A gap in the forest

Near the tip of Brewster Lake, the road crosses a wooden bridge over an unnamed creek. The stream has cut a wide bed, but at this time of year there's only a trickle of water over the rocks. I walked back to look at it.

A waterfall worth visiting in rainy season.

I liked the green reflections and dark leaf shadows on the brown water.

A longer view. 

From studying the maps, I think this is part of the portage route, leading from Brewster Lake to Grey Lake. It doesn't look like an easy carry, but around the bend, the land flattens out, although it passes through a wetland, which must be sticky going.

Looking at this, I'm reminded that when the early explorers crossed the continent, this was how they  travelled; canoes on water, portages like this on land, carrying their boats and all their gear. That's all their gear, food and supplies not for a sunny weekend, but for months or years, whatever the weather. 

And I stayed home today, even though the tide was at its lowest, because it rained a bit. I should be ashamed of myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cerca del Lago Brewster, el camino cruza un puente de madera sobre un riachuelo sin nombre. El agua ha abierto un cauce amplio, pero en esta temporada del año, el agua se ha reducido a unos chorritos.

    1. En temporada de lluvias, parece que habrá una catarata interesante.

    2. Me gustaron los reflejos verdes y las sombras de las hojas sobre el agua color café.

    3. Viendo todo el tramo visible desde el puente.

Estudiando los mapas, veo que este riachuelo forma parte de la ruta navegable, esta sección siendo el tramo de porteo que une el lago Brewster con el lago Grey. No parece ser un porteo fácil, pero pasando una curva, se aplana el terreno. Aunque luego hay un humedal, donde también será difícil cargar las canoas.

Viendo esto, pensándolo, me recuerda la historia, como los exploradores originales cruzaron el continente, viajando de esta manera; canoas en el agua, porteos como este en la tierra, cargando sus barcos y todo su equipo. Todo: la comida, herramientas, ropa, y más. Y no lo suficiente para un fin de semana en verano, pero todo lo que necesitaban para vivir durante meses o aun años, y con todos los cambios del clima. 

Y yo hoy me quedé en casa, a pesar de ser un dia de marea baja, porque llovió un poco. ¡Qué vergüenza!

Buttle Lake; a bit of history

Large areas of Vancouver Island have been historically untouched by humans. The terrain is too rugged; the rainforest too dense, the climate too inhospitable; even the inland waterways are forbidding. Most settlements have been along the coast, accessible by boat. (Dugout canoe, in the old days.)

For example:

What was described as a first class trail between Nanaimo and Comox had been completed in May 1863 ... When Brown explored up the island in August 1864, [15 months later] he found the trail blocked by windfalls and washouts, although he did find one bridge remaining at the Qualicum River. (Vancouver Island Exploring Expedition 1864)

An easy trail to follow through the bush. Google maps photo, Karst Creek trail.

Buttle Lake, running down the centre of the island, between steep mountains, was discovered first by Europeans in 1865. (If First Nations people had been there earlier, they have left no trace. That we have found.)  John Buttle, with the Vancouver Island Exploring Expedition, discovered the lake in 1865, probably following a chain of lakes and rivers upstream from the coast. Buttle Lake is the first of the lakes and rivers that feed into the Campbell River.

Buttle Lake from Auger Point, looking downstream.

The lakes were smaller back then: in 1958, the BC Power Commission dammed the Campbell Lake, raising the water level 30 metres, dividing the lake into Upper and Lower Campbell Lakes. The water backed up into Buttle Lake, raising it by 5 metres. These days, when the water is low, the stumps of the old drowned forest are still visible on the bare shores.

Near the north end of the lake. The water is low, although the rains have started.

Remains of a drowned forest.

Island, mid-lake.

There is an interesting set of photos on a UVic library page, Before Strathcona Dam. Two photos of the same area of Upper Campbell Lake, taken in 1950 and 1959, are layered, with a slider to show how the lake grew. Worth looking at.

A Skywatch post.

Wild forest floor

I grew up on Vancouver Island, in the northwest coastal forests, dense, lush, and silent, only marginally tamed along the edges. Across a creek that ran under my bedroom, a creek we crossed on a fallen tree, crawling (me) or dancing (my brothers) according to our sense of balance and scorn of danger, and through a hollow log that traversed a salmonberry thicket, we came out onto a fern- and moss-blanketed cathedral: unlogged Douglas firs, yards across at the base, towering high into the rainy clouds overhead. My brothers would race on through; I tended to find a dryish log and sit there a while, just listening.

On the Ridge Trail, I followed a sort of trail off the main trail; a deer track, maybe, looking for mushrooms. There were none visible, and I didn't want to disturb the moss, but stepping carefully around mossy roots and huge ferns, I got a brief flashback to my childhood wanderings. This was the forest floor I knew of old.

Healthy forest, mixed evergreen and deciduous, probably third-growth, after two or more loggings.

The trees on the ground are as essential to the health of the forest as the standing timber; they provide nutrients and shelter to new growth and the animals that make it their home. The moss on top soaks up the rain, releasing the moisture slowly to the thin layer of soil underneath; these forests sit on rock, sometimes barely under the surface duff. Without the moss, they would dry and burn with the first lightning stroke.

Evergreen fern.

It's not an ecosystem hospitable to humans, my brothers notwithstanding; any human trails are made with chain saws, constant monitoring, frequent traffic. Abandoned for a year or two, they disappear.

Sometimes I wonder at the early explorers who made their slow way across the continent, following ridges like this one, rivers like the one in the valley below, clambering at every step over slippery logs, stumbling into hidden holes, sinking through wood that seemed solid and turned out to be mostly wet rot, trying to find a dry, flattish spot to sleep after an exhausting day. Or at today's firefighters; at least they have helicopters and chain saws, but it's still a daunting task.

Much of Vancouver Island is logged off now, sometimes repeatedly. Entire mountain sides lie open to the sun and wind, the moss dry and brittle, the ferns dying. With the added burden of a warming climate, they are a bonfire waiting for the first match. I'm not looking forward to our next fire season.