Bloggers in the rain

Let it rain! Who cares?

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.

Once a Salt Marsh...

... and now, sun-drenched slopes where kids fly their kites. Garry Point Park, the extreme southwest corner of Lulu Island.

The last time I was here, in the 1980s, the city of Richmond had just begun terraforming. The kids and I scrambled over heaps of gravel, piles of logs and tangled driftwood. Inland, dozens of kites flew, buzzing and whistling. Today, there is a gravelled walkway along the shoreline, sandy beaches, monuments (not very interesting ones), a vaguely Japanese "Japanese Garden". And wildflowers, acres of them.

Lupins, blue, purple, pink and red.
A little brown bird flitted from one to another of these, perching on the flower spikes, bending them right over, always too far away to get a clear view.
The red area behind the lupins is mainly red sorrel; I never would have thought of it as a flower, but massed like that, it is quite attractive. Beyond them, Scotch broom, near the end of its blooming season.

Plantain, Plantago. Quite large plants, scattered over the seaward edges.
Along the north end, we came across an old slough, Scotch Pond. A couple of signboards told its history, in brief. And I'll be briefer, still: up to the late 19th century, it was Musqueam Indian territory. In 1899, the Scottish Canadian Cannery took it over. In 1905, the Japanese came in, with Atagi Boatworks. Since then, canneries, mooring, net floats and boatworks have come and gone. Since the late 1980s, it has been a heritage site owned by the City of Richmond.

In the reeds bordering the slough, we found white and yellow irises, probably planted long ago, now gone wild:


And finally, along the pathway, some variety of Malus, apple or crabapple, probably. Fragrant, white and cream, with the slightest tint of pink.

What I will remember most, though, could not be captured by any means yet known: the touch of the breeze from the water, the warmth of the sunshine, the scents -- salt, dust, flowers, and some indefinable "green" fragrance --, the song of birds and the hissing of waves on the sand. I'll just have to leave that to your imagination.

Sloughs: Horseshoe , Gunderson and Finn

We've been visiting brown-water sites. And taking dozens of fuzzy photos of birds.

It all started out when we decided to go to Garry Point Park, at the tip of Lulu Island, where the river meets Georgia Strait. I suggested a slower route, along the south dyke, out of the traffic.

We never got to Garry Point.

First unplanned stop, Horseshoe Slough. It's not on the map, but there was a parking spot, a sign and a trail into a small park.
The water in the slough is a rich, chocolaty brown. I am not sure if this is its natural colour (it matches the mud) or whether it is polluted. But it made for interesting photos, which I will post in a day or two (they're from Laurie's film camera).

And I followed a rabbit back to the parking lot, managed one shot before he disappeared under the salmonberry and elder brush.
We drove on. And had to stop again, when we saw a ring-necked pheasant just across a ditch and fence. She stood there while Laurie dug the camera out, then sat down, leaving just her head and neck visible. I think she must have had a nest there in the tall grass; at any rate, she sat still until Laurie opened the car door. Then she got up, looked our way and flew off.

I memorized the spot: we'll be back.

On to Garry Point! Passing Finn Slough, which I had heard about, but could not find on the map. A wonderful historic site, with a fascinating story, and the subject of an annual photography contest. But it was late, and we wanted tea. Finn Slough will have to wait for another day. Soon. So will Garry Point; we got hung up in Steveston Village over tea and second-hand books.

And yesterday we started out again, and ended up in Gunderson Slough. Last time we were there, it was December, rainy and cold. It was beautiful, in spite of the greyness of the weather; we wanted to see what it is like in the spring. Weeds and brown water. Boats, ramshackle buildings, grubby workshops and docks, rotting machinery, stacks of lumber. And birds! Violet-green swallows, house finches, seagulls and crows, a hairy woodpecker pounding away in the bush, robins, great blue herons. And a stand of cat-tails where red-winged blackbirds proclaim ownership.
Feeding on the cattail fluff.Switching perches.

On a log boom, a heron was finding plenty of goodies. As we watched, he plucked something off these logs every few steps; some sort of large insect, probably. Maybe wasps.

More photos tomorrow, and a bit of history.

It's a mystery to me ...

... how this stays afloat.

Discovered at the Steveston Docks, still lined up with the working boats. If I were on it, I'd be afraid to cast off.

But the owners do keep their venetian blinds dusted and the windows clean. I'll say that for them.

... and on to Steveston

Before we left the Buddhist temple (see previous post), we walked around the parking lot to a road leading to tall trees, gleaming in the sunlight. At an open gate, a sign read, "No entry to gardens," but we rationalized that this was for cars trying to drive through to find an exit, and walked on. A couple of workers saw us and smiled, so it must have been ok.

The trees were covered in large pussy-willows; Laurie got out the camera again.


Afterwards, we got back on the road and drove down to the old fishing village of Steveston. We ate lunch in a sandwich place, then meandered through gift shops on our way down to the pier.

The boardwalks were deserted; it's early in the season, and the crowds mostly show up on weekends, even in summer. A pair of Greater Scaups* in their best breeding finery were fishing in the quiet water.


It's not often we get to see these; their habitat is tundra and boreal forests, but sometimes they winter this far south. And they are divers, eating clams and crabs and the like, so are less interested in humans than the hand-out loving mallards. It was a real treat to see them paddling back and forth in the sunlight or diving for crabs, which are plentiful in Steveston. The female came up once with something that glinted like a fish, but could have been vegetation.

* I identify them as Greater Scaup, because the head of the male had the green sheen. The Lesser is almost identical, but his head shines purple.

A young seagull, tipping his head to see what Laurie was up to. Notice the barring on the underside of his tail. I hadn't been in a position to see that before.


Reflections on the water along the docks.


And flotsam. Frayed rope, bits of wood, you-name-it. It made an interesting pattern, I thought.

The sun was setting; we headed home for supper, tired, but exhiliarated.