Raspberry jam?

When I stopped at the Big Den rest area on the Gold River highway, it was raining steadily. Good thing my raingear was patched and ready to go. (The lightweight capes are easily torn, but duct tape mends them nicely. Doesn't look elegant, but I stay dry. Mostly.)

I hiked down to the water, then wandered through the forest, walking carefully to avoid stepping on mushrooms. Hundreds of soaking wet, glistening, dripping mushrooms scattered thickly among soggy fallen maple leaves and newly-green moss. The forest was loving the rain.

May as well start with the Brittlegills; they were everywhere. White stems and caps that ranged from deep red to pale brown, most spread open to form shallow bowls full of water and fallen bits of bark and fir needles.

Russula sp. It almost looks as if it were full of raspberry jam. Or cherry pie filling. The edges of mature mushrooms tend to split along the gill lines.

A brown one. Whether it's the same species or a relative, I can't tell.

A tiny one, down in the moss. Already half full of water.

Standing tall, and deeply split.

A baby, just a bud.

The gills snap with the least movement. There's another one coming up on the left; a brownish bud.

Next, a bunch of Amanitas.

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Cuando llegué al descanso en Big Den en la carretera a Gold River, llovía sin parar. Suerte que mi capa para la lluvia estaba a la mano, y remendada. ( Estas capas ligeras se rasgan facilmente, pero la cinta plateada (duct tape) siempre sirve como parches. No se ve muy elegante, pero la lluvia no me toca.)

Seguí un sendero hacia la orilla del lago, y luego di vueltas por el bosque, caminando con cuidado para no pisar los hongos. Había cientos, hongos empapados, centellantes, goteando, que brotaban entre hojas muertas de arce y musgos muy verdes ahora a causa de la humedad. El bosque estaba feliz, disfrutando la lluvia.

Empiezo con los hongos Russula; las había en todas partes. Tienen tallos blancos; los sombreros varían desde un rojo intenso a café claro, o color crema, y al madurarse se extienden hasta formar una copa poco profunda que se llena de agua y de pedacitos de corteza y hojas de abeto.

1. Parece estar lleno de confitura de frambuesa. Los bordes de los hongos maduros se empiezan a dividir, siguiendo la forma de las láminas.
2. Otro, este color café. Si es de la misma especie de Russula, o de otra del mismo género no sé.
3. Un honguito nuevo, entre el musgo.
4. Uno más grande, y rajado casi hasta en centro.
5. Un botón.
6. Las láminas son quebradizas y con cualquier movimiento se desprenden pedacitos. Hay un hongo nuevo brotando a la izquierda.

Mañana; un grupo de hongos Amanita sp.

Cottonwoods like wet flames

Stormy weather. Rain, of course. And strong winds; trees were down just south of here. I couldn't resist; I decided to go watch the waves roll in. But the car steered me out of traffic, to the west. And the mist and the rain enticed me. I ended up driving to Gold River, on the west coast.

Greys and greyish greens. Dull browns of dead ferns. Black pools, half seen through the mist. And then the road climbed above the fog. At 200+ metres above sea level, the colours returned. And the cottonwoods are decked out in their fall finery. Glorious!

Looking over Upper Campbell Lake. The red alders have lost their leaves, so have the maples. It's the cottonwoods time to shine.

Rust brown of dead ferns, greens of bracken ferns, Scotch broom, and Douglas-firs. And the warmth of the cottonwoods. The white flowers at lower right are Pearly Everlasting; they stay white over the winter.

A cottonwood branch against the dark green of the Douglas-fir.

At Big Den on the East arm of the lake, looking north. Cottonwoods on the far shore; on this side, the old stumps of the drowned forest, exposed after a dry summer.

Cottonwoods like little bonfires on the beach.

Brighter than the cottonwoods, but hiding in the understory; thimbleberry leaves.

 

At Big Den Rest Area, I put on my raingear and hiked down to the shore, getting the camera wet taking photos of mushrooms. Then on to Gold River to look at waterfalls. By now, the rain had settled in solidly and the light was fading. Coming home, in mid-afternoon, all the colours had faded; the forests were black, the sky and water dull grey. But the waterfalls were white.

Mushroom photos next, I think.

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El tiempo; tormentoso. Lluvia, por supuesto. Y vientos fuertes; un poco al sur, algunos árboles se habían venido abajo. No pude resistir; decidí ir a mirar las olas rompiéndose en la playa. Pero el coche tuvo otra idea, y me llevó fuera del tráfico. Las neblinas y la lluvia hacia el oeste me llamaron, y acabé tomando la carretera hacia Gold River, en la costa opuesta.

Los colores: gris, gris, y verdes grisáceos. El marrón apagado de los helechos muertos. Lagunas y charcos negros, vistos a medias entre las nubes. Pero más adelante, el camino llega a unos 200 metros y más arriba del nivel de mar, y salió de la niebla. Los colores revivieron. Y los álamos están vestidos para las fiestas otoñales. ¡Magnífico!

1. Una vista sobre el lago Upper Campbell. Los alisos rojos y los arces han perdido sus hojas; ahora es el tiempo de los álamos, Populos trichocarpa.
2. Café-rojizo; los helechos muertos. Verdes; helechos vivos, retama negra, abetos de Douglas. Anaranjado; los álamos. Las flores blancas a la derecha son la Eterna Perlada, Anaphalis margaritacea; permanecen durante todo el invierno.
3. Ramas de un álamo, contrastadas con el verde de un abeto de Douglas.
4. En el brazo oriente del lago, en Big Den (Madriguera Grande), viendo hacia el norte. En la orilla opuesta están los álamos; en esta orilla, los tocones del bosque ahogado, dejados al aire después de un verano seco.
5. Los álamos parecen fogatas pequeñas en la playa.
6. Más brillantes que los álamos, pero escondidos en el sotobosque, son las hojas del thimbleberry, Rubus parviflorus.

En el sitio de descanso de Big Den, me puse la capa impermeable y bajé hasta el lago, sacando fotos de hongos a lo largo del sendero. Y luego seguí hasta Gold River, buscando cataratas. Para entonces, la lluvia caía fuerte y constante, y la luz se desvanecía. Camino a casa a mediados de la tarde, ya estaba tan oscuro que los colores se habían perdido; los bosques se veían negros, el cielo y el agua un gris oscuro. Pero las cataratas estaban blancas.

Things that Made me Happy in 2025, part 1.

As I said yesterday, 2025 has been a good year. Going back over my photos from this year, looking for ones to include in my annual "Things that made me happy" file, I ended up with far, far too many. I've cut the list down to 32 representative photos, to split into 4 posts.

This is the first batch: Going places, driving, walking, hiking.  This island is such a beautiful place to be, and the roads and trails always call to me.

(Some of these photos were in my "later" file; others I've already posted earlier in the year.)

January. Old road, now closed to traffic, high above the river.

January, beside Buttle Lake. I go here often just to look at the rocks.

September, Elk River. A long hike on a stripped hillside with a viewpoint at the end. There's always something worth seeing.

April. Road to Zeballos, on the far (west) side of the island.

February. Just another logging road, well used.

(I see on the weather report that it's supposed to snow on Christmas day. I hope!)

June. Last photo of a trip to Saltspring Island to visit family.

June. An unmarked trail led me down to the edge of the Quinsam River.

March. Early spring on the BCHydro trail by the Campbell River.

Tomorrow: company (four- and two-footed) along the way.

A Skywatch post.

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Como dije ayer, 2025 ha sido un año feliz. Revisando las fotos de todo el año para escoger algunas para incluir en la lista anual de "Cosas que me hicieron feliz", tratando de escoger una que otra nada más, junté más de cien. He achicado la lista, quedando con 32 fotos representativas, para subir en 4 posts.

Este es el primer grupo: Carreteras, caminos, senderos. Esta isla es tan hermosa, y las vistas siempre me están llamando.

(Algunas de estas fotos estaban en mi archivo "para después; otras las he subido antes.)

1. Enero. Un camino viejo, cerrado para tráfico ahora, que corre en la ladera arriba del rio.
2. Enero. Al lado del lago Buttle. Regreso frecuentemente para ver las rocas.
3. Septiembre. Elk River. Un sendero largo, seco, cruzando terreno baldío para llegar a una plataforma de observación. Siempre hay algo que vale la pena visitar.
4. Abril. Camino a Zeballos, en la costa opuesta de la isla.
5. Febrero. Un camino maderero; este está en uso frecuente. (Veo en el pronóstico meteorológico que dicen que va a nevar el dia de Navidad. ¡Ojalá!)
6. Junio. La última foto de un viaje al sur hasta la isla Saltspring, para visitar a mi familia.
7. Junio. Un sendero sin nombre me trajo a la orilla del rio Quinsam.
8. Marzo. La primavera llega a un sendero de BCHydro, subiendo por el rio Campbell.

Mañana: compañeros de cuatro y de dos patas por el camino.

Un post de Skywatch: ve a mirar cielos de todo el mundo.

I beat the bears to these

The huckleberries are ripe!

Red huckleberries, Vacciunium parvifolium

They're slightly acid, but sweet. I picked only two handfuls, leaving the rest for the bears and birds.

The bush these came from.

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Los "huckleberry" rojos son una especie de arándano nativo a la costa del Pacífico. Ayer encontré un arbusto lleno de frutas.

La fruta es un poco ácido, pero dulce. Me comí dos puños de fruta, y dejé los demás para los osos y los pájaros.

Indian Creek Falls

The World Waterfall Database lists 2465 waterfalls in BC. It misses some, probably quite a few; I've found waterfalls that are not listed, in my limited travels.

Indian Creek waterfall is on their list, though. I didn't know its name until I found it in Google maps then compared with the WWD maps. They have no details on it, except that Indian Creek is a tributary of Udona Creek, which I can't find, except maybe as a darker line on Google maps.

Nameless, or named and listed, it's still worth a stop and a short walk.

Indian Creek falls, the top half of the first drop.

It's a smallish creek, but it drops down a rock face from high above the highway, then runs through a pipe underneath the highway, into a small pool, then drops again into the Gold River, far below.

I have climbed down to the first pool several times, but never thought to follow the pipe under the road. My granddaughter was more adventurous than I.

Ahead, the second pool, and then the drop. Between the nearest trees and the dark woods beyond, is a deep gash in the terrain, with the river at the bottom.

Going out to the top of the second drop.

We walked down the road to the next viewpoint, to look at the second half of the falls. All we got was a hint of white movement; it's visible in the winter, but not in summer, with all the trees leafed out in between.

The lower half of the falls, taken last year. The falls are visible as two white lines on the left.

And in my search of maps and databases, trying to find this waterfall, I discovered others, and other interesting roads I haven't explored yet. So much to see!

Hoppers and a jumper below the dam

Last week, I was travelling with my granddaughter. She's as crazy as I am, and more energetic. (I seem to be slowing down as the years mount up. Funny how that works!)

In a simple day trip to Gold River and back, we stopped along the way to clamber through the bush to look at the back of the beaver lodge, to take photos of spiders in the hardhack and shelf fungi on the trees, to look at birds at Strathcona Park Lodge, to chase grasshoppers at Strathcona Dam, to climb a rock face beside a waterfall, to look at flamingos in Two Boat Pond, to try out newly-carved animal seats, and to chase crows at the Gold River docks. It was raining as we headed home; otherwise, I'm sure we would have stopped a couple more times.

I have tons* of photos to sort and process. These are from the campsite below Strathcona Dam.

Dam sign.

Text of sign:

You are standing below the largest hydroelectric dam on Vancouver Island. Strathcona Dam is part of the Campbell River Hydroelectric System which includes the Ladore and John Hart developments and the Salmon River, Heber River, and Quinsam River diversions.
Strathcona was the last dam completed on the Campbell River Development project. This 53 meter high earth-filled dam created Upper Campbell Lake, a 48 kilometer long reservoir for water storage. The water that flows through this dam will drop over 200 meters, passing through three generating stations, Strathcona, Ladore, and John Hart, before it reaches the ocean. As you drive towards Campbell River, you will pass near two other reservoirs, Lower Campbell Lake created by Ladore Dam, and John Hart Reservoir created by John Hart dam. This major project was started in 1945 and took  over 13 years to complete.

The campground, with the dam looming over it, has 11 overnight free campsites and large areas for day parking. When we arrived, there was almost no space left to park; cars and trailers and RVs were everywhere; it was the long weekend. It seems that no-one worries about the mass of water ready to drop on you. Signs warn visitors to clear the water and river banks if a siren sounds; water will be rushing down the spillway. The backwaters were alive with kids in rubber boats; the geese I've seen on other visits were in hiding.

We wandered around the weedy area between parking lots. First find: a humongous jumping spider. Or so it seems.

About 25 meters long. As advertised on the campground map.

And then there was the grasshopper. We chased him and his family for quite some time.

It's hard to sneak up on a grasshopper on bare gravel.

But we tried. Pop can half tab included to show size. (I moved it on the photo; it was a couple of inches away.)

Trying to blend in on a mossy rock. And still aware of us; with the next leap, we lost him.

Lichen and moss on a rock. At least it stays put.

More lichen and moss.

Bladder campion, Silene vulgaris, going to seed.

Nearly one o'clock, and we were hungry. Next stop, Strathcona Park Lodge.

*tons. Of photos. Digital. So not really tons. But you know what I mean.

Two boats, three flamingos

Three years ago, on the way to Gold River, I passed a pond, a shallow, muddy pond, far from any human habitation, surrounded by impassible thickets of hardhack and dead trees. And in the centre of the pond, someone had moored two homemade toy boats.

The pond, on the map, has no name. I've been calling it "Two Boat Pond".

Boat # 2, in June of 2016.

There were two boats in March, but by June, one had disappeared. The other remained until last year. Maybe it sunk; maybe a bear stole it. It's not in a pond that you would want to walk through; the water may be mid-thigh deep, but underneath there is mud covering dead logs and branches; treacherous going, if you managed somehow to hack through the hardhack. The plant lives up to its name.

We went by again last Saturday. And now, the boats have been replaced. By flamingos.

Flamingos on a log.

And now I must call the pond "Three flamingos and two boats Pond."

I wonder who put them there.