Back to flatsville yesterday, and I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I think it’s possible that I would develop a case of claustrophobia if I lived in the mountains, but the contrast from one part of this province to another is stunning. I hope I get to visit Canmore again, especially in the winter.
It doesn’t matter what piece of landscape I’m looking at, I always wonder what it would look like under a blanket of snow. Unlike Jasper, where there is always a dusting of white on the higher mountains, the peaks in Canmore were bare, other than the rolling velvet of the evergreens. I can only imagine how lovely they would be in December.
Today, on the trails in Mill Creek, the trees are almost entirely bereft of leaves. The ground, on the other hand, has taken on a fortune in brown and yellow leaves. The geometry of the river valley is fully exposed.
A fortune of leaves
Took the day off to catch up on all the stuff left undone while galavanting in the mountains. Other than a few dogs taking their people for walks, the trails were deserted. Walked for about an hour in the bright sunshine and then did some stairs. No mountain streams, but just as meditative.
2:35PM/13C (It’s still surprisingly warm for October. Last year on this day it was -4C.)
I’ve lived almost my entire life in Alberta, visited the mountains many times, and yet, I’ve never been to Canmore. Maybe it’s the name. Not a particularly lovely moniker for such a beautiful town. Sounds like a meat-packing plant. And why isn’t Canmore mentioned in the same breath as Banff, Jasper, or even Kananaskis? The mountains are just as stunning, and the town is alpine-quaint. Canmore is obviously the quiet one in the family.
I’m spending the Thanksgiving long weekend here, and so far, I’m very impressed. Canmore is an old coal-mining town, which explains the dark soil and hunks of coal along the Bow river. As this is not a national park, I stuffed my pockets with a few ‘beach’ finds, like the coal, and a few other interesting rocks and pieces of driftwood. Can’t say that national park status ever stopped me from filling a pocket or two in Jasper, but I try to be respectful of the law, where possible, and when I remember.
Further up the banks, we found a couple of abandoned mine shafts, and an old, stone shack. Judging by the interior paint job,
chateau de Canmore
or lack thereof, I would say this building has not been officially occupied for many years, aside from the ungulates who have left evidence of their wanderings on the floor, and of course, teenagers, opting to leave their calling card not on the floor (as far as I know), but on the walls, just like teenagers everywhere. How they love their pressurized paint products.
This morning we visited the local dog park, which is a pretty spectacular setting for canine shenanigans. Canmore is very much a dog town. A walk through main street is like a mini-Westminster Dog Show, without the goofy commentary and the ankle-length skirts. Lots of drive-by licking (dogs) and quick fondles (me.) Many people were walking around in shorts and t-shirts. If it wasn’t for the preponderance of pumpkins and yellow leaves, I’d swear I was on a summer holiday. After the dog park, we crossed Spray Lakes Road, and entered the Canmore Creek Trail, which is quite lovely. In my brief introduction to the trails in Canmore, the easy trails, most of them eventually intersect with a house, or a collection of houses. Again, because Canmore in not a national park, there are fewer restrictions on building, resulting in lots of peaked-roof, alpine inspired houses and condos sprawled across the Bow Valley basin. It’s almost like a Swiss village, without the chocolate shops and the political neutrality.
A mountain stream streaming
Anyway, back to the trail…we were able to find a path adjacent to a little waterfall and a mountain stream. It was beautiful, and somehow deeply meditative. Something about the sound of rushing water, and the coolness of the spray. In the middle of October, there is still a deep carpet of moss on the rocks and up the sides of the riverbank. Even a few flowers here and there. Hard to think of turkey and root vegetables when all signs are pointing to midsummer.
No encounters with wild animals thus far, which is just as well. With regard to bears, as my dad used to say, you only have to be faster than the slowest runner, and I’m not sure that I can lay claim to that ability anymore. I have seen the usual assortment of magpies and squirrels, but nothing hooved or clawed, other than a few feral cats, which apparently are a problem in town.
All I really want to say is, Canmore, I heart you.
24C. Warm. Disconcerting in this defoliated landscape. It should be cooler, but I’m glad it’s not. Wearing my tank top and shorts made me feel like I was getting away with something.
Still seem to be missing my usual oomph, but the walk was longer today, through downtown, Louise McKinney, and then into Mill Creek. The sun was right in my eyes for part of the way, which is so typical of this time of year. The woods were very quiet. Everything is slowing down, including me.
Not a lot of energy today, for some reason. Just a short 45 minute walk home along the south side of the river, and then through skunk hollow. Bright sunlight and coolish temperatures. More than half of the trees are bare, but a few are still holding on to their leaves. The leaves that have fallen are starting to rot, so it really smells like fall now, especially in the cooler, wetter areas of the river valley.
I should really be taking advantage of the October light, as the dark days of November loom. But, if ya don’t got it, ya don’t got it. Hence, the short, listless walk.
My walk today was a confusion of the senses. The temperature started out cool, but ended in sweaty, summery heat. Glad I wore my shorts, even though it’s been awhile since my legs have seen any colour. Not a problem for me, but you know, it’s not fun for my fellow river valley enthusiasts. Mill Creek looks like a post-explosion landscape. Splashes of red, yellow and green debris, bordered by grey, defoliated branches. The quiet creek, and a near empty trail,
a cooler palette
pierced by the waterfall-like crunch of feet on leaf-strewn paths. Something happened down here. Autumn, just past it’s peak.
The drastically changed landscape occurred in the blink of an eye. Two weeks ago, it was mostly green, and now, in spite of the warmth, winter seems so much nearer. I can see the November trees pushing through, taking over. Parts of the river valley, previously hidden by thick green foliage, are slowly being revealed. The searing light of an eye-level, winter sun. Bah! It’s all good. September to December are my favourite months.
Yeah, I’ve been lazy about writing, but the colour-saturatedvisuals in the river valley are currently kicking the ass out of any feeble attempt of mine to describe the landscape. Sure, there’s ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’, and if I’m truly inspired, ‘really pretty’, and ‘really beautiful’, but overall, my words are a disappointment, and my camera skills are basic at best. Thanks alot autumn, for being indescribable.
In the waning days of September, the temperature has turned mild. A hard rain yesterday morning gave way to a ferociously blue sky in the late afternoon. It was back today, and against that deep blue backdrop, the yellow trees appeared luminous. Straight out of the tube, as they say in the painting biz. In fact, the entire river valley looks like a painter’s palette, before the mixing and muting of the colours. It is really pretty. That’s it. That’s all I have to say.
