As the sun fell, and the shadows lengthened, the air took on a peculiarly yellowish tint because of the smoke from the forest fires. The feeble sun turned a deeper shade of red, visible through the treetops. The barred owl on the river shore had flown somewhere else, and further down the trail, the splendor of the turning seasons was in full display.
Like any waterway near a city, pollution has been a problem in the Coquitlam river, but you can tell that great care has gone into maintaining this environment. It is truly a gem considering the amount of growth the surrounding area has seen over the years.
Side channels help the salmon swim up to lakes and rivers upstream
Taking a camera into this world allows you to pay closer attention to the surroundings. The leafs, the ivy climbing up the trees, the mysterious moss hanging all primordial and pretty. You start making connections and wondering what’s going on in the bushes. Who is that quivering in the thicket? How do species survive in this wild environment, unpredictable, and full of dangers? It took me be back to our own furry beginnings, running through the undergrowth, sniffing the air to the sound of wild birds singing.
Ferns fill me with delight. Their prehistoric aesthetic is a joy. According to Wikipedia, they “first appear in the fossil record about 360 million years ago in the late Devonian period…but many… did not appear until roughly 145 million years ago in the early Cretaceous.” So, this plant has solid prehistoric street cred and dresses the part. Perhaps millions of years ago, some tyrannosaur, or similar lizard, also ran through the garden of ferns, screeching as he raced towards some nefarious dino-mayhem.
It’s a wonderful world of textures. Soft and fuzzy. Trembling webs in the soft breeze. Denizens of a mysterious micro-world filled with tiny ecosystems thriving, communicating, moving about the ingredients that confer the metabolic processes necessary for the sustenance and maintenance of the ecological whole.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. Yes, really.
I was familiar with the one less traveled by, having gone that way many years ago in a bike (which I then had to carry on my shoulders), so I knew the terrain was magnificently rugged with the river swooshing and rushing below the embankment.
The trail was much busier than I remember it. It was rare to encounter many hikers in the past, though it was popular with the mountain biking crowd. Since the onset of the pandemic, people have sought the outdoor spaces. Parks and other recreation areas like camping grounds experienced an increase in activity, along with the deleterious effects of the added pressure. From what I hear, the same thing is going on in other places like Oregon, where the increased demand has led to fist-fights with campsite pirates.
Evening was falling and the trail had become a cool world of shadows. It was time to head back home, following the old familiar road. I inhaled the scent of the woods and the smoke. It's a pastime around these parts to complain about the incessant rain, but after seeing the results of the dry spell, I couldn't wait to hear the sound of drops falling on the trees.
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