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Please tell me HOW to skip rocks!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blogging for a live report from the western shore of Bowen Island, in beautiful BC, Canada.

Sunday, June 6. It’s overcast. Temperature is a moderate 14 degrees Celsius. Winds are light at 9.3 km/h from the southwest.

My friend Jim and I are visiting the beach near where I stayed last September at Island Thyme Bed and Breakfast.

Jim is an expert rock-skipper. Me? Well… take a look. This video is hilarious. Please laugh *with* me, okay?

“I can’t get them to skip,” she whines says. What a maroon! :-D

I’m usually good at EVERYTHING I do! Heh, heh. Well, when you consider beginner’s luck and all.

Not in this case, though. At least I was still smiling when Jim took this video.

I thought he was aiming to take a picture. Little did I know.

You know that edgy feeling? Well I was *this* close to a tantrum, but I think I did a good job at holding it together.

When I watch the video now, I see that I had the angle all wrong. And… I kinda throw like a girl. Next time I’ll know.

In the end, I did get a few skips out of a couple of rocks. Surprisingly.

But still, I think I’ll stick to skipping rope.

Thanks to my friend Jim for taking this video. And, for not telling me he was filming. If I’d known, I probably would have kept my back to him the whole time :-)

Spring on an Island

On the first day of Spring I packed my suntan lotion, shorts, camera and journal and headed to Bowen Island.

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom at Horseshoe Bay, where I snapped quite a few pictures while waiting for the Bowen Island ferry.

When I arrived on Bowen I hiked 20 minutes up the trail to Dorman Point and ate my lunch by this spectacular tree. Lunch digested while I relaxed in a cozy, secluded nook on the side of a cliff overlooking the Strait of Georgia.

The shorts and suntan lotion never left my knapsack. I napped, journalled, phoned a friend and watched the Nanaimo Ferry pass by.

But mostly I enjoyed the view.

Two hours of heaven was spent in my favourite little corner of Bowen Island. Then I set out to hike around Killarney Lake.

On the way I had a chat with a crow named Chester. He was happy to pose for this picture.

The trail led me past a great view of the mountains. Notice the snow up there at the top… where it should be.

Killarney Lake was just as I remembered it. I spent two hours hiking the trails, serenaded by a flock of Canada geese who’d apparently taken up their own celebration of the first day of Spring. Their song was mixed with that of the bullfrogs in the swamp.

I made it around Killarney lake and back to Snug Cove by 5 pm, and promptly headed to Doc Morgan’s for an early dinner.

The steak tenderloin with mashed potatoes and crisp, snap peas silenced the table next to me when it arrived. I could feel all eyes on my plate. Sorry folks, I didn’t think to take a picture. But trust me, it was delicious.

The smooth, carefree day took a slight turn when at 6:20, the waiter informed me that the next ferry to the Mainland wasn’t until 8 pm. Great planning Davina!

Killing Time on an Island

It was getting dark and quite chilly, but luckily it wasn’t raining. I wandered towards the ferry dock and planted myself on a bench where I chatted to a friend on my cellphone for a few minutes.

Then I wandered back up the hill, Bowen Island’s main street which I must add, is not much longer than six city blocks.

Most of the stores were closed so I wandered around absorbing the quietness of the Island’s nightlife.

Dogs lounged lazily on benches outside of restaurants, waiting while their “family” ate dinner. Quite different from the city dogs who you quite often see pulling on their leashes, impatiently staring at the window, whining.

I read posters about community events: There was a mother/daughter pajama party coming up and a Kid & Kaboodle sale where parents could buy clothing, shoes and toys.

I stared longingly through windows at antiques, clothes and artwork. Saw a picture of a figure skater who’d won Gold in the Olympics in the late 1800s and an old picture of the Toronto Maple Leafs.

I took pictures of Daffodils. Lots of Daffodils.

And more Daffodils.

Eventually I stopped for coffee at a small restaurant called Mik•sa where I blended in with the locals, watching the Canucks play hockey.

I felt so much at home. The atmosphere was relaxed and here was a restaurant full of people watching a hockey game! I could get used to this Island life.

Soon after, I reluctantly left Mik•sa and headed towards the ferry which was now waiting at the dock. Even here, people were subdued.

The trip home took me two hours. Normally this would have frustrated me, but I was too relaxed to care.

Spring is my favourite season and I can’t think of a better way to welcome it than by spending it outside, enjoying some time on my favourite Island.

Springtime Haiku

Spring is the season
Mother Nature wakens life
with rhyme, with reason.

I’m dedicating this post to Janice at Sharing the Journey where she has recently written about Daffodils and Haiku for Spring.

It is here where she invited her readers to compose some Haiku and of course, I couldn’t resist. Perhaps you’d like to write one and share it in her comment section.

What did you do on your first day of Spring?

What is your favourite season?

Chapter Ten: Imagine that

“It seemed like such an earthy, male thing — a man doing up his belt buckle; it was sexy and suggestive and made her mouth a little dry…. Heaven be praised if he didn’t bend down to search through [his toolbox]. His jeans pulled tight over his thighs in a way that made her give thanks to Levi Strauss…. The work gloves stuck out of one back pocket and looked like fingers waving at her. It was almost as if they were calling to her, ‘Look here…’”

I giggled loudly and then embarrassed, turned around to make sure nobody was standing behind me. I was sitting on a log at the beach, reading a romance novel called That Summer Place. Hadn’t read one in years and though I knew I wouldn’t have time to finish this one, I was enjoying reading the “good parts.”

My last day at Island Thyme Bed & Breakfast had been a quiet one and after the previous day’s hiking adventure on Mount Gardner I was happy to rest tired muscles.

Every step down the stairs to the beach that evening was painful. I had picked my way carefully over the wet gravelly beach, looking for a log that was dry enough to sit on to watch the sunset. I felt like Goldilocks looking for a bed that was just right.

Waves lapped against the shore and the cool breeze was light on my face. The air was fresh. Mountains posed in the ebbing sunlight, showing off an array of shadowy crevices.

I watched a blue heron land on a rock beside the boat directly across from me. He eventually climbed aboard and I couldn’t see him anymore; never saw him fly off either.

The day was fading quickly and I put the book down to watch the sun sink lower, staring as it perched just above the horizon. It was poised before making the final descent and I imagined that if I stared at it long enough it would stay up longer.

In a matter of minutes the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the sky awash with orange and yellow streaks. I couldn’t deny time was passing and didn’t stay long at the beach — too long would have only made leaving harder.

Savour that

Dinner was decadent. I found some lemon pepper seasoning that added delicious flavour to the lamb and roast potatoes. Red pepper and garlic was roasted in the same pan with the lamb and the garlic caramelized. It was so good! I sipped the rest of the red wine and savoured each bite of food, drawing out dinner as long as I could. Still, time passed on.

I refused to waste time packing that night. I knew my resistance to leaving would only draw it out longer than necessary. Better to wait to the last minute and get it over with faster in the morning.

I took a cup of coffee out to the deck to star gaze, wearing a comfy terry cloth robe I’d found hanging in the closet. I felt sensual wearing the robe — comfortable with feeling sensual.

It was a calm, warm night and I lingered in the dark staring up at the glittering sky, listening to the crickets singing. A neighbour was playing the piano. The notes echoed through the night, adding to the pleasantry of the evening.

I hoped I’d see a shooting star. That sudden streak of light cutting a path across the indigo sky had always excited me. But after a while my neck got sore from watching and waiting.

My thoughts turned to memories of difficult times — days that had at the time, seemed never-ending — like being caught in a web. But at this moment, all the heartbreak, fear, self-doubt, and personal loss didn’t matter. It had no hold on me. I was overcome with the most intense appreciation for being alive; felt a sense of connection with “something” that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Sometimes I think things are better left as a mystery; left to unfold of their own accord; like the last five days had. I was overwhelmed with emotion and I felt like I “needed” to cry. But I couldn’t cry. There was nothing to release and nothing to hold on to.

Tomorrow I would say goodbye to Rachael the spider. She’d sat pretty much motionless in her web these last few days, but her presence had commanded my attention. I’d been compelled to just stand and watch her, mystified by just how much notice I’d taken of her.

What did she represent? What did I choose to believe? That symbolically, we can weave a web that will serve us or enslave us. It’s neither good or bad; there is learning and growth with the passing of time.

“Spider encourages us to discard the heaviness in our lives. Take only what is yours, and leave behind the old forms and baggage. Take with you only the sweetest relationships, possessions, ideas, the rest belongs to the heavy world of yesterday. Cut free from your life the carcasses of the dead, the forms of your past heavy world, and leave room for the new world of love and light.”

An excerpt from an article by Ashley Costanzo and Janice VrMeer

Comments are open. Talk about it. Whatever IT is! :-)

Chapter Nine: To move a mountain

My heart was racing from exertion and fear. And I was angry. The thought of having to go back the way I’d come frustrated the hell out of me. This seemed to be a common occurrence with me, hiking and maps. Always getting lost.

Before I could even go back the way I’d come I had to find the path, and it had clearly disappeared. I tried to retrace my steps but after 10 minutes still didn’t recognize anything. I couldn’t understand how this could have happened so quickly. I felt panicky and when I looked around at the surrounding forest everything seemed to be a blur, like it was spinning around me.

I allowed the charge I was feeling from the anger to push past the fear. It is true what they say about how anger can move a mountain. I went crashing through the forest less worried than before about destroying spider’s webs; less worried about spiders, or bears for that matter.

The perseverance was finally rewarded when I recognized the bottom of the trail. I rejoiced, and then groaned at the thought of having to climb back up that hill I’d just come down. I was already exhausted.

I reached the top about 15 minutes later, gasping for breath. My heart was pounding in my ears like a drum — I could feel it and hear it, which is a good thing I guess. Then I noticed another path, slightly hidden by tall grasses to my left. Temptation.

I stood there trying to decide if I should go back the way I’d come or follow this new path. It was an easy decision. I went on. The triumph of reconnecting with the path after the drama below was more than enough to encourage me to continue the adventure.

I was feeling quite perky with renewed hope of finding the Killarney Lake trail. The trail was well groomed and easy to follow now. I had relaxed more and was enjoying myself. Fears of meeting up with a bear had for the most part, subsided.

I came to a sharp turn in the path a while later and heard something rather large moving quickly through the bushes around the corner. My heart leapt and I stopped in my tracks, all senses alert. It was coming closer. I froze.

Then, a mountain biker sped around the corner and skidded to a stop, smiled at me, turned around and sped off. The heartbeat was drumming in my ears again but I was relieved to see another human being and not a bear.

It had been about two hours since I’d met that woman and her dog and I was about to meet another friend on the trail. This time it was I who scared her. She was walking with her three-month-old baby, staring down at him sleeping in her arms, lost in her own world.

I showed her my map and asked if she had any idea where I was. After a quick glance she informed me that I was nowhere near the Killarney Lake trail. Why wasn’t I surprised? I had come clear down the mountain, parallel to the trail I’d followed at the beginning.

It was after 3 pm, I was tired and accepted that Killarney Lake was not going to happen. It was about an hour to Killarney Lake, another two hours to hike around it, and another hour home from there. And so, I continued along this trail, heading northwest towards Windjammer Road, back to Island Thyme. I would have come full circle.

The trail was decorated with fallen trees from which many varieties of fungus were growing. I took a lot of pictures. Eventually, I came to a clearing that opened to a paved road. I was disappointed. I didn’t want to walk on a paved road, I wanted to walk on a forestry trail. But, there was no way I was going back the way I’d come at this point. There were no signs on this road, and I had no idea where I was… again.

I passed by a driveway under the watchful eye of a guard dog who didn’t as much as growl or bark. He just stared at me as I walked past, and I at him. I walked and walked, and I walked, stopping once to pick a berry that was too sour for my taste.

My legs were sore, my back ached and the scrape on my wrist was burning. Consoling thoughts carried me back to the cozy hideaway where I would soon be sipping red wine and cooking dinner. Oh, I could hardly wait. But there was still a 40-minute walk ahead. I couldn’t believe that after all this time, and with all the water I’d drank, I didn’t have to pee. At least I’d been spared that!

When I arrived back at Island Thyme I greeted Spider who was still sitting in the corner of the window. A comforting sight. I let the silence wrap itself around me and I felt satisfied by the adventure I’d had; even though things didn’t go the way I’d planned. As I stood there watching Spider I remembered wanting to give her a name. It came to me then, as clear as a bell — Rachael. Can’t believe I named a spider, but I did.

Would you have continued on the path, or returned home?

Have you ever peed in the woods? :-)

Chapter Eight: Looking up to Mount Gardner

I hit the trail at noon, climbing uphill for the first 20 minutes. It was deafeningly quiet and I found it a bit disconcerting. The night before I’d asked Wynn if there were any bears on the island. She told me that the odd bear or cougar would swim across and hang out for a short while, before returning to the Mainland.

That wasn’t too comforting for my active imagination. I couldn’t help but think that the one bear or cougar that might happen to be on the island that week, would meet up with me on the mountain.

When I saw a woman and her dog approaching in the distance I was somewhat relieved. Her dog barked when he saw me and I heard her shoosh him. I wanted him to bark though, to scare any bears away.

I was annoyed at myself because my nerves were on edge, preventing me from relaxing and enjoying the hike. I couldn’t seem to get past this fear of mine.

A couple of years ago I went hiking by myself while my boyfriend and I were camping near Sasquatch Park in BC. He was not able to hike because of a bad back and I just HAD to go.

I ended up getting lost and the park manager later told me I had gone way out of bounds. I had been real unsettled when I saw fresh bear droppings beside the trail on my first way through, and didn’t take kindly to having to go back the way I’d come. Not one bit.

I had been hiking around Deer Lake and missed the turnoff to come back around the other side of the lake. The side I might add, as I learned that evening, where there had been the most bear and cougar sightings. Guess it was best I did miss the turnoff.

The dog didn’t want to leave my side. He planted himself beside me and stared at his owner as if to say, “You go on home now. I’m gonna go walking with this new girl.” I would have loved that.

He reminded me of the time my mother bought a dog for my sisters and I. This dog took a liking to me and would follow me everywhere. She didn’t want a thing to do with my sisters. Mom eventually bought two more dogs, one for each sister. Now I was embarrassed as this woman’s dog wouldn’t leave my side and I had to coax him to leave with her.

She told me it was 20 minutes past the bridge to the first lookout and then warned me about the bridge. Apparently it was difficult to cross, but if I held on to the cedars on the right side I’d be fine.

“Oh crap,” I thought to myself, imagining the worst. I had little trouble crossing though. I first attempted to go around but the rocks in the riverbed were too slippery so I ended up crossing just as she’d recommended; by holding on to the cedar logs on the right side.

Twenty minutes later and drenched in sweat, I rested at the first level ground since I’d begun the hike. I sipped some water and looked back at where I’d come from, feeling pretty satisfied with myself. But my nerves were still on edge and all senses were listening…

Disappointment was waiting for me at the first lookout as the view was blocked by an overgrowth of trees. Dense underbrush prevented me from moving past them, and at the second lookout it was the same situation. I was peeved. Not only was I missing out on the view, but I had wanted to take pictures for my blogging buddies.

The path levelled off after a while and I guessed I had reached the topmost part of the mountain. Every so often I’d stop to look at the map (futile, I know), to make sure I was headed the right way. I was determined to connect with the Killarney Lake trail.

After more than an hour into the hike I approached the top of a steep hill that looked like an old dried up river bed. I’m guessing it was about 50 yards down at a 40-degree angle. There were plenty of rocks jutting out that would give me something to grab onto.

The rocks were slippery from yesterday’s rain and I fell three times. The first time my camera banged against a rock and I stopped to put it in my backpack. I scraped my wrist on a rock another time.

I had to crouch real low to the ground to prevent myself from falling again. Perhaps climbing up wasn’t all that bad after all – going down was sure difficult. I finally reached the bottom and stood up, glad to be on level ground again. I looked around. There was no path. I was surrounded by thick ferns.

About 25 yards to my right it looked like the path started up again, so I began crashing through the forest and climbing over fallen logs, all the while watching for spiders in their webs, but having great fun too. I was in my glory as I pushed forward.

After five minutes there was still no path to be found. I turned to look back the way I’d come and couldn’t see the path I’d just left.

The forest appeared to grow larger at that very moment and everything seemed father away than I remembered. I felt like I was being watched. Trees towered above me mockingly, making me feel very small and incredibly vulnerable. I stood still, listened and prayed I wouldn’t hear any rustling in the bushes.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story to come on Sunday.

Have you ever been lost or found yourself in a similar situation? How prepared would you be? What would be in your backpack? :-)

Chapter Seven:
A bump on a log

“Don’t spoil your dinner.” I’d heard those words many times when mom would catch me sneaking a snack.

That had been over 35 years ago and there was no one to stop me now. I poured a cup of Red Rose tea – the perfect accompaniment to the chocolates I’d been enjoying every evening after dinner. Tonight, they were the appetizer.

I was again reclining on the ottoman and catching up on some journalling after having returned from a late afternoon walk. When the rain finally stopped I’d headed down to the beach.

The forest smelled earthy and felt even more alive, awash with the freshness of the rain. The wind rested, sparing me from any overhead runoff from the trees. Beside me on the left, a small creek rushed feverishly down the slope, replenished and flowing purposefully and rhythmically towards the ocean.

My shoes crunched across the gravelly sand. I glanced in every direction quickly taking in the surroundings. I was alone. The distant sky was feathered with intense, dark grey clouds and the mountains loomed up from the horizon across the water, purplish-coloured silhouettes below lower hanging soft, white, whispy clouds.

The tide was out and I tested my so-called waterproof hiking shoes at a spot where the waves were lightly kissing the rocky shore. The shoes, for the most part are waterproof as claimed. However, I didn’t take into account that the waves cleared my ankles, giving me a soaker. I didn’t care.

I could go no further at this point, coming to a stop at a rocky point near the water’s edge. My footsteps ceased just as a Blue Heron took flight from a spot 20 metres to my left. I hadn’t noticed him before and it was too late to aim the camera. Instead, I watched him fly off, skimming close to the surface of the water, mesmerized by his grace and speed.

With the Heron out of sight, I put my camera to work taking pictures of tree roots and rocks. I was fascinated by Mother Nature’s works of art – everywhere I looked – in every direction, above and below.

Though I knew there would be no sunset this evening, I perched myself on a log to relax and watch the seagulls.

A tug boat slowly towed its load past near the distant shore before disappearing from sight on its way north towards the Sunshine Coast. I listened to the motor purring until it was out of sight.

I sat there enjoying the freshness of the ocean air after having been inside all day. I noticed a dog and his owner sitting on their dock about 50 metres away, partially hidden by the trees. The dog was watching me intently. It wasn’t long before he ventured off the deck and crossed through the water, which was about two or three feet deep.

“Awh,” I thought. “He’s coming to say hi.” My heart swelled with pride. I felt special.

I watched him splash through the water, nose in the air, before stepping onto the rocky shore and shaking the water off. Then he pranced in my direction and I readied myself for a friendly meeting.

He slowed when he approached and I noticed he only had one eye when he looked up. I smiled and leaned towards him, “Hello there.” He gave me a disdainful look and pranced off, while I choked on my disappointment. “Snooty pooch,” I thought wryly. Guess I was intruding on HIS turf.

The log was damp from the rain and after a short time I stood and walked back up the stairs, up the earthy path beside the river and up the road, arriving again, breathless at the front gate of Island Thyme.

Day three was slowly winding to a close and I was grateful that time seemed to have stood still. Sunshine was forecast for Thursday… so was Mount Gardner.

Mount Gardner, finally…

I stayed in bed longer than planned the next morning. It was just too darn comfortable. While laying there I heard the phone ringing upstairs. Wynn’s footsteps hurried across the floor to answer it, knocking over a broom in the process. I heard the smack as its handle struck the floor. My cue to get up.

To nourish up for the impeding hike, I cooked up one of my favourite hearty breakfasts: fried mashed potatoes with onions, and what I call a lazy omelette.

I fried mushrooms, green pepper and garlic in butter and at just the right time, poured in two eggs that had been lightly beaten with a little cream. This mixture rested over a low heat.

There was no cheese grater, so I sliced the cheddar as best as I could with a knife. I figured the worst that could happen was that I’d have a huge chunk of melted cheese on the top. I could live with that.

On my way to the table I passed by Spider who was still sitting in her corner of the window. Last night she had surprised me by dropping down from her window corner about six inches. I’d watched her for a minute, amazed at how such a huge, gross-looking spider could become so graceful and beautiful. I decided she needed a name and left that thought to marinate.

It was noon by the time I turned off Mutiny Road and hit the trail. I was eager to make it to the top of Mount Gardner and connect with the Killarney Lake trail.

At 650 metres, the Mount Gardner hike was supposed to take six hours. Since I was planning on connecting with Killarney Lake I wouldn’t be hiking the entire trail network on the mountain. And though I was carrying a map, I knew I’d be improvising.

I was prepared to spend the night on the mountain if I had to, though I didn’t relish that thought.