Spruce Lake Mountain Bike

Saturday. Get up, get dressed and wait for a friend's pick up to pull into my driveway to take us to the start of the trail up to Spruce Lake. I had never been there before, but the local guys that I go ski touring with are avid mountain bikers and asked if I would like to join them on a full day ride. Yes please!

It took us about seven hours round trip, peddling and pushing our bikes up the mountain, stopping in the fields that will be ripe with wildflower in the coming weeks, walking through snow at the top to look at the lake and then riding downhill. I even went swimming! Apparently there was ice on the lake last weekend, but I love swimming in cold water and couldn't resist the urge to dip in after all the uphill riding. It was like an instant full-body ice pack, and if the entry into the lake wasn't so marshy (the snow was deep, so we didn't feel like trudging through it for another thirty minutes to get me better swimming access) I would have jumped in again!

Spruce Lake. There are a couple of cabins on the opposite shore. When the snow is off the trail at the top it will be easier to bike around and get a better view of the lake.

Grizzly tracks that were in the mud and snow up the trail. This picture doesn't really do the print justice. The paw print was about six inches across!

The ride was awesome, although I had a couple of very minor wipe-outs (I was busy looking around at the scenery and rode off the single-track trail once, among other things). I walked some of the trickier stuff as well, which is common practice for me as a new biker. My thinking is that I have two legs that work great, and I love hiking, so why not use my feet instead of risking life and limb to ride over obstacles I am not comfortable with.

 Looking down the trail on the ride downhill.

Looking up the trail.

I was more interested in taking in the scenery with my own eyes rather than snapping pictures, but I did manage to take a couple of shots during the ride. I'll be up here again, I'm sure, when the wildflowers are out in full bloom, and I'll certainly be stopping for more pictures then.

Here's an action shot of me looking all pro while riding through a criver (creek/river). What you don't see is me putting my foot down to re-soaker it right after this pic was taken. I had soakers for most of the ride after a double foot dip in the first criver we crossed. It was actually refreshing to have wet feet all day, because the sun was shining and it was HOT!

Walking, Biking, Fire

Last night the rain came, just a faint shadow hovering momentarily over the town, but it seems it was enough to keep everyone inside. It rains so rarely here that when it does people seem to take the cue to curl up with a tea and a good book. When the dusting of drops feathered their fingers elsewhere I collected Sanford and we went out for a walk along highway 40 towards Bralorne. There was not a single car that passed us—just the sound of the wind flickering through the gentle leaves of the aptly named trembling aspen trees that line the highway. At one point it was so quiet that I heard a car door slam from the town below the switch-backed highway, and when I looked I saw Darlene’s white van driving home from dinner at Jean and Bob’s place. It’s funny to know all the cars around here, and to assume, usually correctly, where they are going or coming from. We are creatures of routine after all, perhaps more so after decades living in a place like this instead of the city, as there are not constantly new activities to snap us out of our daily comforts.

On Tuesday Sanford and I went out hiking for two and a half hours. I like to travel to new places when I walk, and after wandering one of our usual routes we found a path not traveled, and took it. It was a busy day at work on Tuesday, with an event for parents and preschooler children at the school that taught parents about early literacy and learning while the school kids and I helped the little ones make crafts and play outside. It was awesome to have the preschool community at the school, and I’m hoping to make it a more regular occurrence next year. There’s nothing like being a “big buddy” to help kids build confidence and their social responsibility skills.

But I digress – back to the walk, where I saw bobcat tracks snaking up the lava ash sand, softly punctuating the edges of the usual moose and deer tracks. At one point we came across a garbage bag with a tiny deer hoof sticking out from the top of it, probably a fetus that was found inside the mother. It smelled bad, but not as bad as it will a week or two from now. Probably someone up hunting in the spring without a license. There are no police stations up here, and conservation officers are also a rare sight, making it easy for people to disregard the laws about hunting way out in the bush where they imagine no one is watching. It's interesting to live in a place that is self-policed, and to notice what people think is "okay" here that they would never consider doing elsewhere. Drinking and driving can at times be a big problem here, although I think that someone who does it here would be just as likely to do it in the city anyway.

On Wednesday I went on the Wednesday night mountain bike ride, which happens every Wednesday until the first snowfall. The location of the ride – Bralorne or Gun Lake – alternates each week, and locals meet in a designated spot at 5:30 to hit the local trails for a couple of hours before having an after-bike beer and sometimes a BBQ at someone’s place. I’m feeling more confident with my balance on my bike, and each time I go out I notice myself improving. It’s fun to be a beginner in this sense, because the improvements are enough to be noticeable from week-to-week. I think it’s good for the kids to see me out trying something new as well, with the bruises and scrapes to show that I do fall, but I keep getting up and back in the saddle. It’s a great analogy when teaching kids about their own strengths and stretches.

View from the Wednesday Night Ride

We had our first forest fire of the season on the outskirts of town a couple of weeks ago. Someone lit a brush fire that they didn't keep a diligent eye on and it got out of control and burned seven hectares of forest and a bunch of uninsured snowmobiles and old cars. The guy who owned the property had sold off a parcel of land to a friend, who started the fire. The guy who used to own the property lost all of the toys mentioned above, but when I saw him at the grocery store in Lillooet he was in good spirits about the whole incident. "Still got my house," he said, "and all I really lost was just stuff after all." 

Picture of the fire still smouldering on my drive back to Gold Bridge from camping.

There were a group of First Nations fire fighters staying in the hotel below my yard for a couple of weeks, and each night the clink of horseshoe games and lagging laughter would waft through my windows while I cooked supper. They are gone now, and the fire is out, but it's good to remember how quickly a small fire can become uncontrollable. In April I took a "Fire Safety and Suppression" course put on by the forestry department. It taught us all about pump systems, fire behaviour and how to operate a fire hose and pump system, as us locals are the first ones on the scene when a forest fire happens up here. 

I held a fire hose that was operating with pressure from two pumps, and the power of the spraying water was so forceful that I had to angle my body and lean on the hose to keep it spraying forward. All I kept thinking was "don't let go, don't let go." I used to play "snake" with the garden hose as a kid, letting go of it as the water bucked the hose back and forth across the front lawn. I certainly didn't want to see what kind of snake would be unleashed if I let go of a fire hose that was so thick that I could barely wrap both hands around its skin! It gave me a deep respect for the fire crews who have to handle such things for days at a time with minimal rest.

This

is part of my yard.

where I sit in the morning and watch the birds bathe in the pond.

This is the side table I just rolled from the log pile at the front of the house.

Living here demands innovation. You can't just go out to IKEA every time you need something. I think city living makes us forget just how smart and creative we can be, because buying what we need is so easy to do. Out here I'm figuring out just how much can be made with wood and duct tape.

This is me.

This is one of the flock of wild canaries that were in my yard all morning, along with half a dozen other kinds of birds that look amazingly cool and colourful, and sing beautifully. I'm becoming a bird-watcher. Certainly didn't see that hobby coming!

This are a couple of humming birds at the feeder at the school. We have so many "customers" (as Liam calls them) that we have to refill the feeder daily. They swarm around in hordes, tweeting and splaying their tail feathers at each other. It's so much fun to watch! Stay tuned for a video of these little guys made by the students.

And as always I have much more to say, but I'm off to go for a horseback ride in the hills. Life is tough :)

Levette Lake

Sometimes talking about my experiences up here makes me realize just how unique my situation is, now that I'm living on my own in a tiny town in the mountains, running a one-room school. It is astounding how quickly a reality, however far from what we once knew, can become commonplace. Spending most of my time up here with other people who live a similar reality makes me forget that most of the rest of the world does not live like this. Up here I live in isolation in a sense, but because of the small population, and because of my role as an educator, I have become an influential part of a tight-knit community. I know the people who live up here more intimately than I would ever have known even my own neighbours in the city. I know what kind of cars they drive, know what their hobbies are, know who is related to whom. I hear things about people, both positive and negative, and people must hear things about me (there was a rumour that I was a lesbian for a while because I am a single woman living on her own); I choose to believe only what I hear first-hand, but I practiced this before I moved out this way, and I think it has served to keep me well out of the small-town dramatics. Living here one can soon forget that there is an outside world, and this can make petty differences stand out more starkly without the buffer that an over-abundance of anonymous strangers provide. It can also make the positive things people do stand out like raindrops in a spider's web.

Leading these meandering thoughts was my weekend out camping with my North Van friends, many of whom I have not seen in years. It was nice to catch up with people, and in doing so I was reminded of just how “crazy” and unusual my whole life may seem. Living in a town of 43, running a one-room school. Yup. I’ve certainly never been one to choose the well-traveled path, and this is no exception.

It was great to see some of the friends that I grew up with. I was craving a little dose of long-term friend love, and I have honestly never laughed so hard for so many hours in my life! At times we were crying we were laughing so hard, and all this laughter in the place I love most: the great outdoors. There were about twenty of us all together camping at Levett Lake in the Paradise Valley (Squamish). I was acutely aware of the differences between the costal rainforest climate in which we were camping and the dryer more interior climate of Gold Bridge and Lillooet. Living in different places is good for noticing things like this that you otherwise wouldn’t if you just stayed put for most of your life.

The roots of the old-growth trees splayed out below our feet creating a trampoline of fallen pine needles. It was easy to get lost in the woods because the canopy of tall trees blocked the sunlight from hitting the forest floor, meaning that there was not much growing at walking-level. There were also these huge grey boulders scattered everywhere, and hundreds of years of needle pile-up and thick moss was growing overtop of them, allowing us to scamper up hills, imagining that one day the rocks would be completely buried under a laver of dirt.

The water was spring-fed, and warm enough for multiple swims on Saturday while the weather was nice. I had an awesome time walking out on a huge log that was hanging about ten feet over the lake. I tried to walk right to the end, but the log bounced and shook so hard that with just a foot of log space left I ended up flicking off into the water below. It was my best friend’s 30^th birthday, and what a way to spend it.

This week is another busy one, with some mountain biking happening as well as some time in the garden and a day or two of horseback riding. I’m planning on spending this coming weekend here, which will be AMAZING since I have been going out on ridiculously long drives every weekend so far this month!

I found out this week that I got the job as the teacher here again next year, which is great. I already know and am loving the community here, I know my students, know what the job entails, and have an amazing house to continue to live in, so I am happy to stick it out until the teacher who will be taking an extended maternity leave decides to return. Sure, it hasn’t been the easiest posting, but I made it through the cold winter months and am making the most of my time up here. I feel like there is just too much exploring to do around here before I am ready to move on, so I’m sticking around as long as I can.

Hope you all had a wonderful long weekend as well!

Summer Preview

It's 9:45 pm, and my upstairs room has got to be twenty degrees. Feels like summer has officially begun, thankfully, although I may have to re-think this upstairs room. On Thursday morning when I woke up it was -3 outside, so this blast of heat is certainly a welcome respite from burning wood!

I've been crazy busy, with both work and my own personal outdoor education program which consists of mountain biking paired with par 3 golf after the long days of work. Yes, Gold Bridge actually has its own little golf course, complete with sand traps and everything! I have surprised myself, shooting lots of 4s. Maybe this game isn't half bad. I don't foresee myself ever playing a "proper" round of 18 holes, but nine holes of rustic par 3, clubs in hand with balls in the bush to spare--if you don't mind a few pack rat nibbles--is just my style.

This weekend I was in Whistler skiing with my Mom who can still kick my ass on skis any day of the week. One of my best friends, Peter, came up to join us on Saturday. The sun was blaring off the snow, and we sped over run after run of pristine piste with a couple of beers and a burger on a patio for lunch. How I love you, spring skiing, but after this weekend I now feel officially in summer mode.

My Mom and I had a two-sport day on Saturday: skiing followed by an evening canoe ride.

Had a doctor's appointment in Whistler today, and on my way back I drove all the way to the Duffey Lake and the road was CLOSED where they had been blasting avalanches with a helicopter. Turns out one of the slides buried the road, and DUH they didn't have an excavator handy to clear it, so one was being driven up from Pemberton.

The wait, according to the highways guy, was expected to be three to four hours. Within minutes I was back in my car, pulling a u-turn to head over the Highline road that connects Gold Bridge through Shalath. I hadn't taken it before, and what a DRIVE! Windy, rough and hilly, steep drop-offs, dramatic views of the valley--just how I like my road travel ;)

View from the Highline, complete with power lines. The road exists because it follows the Hydro towers that come from Shalath juiced up with power from the dam.

I was following another truck, since I didn't know where to go, and they accidentally ran over the tail of a rubber boa! Rubber boas are snakes that are at risk in this area, and so I stopped to help the poor little guy off the road. It was not able to slither very far, so I ended up picking up its cool silky body and putting it in a bush over the side of the embankment. It will probably die, and if I had the proper supplies I would have brought it back so we could at least attempt to nurse it back to health away from the watchful eyes of eagle predators. At least then if it died in the classroom we could donate its body to science and dissect it. Snakes often sun themselves in the middle of roads a lot around here, and then when a car comes it is so loud that their sensory systems become overloaded. It's like they don't even realize that something is coming because it is too large for them to detect, so they just sit still until the last minute, and then they are driven over.

Speaking of dissections, I had a couple of guys up from the Department of Fisheries and Oceans to do a fish dissection for our class. It was AWESOME!!!!!! There are pics and write-ups on our school blog, so check them out here.

Kevin popping out the eye of the fish to pass it around. He literally took the whole animal apart, piece by piece. We examined all the organs, and even took a look at how flexible the spine and bones were. 

Other than skiing and golfing, I have been mountain biking like crazy! Last week I got in three rides after work. Not bad for someone who works long hours. Guess that's the benefit to living just minutes away from epic bike trails, and to having the light around late into the evening. I'm still very much a beginner with downhill, but in the last few days I started to notice a ton of improvement in my balance. Next on the list might just be a new bike, and perhaps I should invest in a full-face helmet too ;)

A little bedtime song: "Goodnight Moon" by Said the Whale

The Beach of Dead Trees

Last night a friend took me for a ride on his dirt bike. It is the first time I have ever been on one, and it was AWESOME! Yes, I know what some of you are thinking, and it is dangerous, but, as I'm sure you are now well aware, lots of things I do with my time are dangerous, and there are ways to mitigate the risks with proper gear and by making sure to leave your ego at home. I used to ride on the back of a friend's street bike years ago, until my parents told me that I had to move out if I kept it up, so I had him start picking me up on the corner of our street rather than directly out front of the house. He ended up crashing his bike one day, without me on the back, thankfully, and that was the end of that.

Yesterday I took the students out to our last Lillooet swimming lesson of the year, and I brought my underwater camera for them to use during the free time part of the swim. They took some amazing shots which we will put up on the GBCS blog early next week.

Here's a picture of an eagle taking flight that I captured during one of our Lillooet drives. Liam calls it the "stalker eagle" because it seems to be sitting in the exact same place each day, which reminds me of the lamppost hawk in North Van that perches on a streetlamp by the exit for Lynn Valley.

Last night my friend and I watched two bald eagles chasing a squawking Canada goose down the valley of the La Joie reservoir. They dipped and dived at it, and then when it was just a pinprick of movement amongst the dark trees on the opposite shore, the sound stopped, and the eagles circled high overhead.

The beach we went to was amazing, in a this-is-what-humans-do-to-the-environment kind of way. It reminds me of the photographs of Edward Burtynsky: hauntingly beautiful scenes of resource extraction.

Decades ago the river that flowed through the valley was dammed and therefore flooded, which means that the remnants of the forest that skirted the river are under water for the summer and fall months after the yearly snowmelt. During the spring the water level is at its lowest, meaning the exposed remains of the forest are left visible like bones of a carcass that has been picked over and finally left to the earth to reclaim. Towering logs protrude from the ground, and roots lift from the surface of the earth like spidery sculptures, the silty sand having long been washed out from under them.

There was one stump that we calculated to be about four-hundred years old.

A clearcut was just up the hill from us as well, with a single tree left standing in a tangle of leftover logging debris and bushy new growth.

We had a fire and revelled in the quiet solitude, the mating calls of a nearby grouse starting up and stopping as we watched a haze of precipitation enfold the distant white-topped mountain peaks. Life is good here. Quiet and slow.