Short walks this week…only about 35 minutes per, from the LRT bridge area straight through to ‘skunk hollow’. Better than not walking at all, but mostly function, not a lot of form.
The LRT bridge is also a study in function over form. It’s OK, but not spectacular, not like the Cloverdale Pedestrian Bridge. Everytime I walk across this bridge, I think of what might be erected at Louise McKinney in the near future. The city flunkies have assured us that the new Southeast LRT bridge will be a ‘vast improvement’ over thiscurrent LRTbridge. “It was a different council who built that bridge, and we have more money.” Oh. OK. I feel better now.
Rolled out of bed and into the river valley this morning. It’s the best way, really. No worries about hair, and there’s the smug factor; I got up early and I DID something! As opposed to, I got up late and stared into a bowl of Nut ‘n Honey for an hour.
Even though it was only 14C when I left, I managed to work up a sweat on the various hills and staircases along the trails. Took the monkey path behind Skunk Hollow, and then Low Level Bridge, etc., Saw a few more worms hanging from the trees near the bridge, so Rossdale is definitely out until July. Took a picture of a worm but a photo just doesn’t capture the tiny horror of the thing.
Passed by a woman who was walking her basset hound. She had earphones on and the music was so loud I could hear it clearly from a distance. I don’t get it. The woods, especially in the morning, are a symphony. The creeks are babbling, the leaves are rustling, the robins and warblers are singing their hearts out, and she’s choosing oblivion? I even felt sorry for her dog, who probably would have appreciated a more engaged walking companion. (Unlike cats, dogs enjoy that ‘shared experience’ thing.) I blast my iPod too when I’m walking, but only when I’m next to traffic, and never in the woods. It’s unsafe, and there’s no music that can compete with water burbling over rocks.
Woke up to the sound of two baby magpies testing their voices in a tree outside my window. I gave them the number of a vocal coach. Then, usual stroll up to the market. Then, brunch. Then, gossip. Then Mill Creek South via 76th Ave. Nothing much to report, just a lovely day, and a lovely walk. It did get hot after hour one, especially when I ran up the stairs at the end of the ravine (near Connor’s Hill), but nothing unexpected on a late-spring day. Lots of wet dogs ambling about.
Now that the rain has subsided, the poplars have resumed their fuzzification of the woods. It does give the air an ethereal quality, but ethereal only goes so far when a seed gets caught between your eyeball and a contact lens.
A sunny walk home for a change. Not complaining, really, but the sun is so cheering after four days of gloom. Not sure who’s perkier, me or my petunias.
The river was even higher today. There is a long dugout near the Cloverdale Pedestrian Bridge that only fills with water when the river is at it’s highest. It’s several feet above the river bank so this doesn’t happen very often. It was clear yesterday, but today it’s half-full. The river has picked up all sorts of debris from the banks, like logs and branches. Judging by the number of people leaning against the rails, there are a lot of folks with nothing better to do but watch logs move from one side of the bridge to the other. I’m one of them. It’s very Zen.
Took the LRT over to Churchill Station, up the stairs and through a crowd of sparkling grad students, and then into the river valley. Not really a long walk, only about an hour. More on the weekend.
At least I think that’s what it was…it all happened so fast.
Coolish walk home. Had an errand to run near 109 St, so walked down the Walterdale hill to the bridge, and then up 105 St to downtown. This is the route I take in the winter when it’s dark. It’s got the hill factor, which is good, and it’s well-lit. Anyway, walked over to the Shaw Centre, and then into McKinney. Managed to avoid rain, even though the moody clouds followed me all the way home. Total time: about an hour and a half.
The river is the highest I’ve seen it for a very long time. There is no sandy shore at the moment, no little islands for the seagulls, and the water is the colour of mud. Mill Creek is running so fast I almost wish I had a raft. Even the frog bog is a lake. The duck that lives there was waddling ahead of me on the trail. It kept turning around and glaring at me, until finally, it flew back to the bog. I guess I’m more annoying than I thought.
Hope it’s sunny tomorrow. I’m sick of bad-hair days.
Several recent articles in the Edmonton Journal have addressed the dire state of Edmonton’s tree population, a consequence of ten years of drought. Hard to fathom as we face our 93rd straight day of rain, but I see evidence all around, especially in the river valley.
There are many broke-back trees along the trails, due in part to the dry conditions, but also from the hellacious wind storms that go hand in hand with drought. I hear a constant creaking in the canopy, making me wary of what’s splintering above my head. I see graveyards of branches, like blackened bones on the forest floor. Stand anywhere in the river valley and it’s easy to spot the dead spruce trees; grey and lopsided, interrupting the ribbon of green with such regularity it’s as if they’re being systematically erased.
According to an article printed in the Edmonton Journal on June 7th, many trees are experiencing dieback, a condition where ‘…living trees have an abnormal number of dead branches.’ Didn’t know it had a name, but it’s endemic in the river valley. In the park adjacent to Lavigne Road (Skunk Hollow), there is a stand of poplar trees on a hill that reminds me of a Corot painting; exceptionally tall for the area, deep green in the light of day but ablaze with gold when the setting sun streams through the ravine. One tree in particular, the tallest and most striking of the poplars, has dieback about a third of the way down from the top. It’s particularly evident on this tree, but most of them have it to a certain degree, and at least five have orange ribbons around their massive trunks. As with some of the old elm trees on Whyte avenue, an orange ribbon means death by chainsaw. Or perhaps they’ve been targeted for rehabilitation? Either way, it’s heartbreaking. These strong and beautiful trees, plucked from oil paintings, now palliative, like so many others.
don’t tie a ribbon around this old poplar tree
During another severe drought in 2002, a fire decimated an area in the north end of Mill Creek Ravine. It was a big deal in the neighbourhood, with fire trucks up and down the street, and people cranking their stereos to drown out the din of the sirens. My father called and said, “You’re not gonna walk through there, are you?” No dad, I try to avoid burning bushes, metaphorical and literal. I did take a peek a few days later, and even though the fire was relatively contained, the burn zone was extensive. A house was lost and a huge swath of the upper trail was burned to the ground. For years following the fire, that area of Mill Creek smelled strongly of men’s cologne, which is why, on occasion, a walk along that particular trail kinda turned me on. (“It’s not you, it’s the trees.”) Apparently, charcoal is the secret ingredient in grooming products.
green, formerly known as black
Eight years later, the area is lush again. The new growth is still dwarfed by the black spires of the old, burned trees, which continue to fall over as the healthy undergrowth edges out the dead roots. But, for the uninitiated, it would be hard to tell that a fire leveled this part of the ravine less than a decade ago. It didn’t take long for new life to sprout, but in those first years I remember how startling it was to walk out of the cool oblivion of overgrown foliage into the unfilitered sunlight of a burned out landscape.
There is cause for concern, but not despair. The river valley is mostly alive, moderately well, capable of rejuvenation, and at the moment, deliciously green. And on a hot day, it still smells like men’s cologne in Mill Creek.
