What a beautiful day. My last walk (probably) in Edmonton for the next two weeks. My walking blog is about to transform into a travel blog. Ah well, it’s all walking, whether it’s in a museum, or on a river trail.
Maggie waits...
Really mild for a mid-November Thursday. Maggie and I did the Power Line-Whitemud Creek-Westbrook route under blue skies and a right in the eyeballs sun. Earlier today, it was raining, so I’m glad we were able to squeeze in a long walk. Since this is a work day, which I happen to have off, few people were on the trails, other than the requisite retirees. With no one around, Maggie got to romp in the bush off-leash, which makes both of us very happy. I can walk at a faster pace and she can stop and start when she likes, which is often. Usually, she’s ahead of me, but stays pretty close. Such a good doggie. Have I said that already? I will miss her for the two weeks I’m in Sweden.
I thought it might happen. Moving away, even temporarily, from the river valley has adversely affected my walking. After 15 years, I have been knocked off the trails by a change of location. I thought I would be more insistent, and I am a little disappointed that I have succumbed to a certain amount of laziness. Of course, it’s not just laziness, or the absence of river, or even the distance from my current abode to Whitemud Ravine. It’s also a greater level of responsibility after work. With two nieces and a dog, there is not a lot of meandering time to be had. Everybody’s hungry, and I might as well just get home as quickly as possible and get things done. The walk can wait. And then it’s dark. I understand why ‘add-on’ fitness regimes fail; people have to leave to do it. It’s in addition to other activities, and it requires a level of commitment that is easily toppled by the comforts of home. Up to September, my walking regime was my commute, therefore it was not in addition to my life, but part of it. A great part, the best part of my day. I always walked on the weekends too, and on holidays, but the bulk of my walking was after work. And once I arrived home, I could stay home. Work done. Walk done. Nothing left to do but open a can of alphagetti and relax. Ah, the single life.
I did take the dog for a couple of long walks last weekend, and a short one on Wednesday, but this is far from my usual output. I’m used to 90 minutes a day. Every day, or most days. As the light dwindles and the days get colder, I can’t see things changing much until next spring. My routine is on hold, in a modified state, for five to six months. I guess this is OK, as long as I can regulate my moods (and donut consumption) in some other way. Maybe I’ll take up drinking. I am still walking, and Whitemud Ravine has yet to reveal all her secret monkey trails, I suppose. Also, it is unfailingly pleasant to walk with Maggie. I love watching her lope along through the grass, her snout hoovering up all the scents of the neighbourhood dogs and maybe a coyote or two. She’s so happy to be outside, in any weather.
Yes? No?
Kinda like me in Mill Creek, although I haven’t loped for years.
Nevertheless, it was a nice enough walk today. Very frosty, just -1C when Maggie and I left at 2:00. Whitemud Creek is frozen, but I could hear the water flowing beneath the ice. I bet there were ice pancakes on the North Saskatchewan this morning….
Took the opportunity yesterday to walk for a few hours in the river valley in and around Mill Creek. Like my walk this morning in Whitemud Ravine, the leaves are gone from the trees. Mostly. It’s extraordinary to watch the landscape explode into colour, but there is something so beautifully quiet and contemplative about the woods when the trees are bare, before the snow has fallen. At 5:30 in the afternoon in Mill Creek, the sky was metal grey and the branches disappeared into the clouds as if there was some sort of high mist. The paths have opened up after a summer’s worth of leafy congestion. No people, no dogs. I was completely alone. I saw a robin sitting in a tree, which is a little late in the year for those fairweather birds, and all around were the ubiquitous magpies and a blue jay, badgering me, I think, for taking my peanuts and moving to another part of town. Other than the birds, a solitary walk in the soft colours of mid-autumn. I understand why Andrew Wyeth was so compelled to paint this sort of landscape. Why I’m so compelled to take bad pictures of it, none of them even coming close to capturing the moodiness.
The morning walk in Whitemud was brighter and more lively. Only about an hour. Must have rained a bit last night; the ground was wet and smelled great…like, oh I don’t know, wet autumn leaves after a night of rain. In spite of the chill, Maggie still wanted to jump in the creek. I wouldn’t mind but the water is so still this time of year, I’m sure it’s full of beaver-born wee beasties. And beavers. Around the curve of the path where Maggie likes to make her move into the creek, I put her on the chain. She seemed a little hurt. Later, she got back at me by crunching down on a bone she picked up in the grass. I had to shove my hand in her mouth up to my elbow to remove it. I couldn’t bring myself to look hard at the thing…a quick glance registered some sort of skull shape, like a bird, or a tiny sasquatch. After the skullectomy, I didn’t know what to do with my hand…covered in gob and bird bones, so I just let it hang by side, dripping, until I got home. Gross. It’s always an adventure walking with a dog.
A very sparkly walk in the -2C temperature. The grass was stiff underfoot in the shady areas, diamond-tipped and dripping in places where bright beams of sunshine had melted the frost. A gleaming Autumn morning, in other words. One of the many nice things about walking with a dog is that every so often they stop to read their peemail, or write their own. On this crisp morning, these stoppages allowed me to hear the leaves falling, like fat raindrops hitting paper lanterns. The speed of their descent has ramped up with the colder temperatures, and it’s almost as if the leaves are hurling themselves to the ground. In spite of the suicidal overtones, the sound is lovely. On one of the trails in Whitemud Creek, I just stood there listening, long after Maggie’s mission has been completed, and she stood there with me quietly sniffing the air. We indulge each other’s ‘moments.’
Walked up to the little pond. The surface scum has receded, leaving very clear, glassy water. No ducks or other birds this morning. No muskrats, although Maggie and I did see one last week on the creek. Her attempts to catch it resulted in a wet dog and rather spectacular barfing episode along the bank. Not me, the dog. She jumps in with her mouth open, and almost always chokes a bit, or throws up. Today, no such episodes. Lots of running through the frosted, tall grasses along the trails. Not me, the dog. Passed a group of people walking their various pups, one of which was a tiny, samoyed-type dog. Very pretty. Very tethered to the owner, who kept saying, ‘Easy Leonard.’ Apparently Leonard doesn’t play well with others. Maggie just ignored him, but still…awesome name for a dog.
Especially nice walk this morning. My intention was to go for a half hour walk around the power line, really more for Maggie’s sake than mine, but it was so beautiful outside, we just kept walking. Veered off the little footbridge onto the path that runs along Whitemud Creek. It’s a dead end, or at least I consider it a dead end as I don’t like walking straight up the side of the ravine on a questionable path which leads to another, paved path at the top. I’ve walked up there before and it’s very sketch. Anyway, this little trail is fairly short, but lovely. Almost too overgrown in the summer, but perfect now that many of the bushes and trees have defoliated themselves, which is very kind of them. Maggie was absolutely in heaven running through the tall grass. No other dogs or people so she had the path entirely to herself, other than her companion of course. In this part of Whitemud, it’s like being in a canyon. The hill on the east side looks sheered off, eroded, and exposed earth has been bleached dune-white by the sun. Almost expect to see a cactus growing out of the side of it.
Yesterday, like the day before, I walked along my old trails, through Rossdale and Louise McKinney Park. The trees are just a few days past peak autumn, but still ludicrously yellow, a phrase Nigella Lawson applies to squash, but one I think suits the poplar leaves in Edmonton this time of year. I’m all about hyperbole, especially in autumn.
