Optical confusions

The Campbell River estuary spreads out into a maze of back-channels and quiet pools, protected both from the sweep of the river and the storms and tides of the salt chuck downstream. For many decades, it was used as a storage site for log booms.

Screen grab of 1965 aerial photo, with enhanced contrast, from City of CR. The long, white rectangles are log booms.

The booms are gone now. The last photo where they appear is from 1980. The lagoons lie sleepily under the sun where the logs once rattled their chains.

Old boat, at anchor. Someone is fishing off the forward deck.

Walking the Myrt Thompson trail, I deviated from the official route to visit the abandoned log dumping site. These days, it is an empty space, still paved in spots, but gradually being reclaimed by broom and trees. At the edge of the water, massive steps, stairs for a giant, rusted and warped from long years in the rain and the river, lead down into the water, probably where logging trucks long ago tipped their loads. (On the aerial photo above, it's near the angle in the orange dotted line, at the bottom of the long line of log booms.)

Just inland of these steps, large logs are chained in a row, a barrier between the paved area and the drop into the river. They've been there for many decades now; the wood is silvery-grey and silky to the touch, and deeply carved into fist-deep depressions.

Section of log.

When I look at this photo, my eyes insist on turning the holes into hills, with steps up, like so many eroded Mexican pyramids. The steps go down; the lighter, flat spaces in between are the outer surface of the log.

Another log, with more holes. The shadows and the bits of gravel at the bottom of some holes keep this in perspective.

On the broken pavement beside the logs, a grasshopper led me a merry dance, waiting until I would be a couple of metres away, then leaping up and flitting away, never too far, so that I could see him land. But when I approached, staring at the spot so as not to lose it, he was just not there. One cautious step more, and yes, he'd been there all the time; now he was on his way to his next hiding place in plain sight.

Hills become holes: the grasshopper became sticks, became a grasshopper, became stones. My poor eyes!

Arrows pointing backwards and wavy letters

In January, when the water is too cold for wading, and the wet stones and sand are cold enough to cause a bone-deep ache in rock-flipping and sand-digging fingers, we behave more sedately than usual, walking upright on the sand, hands in gloves and pockets, eyes peeled for what we can see without stopping and getting chilled.

Sand, water and sky. Patterns in blue and grey. Laurie usually looks up to the sky and the distant snowy peaks. I'm more likely to watch what's in front of my feet.

Duck footprints. Probably mallards. Three toes, and distinct webbing.  Ducks toe in, which makes them waddle.

A duck has four toes; three facing forward, webbed, and a fourth, called a hallux. It faces backwards, is small and higher up on the leg. Sometimes it leaves a mark on the footprint. More often, it doesn't.

Gull tracks. The tip of the hallux left a mark in this wet sand. The footprint is about twice the size of the duck prints above, and the webbing isn't as marked. Like ducks, they toe in.

Heron tracks in soft sand. I don't know what makes those dotted-line furrows.

Heron track with my big boot for measurement. About 6.5 inches. (The heron's foot, not mine.) These are big birds.

Heron track on hard-packed sand. He drags that rear toenail. There is no webbing; the heron is not a swimmer.

Something different; check this out!

Just sand, sculpted by the tide.

But: this was flat, flat beach. Very flat; I want to emphasize this. But look at the photo from a bit of a distance; to me, it looks hilly. From a few steps back, the hills grow into small mountain ranges. And sometimes, when it catches my eye suddenly, I see what looks like letters among the lines. I can't read them; they morph into different shapes with the slightest head movement. (If I'm looking for them, I don't see them.)

What do you see?

Frogs and tadpoles

... on a manhole cover.

Plaza paving, False Creek, Vancouver

It works as an optical illusion, too. Are all four corners of the photo 90 degrees, or not? Or is it the blog design that's gone crooked?

Full story on a walk down False Creek tomorrow.