely, seafood chowder and fish and chips were brought to our table in a local cafe.

South of Powell River, another ferry ride took us from Saltery Bay to Earl’s Cove. Since tide tables showed us our timing could not work to see the turmoil of water at Skookumchuck Narrows when the tide turns, we continued driving and turned off the highway to go to Garden Bay. Several kilometres along, past pretty ponds, small lakes and cabins, we met crews working on power lines. “Nope, no restaurants will be open,” responded the flagman in response to my question. “Power is off everywhere beyond here.” It was a bit chilly for a picnic so we were happy to have better luck at Madeira. The view from the restaurant showed craggy headlands dominated by red arbutus trees and inlets loaded with small pleasure craft and houses tucked into impossible places. “There’s BC’s Sunshine Coast at its glorious best,” I noted proudly to the rest of the group. “At Garden Bay we’d have been down in the midst of that beauty instead of seeing it from above,” I continued in my best tour-guide voice.

Gibsons is best known to us oldies for the years when Beachcomber was filmed there for weekly TV showing. Valerie revelled in memories of being at hand when this was happening, so we had coffee at Molly’s Reach for old time’s sake. Later we hiked beside shimmering water from Pebbles Beach to its end. Here we could copy Vera and Merv’s Aussie experience and scuff through the sand or play “Catch me if you can” with the ebbing and flowing of chilly waves.

Our fourth and final ferry ride once again drew us outside. As previously, whales spouted in the distance. But close to us, a scuffle in the water turned into four dolphins playing. Obviously well-paid by the Tourist Commission, they leapt in unison towards the bow of our boat. A trail of parallel bubbles filled the space between jumps and they smiled in response to our oohs and aahs before disappearing. “What a send-off from the Sunshine Coast!” we sighed happily. But sadly, we would also be parting from each other just a couple of hours later.

Please leave a comment for me if you wish.

eBook Websites

The time has come at last – my book, Gentle Journey Memoir of a Travelling Gal, is available as an eBook on two sites. I keep hoping for another, but don’t hold your breath for it to be on iTunes. I keep getting into Catch 22 situations in trying to put the necessary information in there.

I’ve had much better luck with Kobo.com and Amazon.ca (Kindle). To see what my book looks like, its cost, and to read a small blurb about it, go into the search area and type in any of the following: “Kay Knox”, “Gentle Journey”, or “Gentle Journey Memoir”. Lo and behold – I hope – and you will see a 1962 me upon a camel, pyramid in background,  under blue sky in Egypt’s desert.

Let me know how you make out. And do tell me what you think of the book if you get one to read.

Cheers to all from this gal who is, sort of, calling herself an author.

Trekking Tale #242

I promised the fine folks at Clearwater Times I would write more Trekking Tales. This is as far as I have progressed in fulfilling that promise!

 

Gentle Journey Leads to Craft Fairs

 

My life, like everyone else’s, has been one kind of journey after another. Many travels and the fun of changing from a kid growing up in Australia to becoming a married lady living in BC, have been chronicled in my recently published memoir called Gentle Journey.

But the learning that goes with living never stops. Despite the number of years it took, writing that book was a joy although getting it actually into print had its frustrations. Consequently, holding a copy for the first time was unbelievably exciting, while launching it among friends and family at my 80^th birthday Do Drop In was wonderfully overwhelming. Now there’s one step more and that’s where the Craft Fairs come in: marketing.

The Times office has generously placed copies for sale in their Clearwater Office, as has our friend at Natural Hair but I still went looking for other venues. I visited a local store and then another in Kamloops in hopes of having it visibly for sale on their shelves. “We take 30%,” said the nice man in BuyLow. Ouch! But it got worse. “Our cut is 45%,” the equally pleasant man in Chapters told my husband John and me.

“I’m barely covering the cost of printing and shipping now,” I moaned to a cashier.

Her response saved the day. “Kay, Christmas is coming and there are Craft Fairs everywhere.”

I have never spent much time wandering through these, but now I am getting to know them well, and to appreciate them even more. Wide varieties of crafts for sale show skill, hours of concentration, labour, and dedication to detail. As I stand or sit at my small table, my own books proudly propped up in front of me, I am surrounded by colourful displays of homemade wares. Children’s and winter clothing, quilting, toys, jewellery, woodwork, baking and chocolates, trinkets and treasures, as well as other locally written books abound.

The chattering begins as sellers optimistically set up displays, and continues throughout the day. The hours never seem long for me even when sales aren’t brisk, because there’s always someone to talk to. I had let my Quesnel friends know I was coming to participate in a craft fair there, and several – including a couple who came especially from Prince George – joined me for catch-up time. “How come you went to Quesnel?” you might wonder if you haven’t yet finished reading Gentle Journey.

“Easy to answer,” I respond. “It was towards the end of my second year of teaching in Quesnel that I decided BC would be home. And as my good fortune would have it, a month or three later, I met husband-to-be John at McLeese Lake, not far south of Quesnel.”

Most of Clearwater’s craft fairs are over now, but there is one more in Blackpool on December 17^th from 10 am to 2 pm. It’s close to Christmas for final gift-buying, but don’t be in a rush. Take a deep, relaxing breath as you enter, and absorb the ambience. Buy as you wish, but also stop to chat with the devoted, hard-working sellers to show your appreciation of the talents they represent. Like me with my book, they are delighted to make a sale, but we all love the conversations with passersby who speak of their own interests and journeys. Take time out to enjoy coffee and munchies. You will be so glad you came.

Besides, craft fairs show us what the neighbours have really been up to!

 

Sales of my memoir, Gentle Journey, have progressed very nicely, and being at Craft Fairs certainly helped. Next decision will be whether or not to order more….

Gentle Journey Now Launched

At my 80th birthday, surrounded by multi friends and family, this memoir saw the light of day. I have had so much support, I am over-whelmed. Even more delightful is the fact that I am receiving positive comments from many readers. The negative ones, and there must be some other than the fact that those 500 pages are “too heavy” ;-), have not yet reached me.

That is me on the camel in 1962 during my trip from Down Under to Up Over, so to speak. The book starts with a few ancestral introductions, takes me through my upbringing, experiences and education in Australia and beyond. Many travels followed for me, which, although the book doesn’t take us there, continue to this day. It would have been double in size if I had kept going, so the memoir stopped when John and I were married in Quesnel, BC in May, 1971.

Now into my second printing of 100 books, I am taking in as many craft fairs and equivalent to share my story with others. Perhaps it will even encourage someone else to tackle this kind of project. It has been great fun revisiting memory lane through old letters, carefully saved my parents first then sister Alice, as well as my own photos and other memorabilia. And it only took me 8 years!

My next challenge is to get it online as an e-book. I will keep you posted.

New Trekking Tale

It’s been so long since I added anything, this site has changed and I can’t even remember what I used to know! Anyway, after no Trekking Tales for almost two years, I finally wrote another, once the major work on my memoir called Gentle Journey, Memoir of a Travelling Gal was completed. More details about its printing and launch will come in a later entry. Here, as published in Clearwater Times in September 2017, is

 

A September Day in Wells Gray Park

“Back Country Closed!” I read on a Wells Gray Provincial Park sign with some dismay. A hiking buddy from Kaslo would soon be visiting and I’d made extravagant promises about wondrous sights here. Could I still deliver? “Lots is still open,” a bright young gal at the Information Centre assured us, “but if I haven’t marked it on your map, you cannot go there”. Off we went under mainly blue skies on Tuesday, September 5^th in hopes of seeing all of these popular sites. Smoke drifted in and around as the day progressed, but stayed high.

Dawson Falls lived up to its “Little Niagara” nickname. Every cataract, dip, and rise of the oft-hidden rocky drop showed itself through the low but rushing water of the Murtle River. A rainbow played hide and seek. Now off to such a fine start, we headed to Helmcken Falls. Friend Sheila was so taken aback at the huge canyon beyond the fence, she didn’t immediately see the falls. “Wow!” she said suddenly. “That’s unbelievable,” she added as we approached the viewing platform. Here we waited our turn to get to the best spot for seeing water pouring out into space and downwards past the huge cavern it has eroded and the smaller falls below.

“Canada’s fourth largest waterfall,” I boasted as if I had created it; Sheila snapped pictures including posters that compar its drop with Niagara’s. Looking at the board showing the winter cone, we tried to judge whether it reached a third or half way up the chasm.

“Cafe open!” Three ducky things (mergansers?) floated in the calm water at the end of Clearwater Lake as we dined nearby. Fish jumped further away, safely out of reach as boaters are warned to stay away from the wide drop called Osprey Falls.

Speaking of fish, after a wander through the campground and across lava-laden Falls Creek, our next walk took us into Bailey’s Chute. “Look!” erupted from the goodly group of us viewing the downward rush of water and upward leaps of large salmon. “This is a sight I’ll never forget!” smiled Sheila delightedly.

Our feet were soon taking us to the mineral springs of Ray Farm. “It’s so peaceful,” we almost whispered to each other while viewing them and the remaining drooping buildings. “There’s less to see of those every year,” I commented sadly.

Reaching the always-changing Mushbowl once more, we drove across the Bailey Bridge marvelling at the power of the Murtle River once again. “Sometimes you cannot even see some of those rocks,” I said as we continued retracing our steps, “but it looks like it will be clear enough to check the view,” I added happily as we bounced around some of the sharp corners on our way to the top of Green Mountain. After startling Sheila with Roland Neave’s photo of the original fire lookout (an anchored ladder), we were glad to be climbing the sturdy steps of today’s structure. With labelled photos matching the hazy views, I pointed out places for “real” hiking.

Having saved Spahats Falls for our final stop, I was unprepared for the thin column of water falling straight down. “Look at the arrowhead shapes within,” said Sheila, always observant. “But the immensity and layering of this canyon is almost making me dizzy!” she added taking photos of the varied designs and colours.

Even though we’d missed possible forays into Sticta Falls and Norman’s Eddy, we barely made the grocery store before closing time. Chef John had given us a list of essentials and, with them, had supper on the table within minutes of our saluting the day with sips of chilled beverages.

—

It’s interesting that the urge to write Trekking Tales has returned now that the book is a Done Deal!

 

Coming Along Nicely!

Well, my memoir, Gentle Journey is getting closer to becoming an e-book and after that I will also have it printed. Progress is slow but steady. After all these years of enjoying the writing of it, now it is formatting that takes time, even with professional help.

I am going to add my blog address to the book, in case anyone wants to contact me. Never did get round to having a website. I tried adding a copy of the cover, but no luck!

 

End of Trekking Tales

Well, I think that this is their end! Certainly no more for a while – or perhaps forever. What a delight it has been writing and sharing my/our adventures and outings. Thanks so much for positive comments along the way, all helping to keep me going.

 

Trekking Tale #240 – The Last One

 

Adventuring has been part of my life since childhood. However, other than letters, writing about those unending experiences was almost non-existent. Old Journals and Trip Books stop after a few days; obviously too much fun stuff was happening, leaving too little time to describe the events.

All this changed when my husband John and I moved to Clearwater and met Pat Sabiston. How she both persuaded and inspired me to send my pen scurrying across the pages beginning in late 2007 was described in Trekking Tale #100. The computer counted the words: “Five hundred is enough, Kay,” I was initially told. Then, “Well, I guess 600 is okay.” Thank goodness for the extra space; even so, that limit spared you, my faithful readers, from many so-called witticisms that had to be cut out.

My only other instruction was: “When you see a Trekking Tale published in the Clearwater Times, submit another.” Until recently I always had a few ready to go – sometimes still in my head, some in handwritten notes, and more on the computer waiting for me to press “Send”. While I loved describing all my local finds and outings, I was also encouraged/allowed to share narratives of the far-flung travels John and I, with various friends and family members, have had over the past eight years. Since we haven’t quite finished gadding yet, perhaps I’ll submit the odd something from here on. Time will tell. But I don’t want to start repeating myself.

Locally, I haven’t been everywhere and done everything, but there are limitations to my excursions nowadays. Rainbows, rivers and lakes, birds, animals by the roadside, tracks, trees, hikes, skis, snowshoes, flights and boat rides – all these and much more have been featured. Because each place, Helmcken Falls being the perfect example, is different each time, it’s tempting to write about them constantly, but there’s a limit.

I am not going to stop writing. For as long as I’ve been producing Trekking Tales, I’ve been working on a memoir, also started with Pat’s prodding. “I want to publish it before I’m 75,” I told one friend when I still had a couple of years to go. Well, that birthday is long gone. It’s time to focus on that. I also belong to three Writers’ Groups including the local Writers’ Circle. I’ve had stories, mainly of my experiences, and doggerel (?) poetry published in several volumes of Collected Works produced by each of the above.

But this is my final Trekking Tale.

I truly appreciate all who have encouraged me in every way. I am eternally gratefully to Pat who got me started, but I am especially touched that the local paper, Clearwater’s North Thompson Times, and its friendly staff, gave me space, and room to grow as a writer. Thank you… 🙂

 

My focus now is on my memoir. Even though I am putting many hours into it, and enjoying every step of the way, I am only half way through this draft. My editor Erin is wonderfully helpful in bringing forth old memories,  asking questions that have me digging deeper.  I make no predictions for its publication date!

Second to Last Trekking Tale

The photo was fighting me, but I think I won! It may not show up in emails, so to see the actual blog, go to the website shown in the email or krknox.wordpress.com

Mesmerized by Objects that Float

Floating Saucers

On a typically blah November morning, my light hikers took me to Brookfield Creek. It hadn’t snowed yet, but this was a frosty morning. Peering carefully over at the rushing water, I stared down at a large collection of snow-white, flat-bottomed, saucer-sized circles pushed up against the steep rocky wall. More kept coming. I checked the upstream size of the bridge. Nothing, so somehow, these fragile floaters formed under the narrow bridge. Perhaps a piece of floating ice from upstream rubbed against the creek’s frigid edge beneath the bridge and gathered frost. As the water moved it forward, the scrap rotated to form the perfect circlets I was viewing. Continued rubbing fractured the outside edge, pushing shards of ice up to make the raised sides before the current pushed them aside. There they floated.

After looping nearby Wylie Creek, some bush-whacking enjoyed, I was back at the bridge. Temperature now rising, my saucers were obviously softening. “No point in driving you round to see them,” I mentioned to my husband John when I was finally home again. “They will be melted by now.”

Two or three weeks later, those “made-for-walking” shoes had me back at Brookfield Bridge. Instead of floating saucers, foamy bubbles were collecting in the same spot. Now, the ones close to the rocky cliff were circling upstream. At the Kettle, we have watched huge logs do the same thing.

Visitors to Dutch Lake

“Got time for a walk by Dutch Lake today?” asked a friend.

“I’m free,” I responded, jumping the chance.

As we set off through the campground of Dutch Lake Resort, she told me of her happiness in learning that four daughters were gathering in Kamloops where she would be meeting them on her birthday. Starting to respond as we continued walking toward the trail head, I was distracted by movement on the calm lake. “Look at the two swans out there!”

Walking along the trail just above the lake, fall colours reflected despite the dull sky, we watched the swans swim towards us as we continued chatting. With one bigger than the other, they were obviously a pair, mated for life as they do. Eventually they did a gradual about face, probably hearing our voices more distinctly. They were not in the least bit anxious as they floated away towards the large island. Since we did not see them again, we assumed they were taking the full tour round behind it. Like the floating saucers on the fast-flowing creek, they would not remain in our pretty lake for long but we felt privileged to have seen them.

 

Over and out, for now.