Yesterday was supposed to be a day that involved a motorcycle ride to Whistler to intercept a rag-tag band of riders travelling south for a week’s camping. But things went a bit sideways on both ends. One of their group suffered a significant malfunction and they didn’t get underway from their first night’s destination until late in the day, owing to repairs.
From our end, we were held back by a forest fire along the Sea to Sky highway shutting down the northbound lanes for a few hours. They eventually rerouted traffic over to the southbound side of the divided highway and reduced traffic to one lane each direction, but on a Sunday that meant a lot of traffic backed up both directions and that didn’t make for a fun ride when we didn’t know if they’d even make it down.
Turned out that they didn’t, and only travelled as far as Pemberton.
On top of that, our truck’s alternator crapped out and left Kirk with his head under the hood for a few hours fixing it.
So I was left at loose ends and entertained myself by destroying the centre part of our centre garden area. I’d moved a couple of plants around recently and it had left some open space. I’d also been repeatedly attacking the wood sorrel, trying to obliterate it from the same area. Good grief that stuff gets everywhere! As I attacked the garden I started to think about the sound of water. We used to have a waterfall and pond at our old condo and I missed the sound. When we moved here we’d opted to not create a water feature on the basis of two gigantic hemlock trees that had a nasty habit of dropping thousands of tiny cones that made the yard look as if an army of giant rabbits had been by to shit all over the lawn every time the wind blew. Between that and the mess the maple tree leaves every fall, it just seemed too big an ask to maintain.
But then the hemlock trees were diagnosed as dying and hazardous, and they had to come out. Suddenly the yard was brighter and the rabbit army had abandoned us.
A water feature suddenly seemed back on the table. But no pond, and no fish. There are too many raccoons around and I don’t feel like battling those little trash pandas for the lives of my fish again. It was hard enough were we could, relatively easily, install a small electric fence, that just wouldn’t work here.
So today, after a slow start and not knowing where the group of riders were or what their plans were, we threw some gloves into the truck and headed off for the upper Squamish Valley to collect some rock for said future water feature. I can’t stomach the thought of paying for rock when there is so much of it falling off the sides of cliffs along the edges of logging roads not too far away. And I knew of one or two really great spots, up near where one of the hatcheries I work with collects their brood and releases their juvenile salmon for enhancement purposes.
Off we went and, as we breezed through Lion’s Bay we saw a group of riders across the barrier headed the opposite direction….one, two…I wonder…three….oh…hey, a couple more… and that one at the end…..we both said…”That’s Hans!”
As luck would have it we were close to one of the last places we could have possibly crossed the highway and done a u-turn, so we did, and caught up to the riders fairly quickly. As we tailed them I took a photo and sent a message to his facebook page…”We are stalking you….”
We trailed them back into West Vancouver, down an offramp, over the highway, and back towards the ferry terminal. As they pulled into the lane to head to the ferry gates we pulled up beside the last rider and I stuck my face to the window and waved….he turned his head at this annoying truck that had slowed beside him…and then his face split into a huge smile as he recognized me, and he waved.
We zipped ahead and into Horseshoe Bay, parked, and walked back to the terminal. I went up to the booth and explained the circumstances and asked if we might be let in to say hello to the riders. The woman gave us visitor passes and waved us through. We walked up to the top ramp where the vehicles bound for Gibson’s wait and asked the attendant which lanes the bikes would be put into – 83. So we waited at the front end of lane 83 until the riders came up the ramp and parked. Hans was last and we barely had time for a hug and a hello and a few words before they were off and loading, but it was worth the backtrack 🙂
And then we were off to Squamish again.
To hunt rocks and domesticate them.
We turned off at Paradise Valley Road, and then hooked off to Squamish Valley Road. We left the pavement and cell service and continued up the logging road for another 15 kms until we reached Shovelnose Creek, a spot I enjoy “lawnchair fishing” at, with one of the Tenderfoot crew. The river blew the road out a couple of years ago and the road had to be rebuilt along a new path. With logging roadbuilding comes a lot of excess riprap rock, most of which is sourced from quarries in the area. This whole area is scoured rock faces that shear away and leave piles of rubble along the sides of the road. All one needs is a safe place to stop, out of the way and visible to oncoming logging trucks and river rafting buses so as to not be flattened, and one can pick and choose from a variety of sizes, shapes, and types of rock. Basalt, granite, blends, boulders, and so on.
We pulled and rolled and tossed and wiped off rocks and filled the back of the truck with probably more than we need. Then we stopped at a few more spots on the way back and picked more.
The area up here is just spectacular.
We really hadn’t thought things through well when we came up. If we’d been thinking when we left home, we would have brought a lunch to sit at the side of the river and enjoy. But we didn’t, so we headed back out of the area hungry and tired, with a few stops along the way to admire the scenery.
The forest through here, beyond the dust thrown by the logging trucks, is fresh and verdant. It feels soft and ethereal, as if faeries have just ducked under the fern beds, out of the dappled light, to wait for us to continue on our way so they may return to their play.
We take a short side trip up to the Ashlu River, where the river must have been in a foul mood at some point over the past fall/winter/spring, because a shiny new bridge sits over a branch of the river. There used to be a gate, there is no gate now. And there are piles of fresh boulders and riprap placed to protect the road and the bridge. The rivers up this way are powerful and if they choose a new path there isn’t much humans can do about it.
Back on the road, with out heavily laden truck looking like a lowrider in the back end, we pass an old truck slowly being absorbed by the forest’s edge. I have always wanted a photo of it, but we’re always either going into the area at a horribly early time, or coming out with fish in the truck and heading back to the hatchery. Fish always come first. But today we just had rocks…and the rocks will not be bothered by a brief stop at the side of the road so that I can take a not-so-great photo of a decaying old truck.
After that, our bellies were grumbling at us so we found a place in Squamish for a bite to eat and a cold beverage to wash the dust and grit out of our teeth before making the drive back down to North Vancouver in a not-so-fuel-efficient manner with a few thousand pounds of rock weighing the back end down.
It’s almost too bad it wasn’t snowing, we’d have had fabulous traction 🙂
And now that we are home…neither one of us had the energy to get the rock out of the back of the truck and into the garden. It was probably a mistake because I bet we are both going to be sore tomorrow.
Oh well, cross that bridge when we get to it.
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