We were to meet Margy, who blogs at Powell River Books Blog, at Steveston, whatever the weather. When we set out, it was pouring; the highway was treacherous, with deep puddles on the curves, but by the time we got to Richmond, the rain was just a drizzle, though the wind was chilly.
The coffee shop where we met was crowded. The people all looked like locals, casually dressed, relaxing, waiting out the rain like us. We drank coffee and refills, chatting as if we'd known each other for a long time. Which we had, via our respective blogs.
Margy told us a wonderful story about collecting water (foul-smelling!) from the bottom of Powell Lake, untouched since before the last ice age. She has blogged about it, here, but missed out the best part. Which I'm not going to tell; it may be in her husband's book, "Up the Strait". Or not; in which case, I hope Margy blogs about it. I haven't read this book, yet. I have another, "Up the Lake", on Kindle, and I'll be ordering more.
The rain eased off and the cafe emptied. We bundled up and ventured out into a fine sprinkle of rain, and went shopping; the marine store down a block, and a tea and gift shop half a block further. Then, the rain having almost stopped, we wandered down to the pier to look at the boats. There was a juvenile swan right by the wharf, begging for food; an unusual sight. And further down, a loon swam placidly until I brought out the camera. Then he dived, and came up, first in the almost-black shade of a boat, then far out in the water.
|Just a hint of colour in a grey scene on a grey day. The loon is underwater.|
Margy's a comfortable sort, easy to be with, patient as we dawdled buying teas, cheerful even when the rain started up again and the wind was bitter. I was the one who finally wimped out; I'd forgotten to bring gloves and my fingers had gone numb. We completed the circuit back to the cars, and said our goodbyes, hopefully not for long.
|Detail of the harbour. The loon is in the dark shadow of the black boat.|
On the way home, it was raining so hard that twice I missed my turn, not seeing the street signs. So we ended up coming home via Westminster Highway, narrow and slow, but mercifully free of pools and flying spray.
A Skywatch post.