We are now into the third week of snow and ice. In the past, the snow would melt away in a few days, even if it had fallen in enormous proportions. The thought that it is not going away one more time before Christmas makes me shiver. But my wife and I still walk over the now deserted golf course. In my desire to find some colour in the grey landscape, I found a little red in the mountain ash trees and berries that our feathered friends left behind. Rose hips also kept their red coats on, and the snow, as much as we hate it, improved the tonal quality of the pictures I am taking. I hope you will like the selection of our photo journey to the golf course.
Less than four weeks ago we swam in the Whatshan Lake and enjoyed a balmy 20 degrees C warm enough for a picnic in a multi-coloured fall setting. Walking now in sub-zero temperatures with a stiff wind blowing from the northeast makes us feel as if the warm spell happened sometime in the distant past. The first snow has fallen and will mostly stay unless there is some relief coming from the relatively mild Pacific Ocean. Below are a few impressions from a recent walk on the deserted Fauquier Golf Course. Enjoy.
In the previous post, I reported that on October 15, my wife and I went swimming in the nearby Whatshan Lake. In the meantime, we finally had some much-needed rain but the temperatures for this time of the year are still way above normal. My followers in their comments asked me when we would get our first frost. This question brought back some fond memories of my annual pilgrimage to the mountains. In the 1980s, I never climbed up to the 8200 ft McBride mountain alone. At least one of our five sons accompanied me. Our hike would take place near the end of August. Often the meadows of the lower valley were covered by a white blanket of frost. Fast forward to the presence. Heart Creek, our main source of water, almost ran dry this year. Our garden is still producing red beets and cherry tomatoes. Only yesterday I picked a basket full of these delicious fruits from the vine. This is just another piece of evidence of climate change. Quite frankly, as pleasant as an extended warm spell may be, it makes me quite a bit worried.
Our son Tony and I are on the plateau of McBride. (1986) The ridge behind us leads to the higher Mt. Hilda
My wife planted the tomatoes in the soil under the gravel. They enjoyed the extra heat from the rocks.
On October 15, a bright sunshiny day that felt more like summer than fall, my wife and I went again hunting for chanterelle at a nearby mountain lake. While we did not find many mushrooms so late in the season, we enjoyed a picnic at a tiny beach framed by forests and the brilliant blue sky. The sky’s reflections on the crystal-clear water transported us into a dream world rarely encountered on our troubled planet. Whether you believe it or not, Biene and I jumped into the lake for a very, very refreshing swim. Enjoy.