Felt a little lonely on the trails today without my dog. Um, I mean, my rent-a-dog, Maggie. Doggy-sitting ended as of yesterday. The only one that’s really happy about that is my cat.
Two seasons in one day. October in the morning (and for the last three days), and August in the afternoon. From 7C to 19C. In my capris and T-shirt, I was overdressed for the walk home. Shorts tomorrow. Maybe.
Pretty quiet in the river valley. Pretty quiet walk. And just pretty. Everywhere. And quiet.
Holy pee-mail. There must have been a whole lot of full-bladdered dogs in Whitemud Creek last night, because this morning, Maggie had to stop every few feet to read the latest news from dogville. However, it’s as much her walk as it is mine, so I’ll choose the route, but she is allowed, within reason, to choose the stops.
Another remarkably cool day. This time, no sun at all. Walked through the ravine for awhile, and then instead of taking the road most travelled, the one leading to the Ski Valley, we took the path headed to Westbrook. There’s a stretch of the trail where the birch and aspen take a sudden shift toward black spruce, or at least I think it’s spruce. The tree that dies from the bottom up, but still appears to be healthy at the top? There’s a lot of them in Edmonton at the moment, and in this small area of Whitemud, the majority of trees at eye-level appear dead, which makes the view grey and soft.
Whitemud creek, before I got lost
The trail is shored up by wooden barriers or old tree trunks, because the drop is significant. The less-travelled trail is well-worth the trip, and although it’s short, the only way out is through Westbrook. I prefer ravine routes if possible, but in this case, it was my only choice.
I’ve only walked along this trail a few times, and the Westbrook part got very confusing very quickly. Took a wrong turn, so I ended up going north, when I should have gone south. Of course, Maggie decided to take her third and last crap on the edge of a very nicely manicured lawn, and I quickly discovered that what the fine neighbourhood of Westbrook lacks in garbage bins, they more than make up for in fire hydrants. So, lost and tired, with my little bag of Maggie poo swinging in my hand, we walked around and around the maze of cul de sacs, stopping every ten feet to sniff the fire hydrants, until I finally found a school I recognized.
I smell bacon
In the end, Maggie got another off leash run through the school yard, chasing the seagulls, and I found a garbage. Our walk today was about a half hour longer than I intended, but it’s a Sunday, so who cares, and the company was most excellent.
Well, not me. My dog for the weekend. My favourite hairy niece. Maggie. Mutt extraordinaire, tireless walking buddy, and affable conversationalist. And only a little bit smelly.
Very October today. Except for the green and the total absence of gourds. Windy and cold, intermittently sunny, but mostly overcast. Not a bad day for a walk, but I wouldn’t want to be short-sleeved.
The entrance to Whitemud Creek Ravine begins with an open area referred to as the ‘power-line’, aptly named as there is a line of GIANT transmission towers stretching as far as the eye can see. You can hear the power sizzling through the electrical lines overhead. Speaking as a non-resident of the neighbourhood, as far as godzilla-sized metal structures can be, they are relatively unobtrusive. The towers briefly intersect the ravine, but if you walk enough in the area, they kind of disappear after awhile. Obliviousness is apparently, a more natural state than attentiveness.
Maggie and I walked along the power line to the mini-wetland pond to see if there were any muskrats
Slimed!
(there weren’t), or red-winged blackbirds (none of those either), but the pond is still quite lovely. A few ducks, a lot of green slimy stuff, a few yipping coyotes in the distance, but that’s about it.
After a few carefree leaps in the tall grass (Maggie), we carried on to Whitemud Creek ravine, walking as far as the first bridge. I suppose it depends on which end you enter the ravine what bridge is first, but entering from the south end of
Whitemud Creek Ravine Pool & Recreation area
Whitemud, the first bridge is about ten minutes from a long set of overgrown wooden stairs built right into the hill, leading down into the ravine. The city has done a very good job over the years of building simple, but quaint little bridges throughout the river valley. Mill Creek Ravine has the most, I think, but I’m more familiar with that area than other trail system in the city, so I could be wrong. Whitemud has four bridges that I know of, and it was under the first one that Maggie decided to have a several slurps of delicious creek water, and a frenzied swim to the middle of the creek and back. She drinks so fast she often throws up seconds after shaking off the water, which she did today, very close to my shoe, but then, back in
Maggie emerges, wet and ready to barf
again for some more. Ah well, she’s a dog. I try to avoid doing things that will make me throw up, but she’s always game.
Ten minutes short of two hours later, we returned home, safe and sound, a bit tired and ready for a snack. Looking forward to another long walk with my buddy tomorrow, if it doesn’t snow.
Just on the other side of the Low Level Bridge, the east side, I heard the sound of an electric guitar in the distance. As I got closer, I realized it was coming from the Cloverdale Pedestrian Bridge. A guy in a mesmerizing silver sequined jacket playing blues guitar across the North Saskatchewan River.
Simply awesome.
It was a lovely thing hearing Brian Gregg‘s music wafting throughout the river valley.
It’s the bridge. That bridge. Connected to that park. It attracts all sorts of wonderful things. I have stated many times how much Louise McKinney Park and the Cloverdale Pedestrian Bridge mean to me, and to thousands of others who wander along it’s paths everyday. How the park’s eastern edge (with the rose garden), and the bridge will be gouged and destroyed to make way for the southeast expansion of the LRT. How the bridge is actually one of three that will be obliterated, along with the 98th Avenue and Connor’s Hill pedestrian bridges. And what about the destruction to the Muttart grounds, and to Henrietta Muir Park on the south side of the river? It’s just too sad to think about.
But…while we still have the park, and this amazing bridge, it is truly something to be celebrated. And a blues player with an electric guitar on a hot summer’s day is just the guy to do it.
Hey, the sky is clear, blue and warm. What up with that?
Long walk through the river valley, feeling the unfiltered sun on my shoulders. Ramped up squirrel activity in the bush, suggesting something cooler and whiter might be just around the corner, but for now, it’s summer.
Checked my journal for 2009 and 2008 and on August 24th of each year, coincidentally, I made note of the prevalence of yellow leaves in the river valley. Not this year. There are a few, here and there, but I think all the rain this summer slowed down the usual progression of the seasons. The fully nourished leaves aren’t so keen to split the scene.
Stupid me, I thought the smoke was from the forest fires, but it’s the fire-breathing dragons in Louise McKinney Park! No, I did not actually see a dragon breathing fire, but man, are they good swimmers, gliding smoothly and swiftly across the grey waters of the North Saskatchewan River.
It was the final day of the Dragon Boat Festival at McKinney. I’ve been watching the dragon boaters practice for weeks. They have all sorts of interesting shouts and commands. A few times, I felt compelled to pick up my pace, even though I was just wandering by. They’re a powerful (and persuasive) lot, those dragon boat people. Somehow, the smoke-filled skies seem appropriate for the occasion.
LRT baaaaddd
Hung around on the pedestrian bridge for awhile, but didn’t see a race. The Queen had entered the fray, and the dragon boats were appropriately deferential. My guess is the races will have to be re-located next year, and the year after that, if the LRT construction demolishes the eastern half of Louise McKinney Park, as scheduled. If only we had real fire-breathing dragons, it might keep the earth-movers (and a certain legacy-crazed mayor) out of the river valley.
The horizon is still smudged with smoke. I began my walk bathed in the cool, misty atmosphere of a mid-Autumn
The emerald river valley
day, but 90 minutes later, it had reverted to a garden-variety, overcast summer day, with a fair amount of humidity for such cool temperatures. The sun occasionally peaked out from the veil, and while it’s no longer casting orange shadows, it’s still a tepid version of it’s former self. Supposed to warm up again in the next few days, which will be nice. Not quite ready to give up on summer.
