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.