Following our noses. Northward, mostly.

We're home, we've unpacked, we've even cooled down after the hot drive. And we're already talking about going back. Soon.

Now where was I? Here: Day One, Leg Two: the Sunshine Coast.

The Sechelt Peninsula is known locally as the Sunshine Coast for a reason; it has the mildest climate to be found in BC., with 14 more days of sunshine than flowery Victoria, the merest sprinkling of snow in the winter (if that), and Vancouver Island on the west serving as a windbreak. At the Langdale ferry terminal, a palm tree grows unprotected, facing the sea.

The peninsula stretches from Gibson's Landing at the southern tip, through a narrow neck at Sechelt townsite, to Earl's Cove in the north, where another ferry (free, outbound) takes us to the Powell River area. Local industry majors in tourism, fishing, and logging. The Sechelt native band quarries gravel. And all along the road we see little signs, with arrows and the legend(s), "Artist - artisan -potter - carver ---"

We followed some of these arrows, with varying results.

Just south of Sechelt, we turned at the sign of the "Art Barn". At the end of a long drive down a winding gravel road, we found the driveway. And this closed door, leaning against a tree.

Behind the tree, in an open field, a battered table and two red chairs invited us to stop.

Imagine tea and scones, with plenty of fresh raspberries, served "al fresco".

Frayed silver fabric, flaking paint.

The Art Barn.

Invitation to rest.

The artist was obviously planning to return; the closure was temporary. We checked out the work displayed in the field and around the walls.

Detail of structure in yard: "Mardi", upside-down.

Two motifs predominated: rusty metal, cut and shaped into panels, possibly to be used as doors or gates. (One is attached to the wall at the top of the stairs.) And natural objects, painted silver. Even the bare tree in the yard was half silvered.

Silvered antlers, with cryptic markings on the skull.

Back on the road, some little ways on, we passed this mysterious carving.

Like a totem pole on acid.

Detail.

There was no sign identifying the work or the artist. It is what it is.

The town of Sechelt; it was too hot already, and we took ourselves to the beach.

Another mysterious construction, this one not intended as art.

Sechelt rockweed. Smaller than ours, at home.

Steep, pebbly beach. The bottom cuts off sharply; no wading here.

Onward, and upward! Or, at least, Northward.

The highway skirts a small, green and blue lake, possibly known as Trout Lake. We stopped to look.

Trout Lake, with dry tree.

Water lilies stand on tall stems.

Assorted water plants.

Alien wildlife.

And native wildlife.

The obelisk posture is a handstand-like position that some dragonflies and damselflies assume to prevent overheating on sunny days. The abdomen is raised until its tip points at the sun, minimizing the surface area exposed to solar radiation. When the sun is close to directly overhead, the vertical alignment of the insect's body suggests an obelisk.

...

When the sun is low but the air is still hot, dragonflies may adopt a modified obelisk position with the abdomen only partially raised (From Wikipedia.)

These blue dragonflies were hunting along the shoreline. Out over the water lilies, large black and white dragonflies darted back and forth, too quickly to photograph, too quickly even to see properly.

The lake looked cool, but the sun was still hot. We couldn't stand on our heads like dragonflies, so on we went.

Next: Stonewater at Garden Bay.

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Goodbye to Campbell River

We're packed and ready for the trip home. We've gone down the stairs to "our" beach for the last time, and watched our last sunset.

Sunset over Willow Point

And it's been the best vacation ever. We'll be back.

I doubt that I'll have access to the web for a couple of days. Blogging will resume, with a vengeance, (or at least, with bazillions of bugs, birds, beasties and beautiful views) as soon as I've unpacked at home.

Cya!

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Sorry!

I just found out that Gmail has been sending my blog comments to spam. I don't know how long this has been going on, or how many have been irrevocably deleted. I'm sorry if I missed any of your comments because of this.

:(

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Big name for a small snake

At Oyster Bay, just south of Campbell River, we found a small rest area/nature park, with a variety of habitats to explore. Once a log booming area, it is now protected habitat for birds and rare native dune and marsh plants. A couple of locals we met on a trail told us that the small bay is crowded with thousands of shore birds in winter; now, on a hot summer's evening, we saw only the purple martins nesting on poles, an eagle, a flock of lbbs, and a lone Least sandpiper (photos later).

On the shore, we met this tiny snake:

Western Terrestial (Wandering) Garter snake, Thamnophis elegans vagrans.

I had never seen one of these before, only the larger Common garter snake. This one was barely a foot long, and very slender. We saw it first, weaving its way along the old seaweeds at the high tide line; when it noticed us, it headed up the beach, going fast. We followed, and after a bit, it stopped running, coiled up, and threatened us. Not much of a threat, considering that it would fit in one of my hands.

However, these garter snakes do strike and have been known to bite. I'm glad I didn't try to pick it up.

Look at that red tongue!

The snake is named "terrestial", but is mainly aquatic, rarely found far from water, salt or fresh. And "Wandering" refers to its wide range; most of the western North American continent, sea level to high in the mountains.

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Everyone's quiet except the gulls.

I give up. At least, I hereby abandon all attempts at system and order in my vacation blogging.

We are settled down in a motel near Campbell River; nothing fancy, but it suits us. It's shady and quiet, the view is astounding, the neighbours friendly. There's a miniature dog and big spiders and moths (outside). There's plenty to see and do in easy driving range.

We've decided to stay put until Wednesday, then (probably) head home the long way 'round. Every day, we've been going someplace, taking oodles of photos, coming back to the motel, recharging batteries and downloading photos. Then back out again, to take more gazillions of photos. "Home" for supper, and out to see the sunset. Another eleventy-umpteen photos.

I'm barely finding time to discard the fuzzies.

So, until we're back in Delta, I'll post highlights according to my whim of the moment.

The motel is on a cliff looking over Georgia Strait. A staircase (104 steps) leads down to the beach below. These are some of the birds from that beach.

Bonaparte's gull, Larus philadelphia. Black head, black bill is the adult breeding plumage.

"Boney's," again. It rides high in the water, with the wingtips crossed over the tail.

Great blue heron. Two stand on rocks just offshore all day long.

Eagle pretending he's a cormorant.

Gulls feeding in shallow water.

Check out the catch!

The gull in the water came up with a mouthful of starfish. Seconds later, the gull on the rock broke out in loud and bitter recriminations: "That starfish came off my rock! It's mine! You dirty thief!"*

And the "dirty thief" flew happily away. With his stolen lunch.

*(Free translation from the gullish.)

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Free-style vacation; Leg One

This is the first vacation we've taken where we're playing it entirely by ear. No pre-booked rentals, no-one waiting for us at the end, no real end point, beyond "When we feel like going home." We've been taking side roads, following local artist signs, stopping where the view was good, or we saw lichens on the rocks or an intriguing place name. We've searched the outside walls of motels for bugs, and wandered in the bush. I'm still hoping for a bear; we found their droppings, twice.

And we've got hundreds and hundreds of photos. I've decided to blog them in chronological order, so as to keep my sanity.

So here's Leg #1, the ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale (Gibson's Landing). Rather tame, so far ...

Horseshoe Bay - Langdale crossing

Harbour entrance, with marker

The weather has been uniformly beautiful; blue skies, calm waters, just a touch of a breeze.

Queen of the somewhere or other. The ferry to Nanaimo, I think.

Hard-working tugs. The nearer one is hauling a big log boom.

On the vehicle deck: he's got a license, but not to drive.

Coil of ropes and cable

We make our own path.

Water patterns

The shore, sliding by, with coast mountains behind.

Next: the Sunshine Coast.

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Postcard from Vancouver Island

Just checking in. We're on the edge of Campbell River, on Vancouver Island. I've got an internet connection, finally and probably, for the next three days. Full reports, coming up.

For now, an anemone garden under the floats of the Powell River wharf.


I'll be back anon.

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Colours at the Quay

Wednesday Wordless (almost)

Palest pink:

Mallow

Purple:

Drooping Butterfly bush

Pink and cream:

Pink yarrow, with fly

Green, very green:

White waterlily

Yellow:

Water flowers on stalks.

Black and red:

Unidentified tree berries

White (ish):

Neptune watching ...

Orange, yellow, green and blue:

Carp pond, with reflections

And just plain brown:

Singing his heart out

And we're packed and ready to go, heading North, following our noses. I'll post whenever I find a network.

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Huntress

Looking for slugs in my garden, I found this big spider, instead:

She's probably a Philodromus, a running crab spider of some sort. It's hard to be sure, because a defining characteristic is that the second pair of legs is longer than the first. And all she's got in second place is a broken stub.

One advantage of having eight, I guess; she's doing fine with two gone.

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Everything's Skookum

Just another perfect summer afternoon on Boundary Bay ...

Imagine

Honeysuckle

It's cool in the shade.

Lonely waterski

Lonely boat. Or at least, alone for the moment.

Hammerhead shark. Good with children.

Incoming tide.

King Canute.

Afloat

Skookum

Chase. The rubber dinghy's catching up.

Captain Intrepid in a kid's plastic kayak.

Back to shore: super-orange nasturtiums.

Lily says hello.

Glowing lily.

A Skywatch post

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Good-looking, well-dressed single male

... with hair on his pedipalps, looking for a date ...

Philodromus dispar, male

... or a good meal, whichever comes first. He can have all of my mosquitoes. In fact, I hope he does.

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Dropping in, dropping out

A big brown moth dropped in to say hello:

Large yellow underwing, Noctua pronuba

Double reflection, on the two panes of the window.

For the next week or so, posting will be light and possibly irregular. We're busy packing this weekend, and are going on vacation up the Sunshine Coast and over to Vancouver Island next week. We have no fixed schedule or route, and will come back when we get tired of travelling or run out of money, whichever comes first. If we have an internet connection where we end up each day, I'll check in.

We're carrying four cameras, the new laptop, piles of batteries and battery chargers, tangles of wires, and my trusty mouse. It's the first time I've really travelled with so much machinery; my usual packing includes only clothes, a bit of food, and a sleeping bag. I guess I'm getting "civilized". Or something.

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Yes, I've got my head on backwards.

Is there a problem with that?

Swivel-top gull, White Rock beach.

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A small patch of wet sand

Kids on the White Rock beach:

Castle builders

Joint project

Get that ball!

Bucket of crabs

Not so sure of the concept

After all, look at that face! (Cool eyebrows, though.)

Learning to pop rockweed. Better than bubble wrap!

Hairy rope.

Laurie is a kid, too, some days.

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Roadside attraction

On the road to Crescent Beach today, we passed this little deer, grazing just a few feet from busy traffic. When we stopped and Laurie got out, it kept on eating, no more worried than a cow would be.

This is the skinniest deer I have ever seen. Look at the shoulder blades and the sharp haunches. We can count the ribs. I wonder why. There's plenty to eat; around the corner, beside the river, the grass grows belly-deep, the hills above are bushy and green.


By the large ears and the black-tipped tail, I would think it's a young mule deer. I could very well be wrong.

I hope the summer is kind to it, and puts some meat on those ribs.

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Roses after their bath

In my daughter's garden, Strathcona:

They were beautifully perfumed, too.

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Underwater kitten and wandering anemones

When is a crab like a kitten?

When you tempt it with a chopstick.

Let me explain: every day I tend to my salt-water beasties (now moved from the dishpan to a regular aquarium). I clean the filter, settle any seaweed that has come loose, and check to see if all the visible critters are alive. I keep a chopstick handy; with this, I gently tap any open clam or mussel; if they close, they're alive.

Yesterday, one of the clams had moved over beside a sand dollar shell tipped up against a rock. When the chopstick passed the gap underneath, something slashed out at it, much as a kitten under the bed attacks your toes. I waved the stick again; same result.

It turned out to be a crab. After a few attempts at the chopstick from shelter, he came out and tangled with it in the open, chasing it here and there, grabbing and pinching.

Laying in wait.

Later on, I watched him wander about, eating. He uses those pincers much like a knife and fork, and surprisingly quickly, picking up tiny morsels of food and bringing them to his mouth. The "jaws" chomp away, and the pincers go back for the next bite.

The two white strips (maxillipeds) at the mouth move like sideways lips and teeth.

It was interesting to watch him find a meal. For the appetizer, he scraped at the back of the clam, picking up invisible (to me) specks and eating them. (The clam ignored him, except when he got too near the lip. Then it closed down for a few seconds.)

Then the main dish: he moved out into the open and grabbed a piece of dead barnacle. This he broke in little pieces, chewed on them, and spit out the crumbs.

Occasionally, the current brought a fragment of seaweed past his face. He slashed out at these, the same way he had attacked my chopstick. When he caught one, he held it up to his mouth and chewed away.

Picking some salad greens.

And for dessert: more salad. He went to the back of the aquarium, where a forest of sea lettuce waved above him, raised the pincers and picked himself a few good-sized pieces. Yum!

On to the wandering anemones.

I had always thought that anemones were sessile: once they had settled onto a rock, they were there for life. I was mistaken.

Several of my anemones were anchored on pieces of kelp. With time, the kelp started to rot away.

Small brownish anemones on kelp. The edges are disintegrating.

Plumed anemone on disappearing kelp.

When the kelp was almost gone, the anemones moved to anything solid in the vicinity; the glass, a mussel, a rock. And moved again, and again. Almost every morning I find them in a different location.

White plumed anemone now on stone. Brown one on barnacle shell.

Another on a white stone.

And a baby white on another stone. Oregon pillbug (5 mm.) behind it, for size comparison.

Bonus: a small hermit crab, in an Amphissa shell.

Grainy-hand hermit, Pagurus granosimanus.

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Lazy afternoon, with busy dragonflies

In midafternoon, on a summer day, the birds and beasts lie low. Walking through the bush, we hear an occasional sleepy peep from deep in a shrub; maybe a squirrel chitters at us from far above. On the shore, even the gulls are napping.

We found benches with a hint of shade along the Maplewood Flats path, and sat to watch the birds off-shore.

Burrard Inlet and Maplewood tide flats.

Far across the water, a raft of Canada geese.

On a sandbar, a couple of families of cormorants. Caspian terns beside the gulls, and a pair of unidentifiable ducks.

Swallow nest boxes. "Keep Out!" the sign says. That means us, not the swallows.

We saw no bears. But a big doe crossed our path and bounded off into the water meadow.

We ended up sitting on a log on the beach. A pair of dragonflies teased us by circling right in front of our noses. We tried to time them and get a photo; they varied their speed and route, but made sure it always included buzzing us. They kept it up until we'd taken dozens of useless photos and put the cameras away.

Here's our best shot:

Nasty critters, they are.

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Limping and crabby in Maplewood

When we lived in Burnaby, some years ago, one of our favourite walks was across the water, in Maplewood Flats Wildlife Conservation Area. Last week, we paid a return visit. It's been a while.

"The Maplewood Conservation Area in North Vancouver is the last undeveloped waterfront wetland on the north shore of Burrard Inlet. For over twenty years, public interest groups lobbied to preserve this prime site as a wildlife sanctuary. In 1992 the ... Vancouver Port Authority ... lease(d) the VPA area for 49 years to Environment Canada to permit the area to be managed as a wildlife conservation area.

...

Dedicated to the protection of birds and their habitats on the principle that all wildlife must benefit, the WBT (Wild Bird Trust) met the challenge of turning a former degraded industrial site into a haven for wildlife. ... With funding secured by WBT from government, industry and the public, an extensive freshwater marsh and pond system with inter-connecting creeks was excavated in the 30-year-old filled area in the western part of the site. ... The system was dedicated in the spring of 1997 and is now a breeding habitat for Marsh Wrens, Common Yellowthroats, Wood Ducks, American Coots, Blue-winged Teal, Red-winged Blackbirds, Pied-billed Grebes, Soras and Virginia Rails." (From Wild Bird Trust of British Columbia. Also see Wingspan, their newsletter.)

The WBT doesn't toot its own horn loudly enough; the checklist of birds seen here runs to over 230 species, from ospreys and red-shouldered hawks to bushtits. Here's last month's sightings list, posted on the wall of the office. I don't know why they don't include the shoreline critters. This is where I saw my first Melibe leonina (the only live one I have ever seen).

Here's the site, as it appears on Google, with my labels:

On the right are the tide and mud flats, the largest in the Burrard Inlet. The Conservation Area is on the right: it covers 75 acres. I have marked out the pathways in yellow. (I think I missed one.) The spiral is a hill with a viewpoint. Everything else is flat, flat, flat.

Looking inland, up the Burrard Inlet

I hurt my knee last week, and was barely able to limp about, so we only made it around the smaller square in the centre, over the bridge and back. This is the dry part of the area; the wetlands (birds, frogs, dragonflies, deer, and more) cover the western section.

Path, overlooking the Inlet and the mud flats.

We cut through, first, straight to the shore:

Rocks and seaweed.

An old barge channel divides the area, cutting straight from the highway to the shore: green water, with ducklings. At its mouth, under the bridge, where the brackish water meets the ocean, starfish congregate, feeding on mussels.

Old barge channel

Purple starfish.

And just a few steps beyond this, the crabs were swarming.

Shore crabs, Hemigrapsus sp.

There were hundreds of them, as much on land as in the water, scrambling over rocks and over each other. Occasionally, as we watched, a pair would face off, clacking pincers, but mostly they just wandered about. They didn't seem to notice us, except to avoid being stepped on. (They needn't have worried; we were just as careful.)

Crab and Laurie's new boat shoe.

They came in a variety of colours and patterns, mostly greens and off-white, with an occasional grey. I saw one in a deep burgundy red.

White and green crab.

I have never seen behaviour like this before, nor even more than a crab or two on this section of beach. Is it mating season for shore crabs? I didn't see any males carrying females, though. Maybe egg-laying time? Or just a crab convention?

A few Maplewood birds, next post.

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Against a blue sky

Robin and lichen, Maplewood Flats Wildlife Conservation Area:

"Cheer-up!" he said. Good advice.

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Water from the Aral Sea

We were at Maplewood Flats, on the North Shore (more about this later), and I took a photo of this ship near the Chevron Oil Refinery on the far shore. I didn't see the water spraying out of the stern until I blew up the photo at home.

Is she unloading ballast water preparatory to loading fuel? (This article includes a photo of a similar ballast discharge pipe in operation.)

Whether it's that, or some other reason for spewing water (wastewater?) into the Burrard Inlet, it worries me.

Cruise ships, large tankers, and bulk cargo carriers use a tremendous amount of ballast water, which is often taken on in the coastal waters in one region after ships discharge wastewater or unload cargo, and discharged at the next port of call, wherever more cargo is loaded. Ballast water discharge typically contains a variety of biological materials, including plants, animals, viruses, and bacteria. These materials often include non-native, nuisance, exotic species that can cause extensive ecological and economic damage to aquatic ecosystems, ... (Wikipedia)

Some of those "biological materials" are listed in a NOAA page:

...minute jellyfish, larval mussels and barnacles, marine worms, tiny shrimp-like copepods and juvenile fish. These creatures share their confines with an assortment of single-celled plants and even smaller bacteria and viruses.

The Japanese mud snail, Batillaria attramentaria, that covers the mud flats in Boundary Bay, probably arrived here in ballast water.

An article in E-Fauna BC, Exotic Introductions into BC Marine Waters: Major Trends has a table of 31 introduced marine plants and animals, not including the Japanese mud snail. Puget Sound Partnership adds three species of Tunicates.

The ship is the Aral Sea, under a Singapore flag. More about her, here. Worrisome.

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The rough with the smooth.

Streets of Strathcona, 2009: The Textures.

(I couldn't decide which ones to omit, so this post is image-heavy.)

A rough-leaved fern in a shady garden

Daisies and slats

Asphalt shingles and old brick

Stucco and balcony

Wet T-shirt

Bubble wrap used as window covering

White hollyhock

Pottery in the making. The shop of Gailan Ngan.

Compost bin

String

Lychnis on fence

Tangle of wires

Pale yellow walls

Back alley door

White hydrangea

Diamond in the rough. (Stucco wall.)

The smooth skin of pears

And the bloom on a green fig.

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Hairy scales and three-pronged tails

My daughter's Strathcona house, where we were housesitting last week, is a heritage home, dating from just before the turn of the 20th century. It's been renovated, some twenty years ago, but still retains its warped plank floors, intriguing angles, and vintage bathroom fixtures. And it's had one hundred and some years to collect silverfish.

I've been seeing the odd one scooting back under the old bathtub or under the washing machine in the basement since the first time we house-sat, three years ago. I've tried to catch one, but they are usually too quick for me; slippery, slithery, shiny fish-like insects that go darting undercover when I open a door. By the time I've taken the first step, they are gone.

But this visit, a big one ventured too far towards the middle of the room. And I had a bug-catching jar in my hand. Got her!

Here she is:

Tinned silverfish, Lepisma saccharina.

I have a mixed reaction to silverfish: I know they are pests - they eat books; that's enough for me - and knowing that there's something watching me from underneath the baseboards gives me the shivers; but they are also oddly attractive, as sinuous and glittery as a minnow. When I step on one, all that remains under my shoe is a fine, silver powder; fairy dust.

They are small, wingless insects, about 1 to 2 cm. long, not counting the antennae and tail appendages, which add another two body lengths. The body is tapered, covered with shiny scales, and flat enough to slither between the pages of a book. Their most distinguishing feature is the tail arrangement; a three-pronged fork of antennae-like appendages; this earns them the name of "bristletails".

They do not bite. Nor do they sting. They do not carry human diseases. They could be considered harmless, except for that habit of eating books. And ...

glue, wallpaper paste, bookbindings, paper, photographs, starch in clothing, cotton, linen, rayon fabrics, wheat flour, cereals, dried meats, leather and even dead insects. (Pest Control Canada)

They're welcome to the dead insects.

Look at the head end:

Needs a shave.

I didn't know this about them; they're hairy. Between the fish scales, blond hairs stick straight out. Even the antennae and tail filaments are hairy. And they wear a beard.

The head and body look, close-up, like hammered aluminum. In spots, like on the upper back here, the scales have rubbed off, showing a brownish exoskeleton. The underparts are pale, like the almost-transparent legs. Young silverfish are pale, too, and they don't develop the silver scales until the third molt.

This gal was very active, and I had to put her in the fridge, then photograph her with her tin on top of an ice pack. I watched her wake up, gradually, under the lights. Without otherwise moving, she raised one antenna and slowly examined the area, as far as it would reach. Then the other. Turned herself around and repeated the testing. That done, she started running again. Photo session ended.

And the tail end:

Hairy appendages.

I found a helpful photo, with anatomical labels. The centre "tail" is simply called the "medial caudal filament": the "centre tail hair", in ordinary English. The two side ones are cerci, organs all insects have, but which are usually much smaller. They may be used as sensory organs. The female silverfish detects the male's sperm capsule with them, during the mating ritual. (Wikipedia) The short appendage in the centre is the ovipositor; this is a female.

She can live up to four years and lay over 100 eggs in that time. Not in my house, though.

Useful link: how to distinguish silverfish from firebrats, here. (Scroll down.) Basically, if it's living in your cold and damp basement, it's a silverfish. If it's in the furnace, it's a firebrat.

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Pink smoke

We're back from a week house-sitting in Strathcona. As usual, we did too much, walked too far, packed (twice) and unpacked (twice) too much, and took too many photos. And tonight I'm too tired to think; I'll have to let Wikipedia do the talking.

Here's a smoke tree, in one of the almost-vertical Strathcona gardens:

Flowers and fruits (a single-seeded drupe).

And I'm off to bed before I swallow the screen with one of my yawns. 'night, all!

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Long, long wait

Outside Benny's Market, Strathcona:

"I hate it when she takes me shopping."

"Is she coming out now?"

"What's she doing there?"

"Come on, come on! I'm waiting!"

"She's taking too long!"

"She's never coming out! She's abandoned me! Oh, woe, woe, woe!"

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Housesitting perks.

House sparrow, Strathcona:

Sunning on a wire.

Hungry youngsters in the alley.

On a tiled roof; these gaps are often filled with nests, old and new.

And a bonus; a hungry young crow.

"Feed me, mommy!"

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Accidental moth

Coming home hot, footsore, and hungry after an afternoon downtown, I spotted this tiny weed in the neighbour's garden. I had to stop and take a quick photo.

Unidentified flower.

It wasn't until much later, reviewing the day's photos after supper, that I noticed the little moth on a leaf on the upper right. The pattern was unfamiliar, so I grabbed a pill bottle and went back out. The moth was still there, on the same leaf as before. Here it is, under glass:

Unidentified moth.

It looks quite different in the evening light. Some of the yellowish areas (in full sunlight) now look grey. If you look at it from an angle, you can see that they are really silvery; they reflected the sunlight earlier in the afternoon.

The moth holds its antennae away from the body, angled up and out, like an antelope's antlers. And I love the orangey-striped legs.

Both sets of wings are neatly fringed. From the underside, both edgings are visible:

Unidentified moth belly.

I have never seen this moth before, and I couldn't find one to match, but it is similar to theAstronomer moth and other Olethreutes. I'll send it in to BugGuide tomorrow for a better ID.

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Does this make me look fat?

(Click for full size to see the facial expression.)

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Busy waterway

We found ourselves in East Vancouver, errands completed for the day, and the sun still blazing; I had a hankering for air, green space, quiet, preferably with a beach. We consulted the map. Burrard View Park was just a few blocks down the hill, New Brighton Park a short drive to the east, by the water.

Burrard View Park was a square of dry grass, with scattered trees.

Burrard View Park

But it lived up to its name; we could see the inlet.

Second Narrows Bridge*.

Burrard Inlet cuts almost straight east, starting from Point Grey at the west end of Vancouver and reaching to Port Moody, 25 kilometres inland. It is deep enough for large ocean-going ships, even close to shore. As a result, much of the shoreline is industrialized.

The inlet is constricted in two places, appropriately named the First Narrows and the Second Narrows; the space in between these widens out, making a protected port area. The Lions' Gate Bridge crosses the First Narrows.

*The bridge over the Second Narrows was originally named the Second Narrows Bridge (unimaginatively, but accurately), but in 1994 the bureaucrats in the provincial government renamed it the Ironworkers Memorial Second Narrows Crossing in honor of 19 workers who died during its construction in 1958. The thought was kind, but the name was belated and wordy; we still call it the Second Narrows Bridge.

Getting back to Burrard View Park; from there we could see North Vancouver on the far shore, and above them, the twin peaks we call the Lions. To the west, the Lions' Gate Bridge is faintly visible, as are two piles of sulphur waiting for shipment. (Vancouver exports 5 million tons of sulphur annually.)

The Lions, above all.

Sulphur piles.

Directly below us, a sailboat made its way up the inlet, between storage facilities and loading equipment. The long grey roof behind it is part of Lynnterm Terminal, which handles forest products, steel and "break bulk".

Ocean of luck, Panama. A grain carrier.

Saga Horizon, general cargo, woodchips, etc.

There was no way down to the shore from here, so we went on to New Brighton Park. It was another expanse of brown mowed grass, with even fewer trees. But there were kites:

Dragonfly kite, over the Lions.

Brown grass.

And more industry: New Brighton is almost in the shadow of the Second Narrows Bridge, separated from it by Viterra grain elevators and loading facilities, only a few metres from the playing field.

The Benefactor, Panama

Viterra, with pigeons.

Across the fields, we found a pocket-handkerchief beach.

Water-level view of Burrard Inlet.

The wind blew off the water, waves lapped at the stones. Beside a log, a man sat carving a piece of driftwood. Yesterday's dog came and went. We watched a tug hauling an empty barge downstream.


And a pair of white-winged scoters dove for fish.

Ahhh! That's what we were looking for!

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The log mystery solved

An eventful day. Too tired to finish sorting photos. (Too many good ones. Must remedy that.)

This is for Hugh; see how they get here?

Dog and branch.*

Log that looks like dog.

*The big ones were brought in by your rolling elephants. They also swim.

And I'm off to bed before I get any sillier. G'night!

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