Beaver country

I never intended to explore new trails the other day; a quick stop to look at a sign, maybe a short walk over a bridge to look at the river. Then home; I had things to do.

But the sun was so bright, and all the trees were leafing out in a froth of those almost-yellow spring greens, and the maples were all dangling their long flower clusters. And across the river, the trailhead beckoned.

Pocket camera shot. But you get the picture.

I've been down this hill before; just checked; the last time I was here was January of last year, with everything all brown and cold. Now there's green everywhere. New leaves of thimbleberry, red elderberry, salmonberry, huckleberry, blackberry; there will be bear and bee food later on. Flowers, pink, white, yellow. On a tree far overhead, the dogwood flowers are out. Tiny, pale blue butterflies air-dance over the grass, never pausing for a moment.

Near the top, I stopped to take a photo of the wetlands below; I've taken the same photo before, but now there was greenery. And that huge big-leaf maple tree, all decked out in yellow flowers.

Still brown in the centre. Look closely; do you see the beaver lodge? This area was forest. Rising water killed the trees. Beaver doings?

I went on down the hill. Down and down and down. I kept telling myself I would turn back at the next bend, but there was always another bend further down. I passed the spot I'd turned back at before; now I was on the flat ground beside the river. After a while there was a junction; the road went on, another headed off to the right, away from the river. And a narrow trail went off to the left, under deep cover. I took that route.

In the brown area at the right, a sluggish stream winds down towards the river.

The trail eventually came out into sunlight again. And I recognized the spot; here I was on the far side of that wetland I'd looked at from above.

There's the water tower; I stood just below that to take the top photo.

The trail goes on; I didn't. I still had that hill to climb, and work to do at home. But I sat on a log for a while, just watching.

Dead wood in the shallow water. From my sit spot.

Last year's hardhack flowers. These shrubs haven't leafed out yet. Soon!

Starting back up. A mossy stump houses lichens and a hemlock sapling.

I'll have to come back and follow the trail to see if there's a beaver dam as well as the lodge.

And I made it back up with my old legs still happy; even had energy to go home and water and fertilize my flower beds. The peonies are shooting up and there are deep purple hyacinths.

Flowers along the road, tomorrow.

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No tenía planeado explorar senderos; detenerme para mirar un letrero, tal vez cruzar el puente para mirar el rio. Y luego, a casa; me esperaba una lista de quehaceres.

Pero el sol brillaba, y todos los árboles estrenaban hojitas nuevas, una espuma de ese color verde/amarillo que se da solamente en la primavera. Y de los arces de hoja grande colgaban miles de rácimos de flores. Y el camino al otro lado del puente me llamaba.

    1. De la cámara de bolsillo. El camino que baja hacia el rio.

He bajado antes por este camino. Acabo de buscar; fue en enero del año pasado, y todo estaba frio y color pardo. Ahora, está verde. Hay hojas nuevas de toda clase de bayas; thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus), elderberry (Sambucus racemosa), salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis), huckleberry (Vaccinium parvifolium), blackberry (Rubus discolor); habrá comida pronto para las abejas y los osos. Flores; color de rosa, blancas, amarillas. En un árbol muy por encima del camino, ya se han abierto las flores de cornejo blanco (Cornus nuttallii). Maripositas azules miniaturas bailan en el aire sobre la hierba, sin detenerse ni por un instante.

Desde arriba, me detuve para sacar una foto del humedal allá abajo. La misma foto que saqué en la previa visita, pero ahora con un arce grande, todo lleno de flores amarillas.

    2. El humedal desde arriba. Las hierbas en el centro siguen secas. ¿Ves la madriguera de los castores? Este lugar antes era bosque; al subir el nivel del agua, los árboles se murieron. Probablemente obra de los castores.

Seguí el camino, bajando el cerro, bajando, bajando. A cada rato me decía que a la próxima curva, volvería a casa, pero siempre había otra curva, más abajo. Pasé por el sitio donde me había detenido antes; ahora llegaba a tierra plana, al nivel del rio. Más adelante había una encrucijada; mi camino seguía derecho y otro se dirigía a la derecha, alejándose del rio. Un senderito angosto entraba a la sombra del bosque a la izquierda; esa ruta la escogí.

    3. A la derecha, una corriente baja lentamente hacia el rio.

    4. El sendero al fin salió a la luz. Y conocí el lugar; estaba al lado opuesto de ese humedal que había visto desde arriba. El tanque en la ladera marca donde pasa el camino, de donde saqué la foto anterior.

    5. El sendero sigue. Yo no. Todavía me quedaba subir por la ladera otra vez, y tenía que hacer en casa. Pero me senté por unos momentos en un tronco, observando. Me gustaron estos troncos blanqueados en el agua y sus reflejos.

    6. Las flores del año pasado de Hardhack, Spiraea douglasii. Todavía no aparecen las hojas nuevas en este arbusto. Falta poco.

    7. En un tocón cubierto de musgo, crecen líquenes Cladonia y un arbolito Hemlock, Tsuga heterophylla.

Tendré que regresar y seguir el sendero hasta el fin para ver si hay una presa de los castores además de la madriguera.

Y llegué de vuelta a casa sin haber traumatizado mis rodillas viejas, y todavía con las energías para regar y abonar mis flores. Las peonías han brotado y hay jacintos morados.

Para mañana, tengo flores que vi en el camino.

A matter of days

Sometimes change happens slowly. And then there are times like these. Three (3) days ago, the trees were still mostly bare, with just a hint of green, leafing out just starting. The main colours of our deciduous forests and wetlands were still browns and reds.

Baikie slough, April 15. Blue skies, brown grasses and trees. And the new salmonberry leaves.

Canada geese, Baikie slough

That was three days ago. This morning, all the trees and all the shrubs and all the vegetation at the side of the roads is green and dense, with no brown, no bare sticks to be seen. And my tulips are blooming.

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 A veces las cosas cambian lentamente, tan lentamente. Y otras veces, como ahora ... Hace tres (3) dias, los árboles caducifolios seguían pelados, con apenas un dejo de color verde, los primeros brotes de las hojas nuevas. Los colores principales en nuestros bosques y humedales eran todavía cafe y rojizo.

Eso fue hace tres dias. Esta mañana, todos los árboles, todos los arbustos, toda la vegetacón al lado de los caminos vestía un verde vivo, escondiendo completamente las ramas. No se veía por ninguna parte un árbol desnudo.

Y mis tulipanes han abierto sus flores.

Fotos: Aguas quietas al lado de la isla Baikie, con gansos canadienses, hace tres dias.

Early leaves

Green is bursting out all over. I walked down the Myrt Thompson trail, that follows a spit of land in the middle of the Campbell River down to the estuary.

The river breaks itself into several channels here. Low water today: sometimes it covers those grassy banks. I think the new leaves on the right are elderberry. They put out large leaves very quickly. A couple of black specks on the far shore (on the left) are a pair of eagles.

Red alder leaves and overwintering cones.

Willow catkins and baby leaves.

Looking downriver, out to the ocean and Quadra Island. And more new green leaves.

Green lights

The elderberries are budding.

Red elderberry, Sambucus racemosa, ssp. pubens

The flowers will be white, but for now, while they're in bud, they're tinged with pink. And the fruits, tiny drupes, will be bright red.

Background; logging slash, enlivened with the green lights of new elderberry and huckleberry leaves.

Tinies along the trail

The trees along the Ripple Rock trail are crowded, tall, twisty, and thickly draped in mosses. In the afternoon sunlight, the camera sees them as criss-crossing black silhouettes, with flaring yellow sunbursts. My eyes aren't any better. So I watch the path, instead.

First skunk cabbage bud of the year.

Frayed mushrooms on a log end.

Junco, thinking that if he doesn't move at all, I won't see him.

Moss sporophytes.

And on another, short, trail:

Green lights in the understory.

The trees are beautiful, but sometimes you can't see them for the forest.

Promises

These made me kneel in the mud on a Tyee Spit path.

Down in the dead grasses and stalks of winter, two pale umbrella mushrooms, and the first leaves of summer's weed crop: yarrow, draba, grass, and what is that cute 9-lobed one? One of the buttercups, maybe?
 

Two more mushrooms, grass, 9-lobes, and purple-fringed dead-nettle.

Greening up

I always love the greens of spring. Even in the rain. They're even better when I can stand inside in the dry, and just point the camera out the window.

The sap is running in my little maple tree. The brown stems winding through are the remains of an old honeysuckle.

New hydrangea leaves, a yummy, minty green at this stage.

A creek full of light

In Burns Bog, this time of year, the trees are not fully leafed out, and the leaves are still that cheerful springtime yellow-green. Although our path goes through deep shade, we walk under a glowing canopy. Down in the shadowed creek, a trickle of dark water traps and reflects the glory overhead.

Lone mallard in a patch of sky

Davies Creek, running along the outer edge of the bog, between ferny banks.

Stripes and trunks

Green zigzags

Patches

Vibrant greens