The other choice? Sunday Bloody Sunday. But this is Edmonton, not Belfast, and the British are our friends.
More than two hours in the sunshine, from one end of Mill Creek to the other, and points beyond. Everywhere, the sound of Caragana seeds cracking in the heat, launching themselves to the ground, and occasionally, my head. Creeks running low, the wildflowers high and loud with bees. Seagulls spiraling and squawking and circling an island on the North Saskatchewan, as two people and a dog invade their space. Folk songs in the air. Dust on the trails. A line-up at the water fountain in Henrietta Muir Park. A couple of Australians having their pictures taken on the Cloverdale Bridge. Bikes and strollers, running shoes and sandals. Wet dogs. Dry dogs. Mosquitoes collecting DNA samples.
Walked through Whitemud Creek today. Turns out, it’s just as hot and humid in south-east Edmonton as it is in south-central. The good thing is that I was once again reunited with my favourite walking buddy, Maggie, although we were not alone in the ravine. Along with the usual crowd, there were a bazillion mosquitoes. Smashed a few that were engorged with my precious blood, so by the end of the walk, I looked like I’d been in a fight with a raccoon. Maggie didn’t seem quite as bothered by the mozzies; she was busy reading her pee-mail, and too engrossed in the comings and goings of the local dog population to be concerned with a few pesky insects. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to brush away the ones feasting on her nose and ears. I wish she’d extended the same courtesy to me, but whatever. I was glad for the company.
We did our usual route through the power line near Blue Quill, winding our way eventually into Whitemud Creek. In spite of the slight inversiony odour above ground, especially today, the woods smelled like blueberries. Maggie likes to avail herself of all available water: puddles, ponds, creeks…and the more stagnant the better, so on this hot day, she made three mad dashes into the creek. Can’t blame her, wish I could join her…sort of. The moment we stepped out the door her tongue was hanging down to her paws, but after the first dip, she revived.
Dam!
Like Mill Creek, Whitemud has a bunch of wooden bridges crossing over the creek at various points. Unlike Mill Creek, the creek is wider, longer, and appears to have more than a few beavers in attendance. Spotted three large dams, but no beeves. Too early.
Made it most of the way to the north end, near Ski Valley, but turned around early because of the mosquitoes. Just under two hours. A good walk for all involved, especially the mosquitoes.
I can’t for the life of me remember why I thought it would be a good idea to wear a down-filled parka, a damp down-filled parka, mitts, and a woolen touque home from work today. Oh wait! I didn’t. It was just the humidity. Lots and lots of humidity. And heat. Actually, it wasn’t too bad, but I wasn’t really hoofing it either. Kinda like running in a pool, even half-hearted efforts at exertion fail after the first ten minutes. The only thing to do is tread water, or float. Or get out of the pool.
Walked for about 90 minutes, over the High Level Bridge (for the breeze), through the Leg grounds (for the shade), and then I melted into a medium-sized puddle somewhere in the vicinity of 99 St.
A hazy day, both mentally and climatically. The river valley in soft-focus. Quite nice, actually. Humid too. Long walk today, about 90 minutes. The heat is back, but with gauze around the sun, it felt less punitive.
Starting at the east end of Rossdale, just on the other side of the Low Level Bridge, I could hear someone’s voice in the distance. Typical girl-folksinger stuff, which makes sense as the Folk Festival begins tonight. I’ve been watching them set up for two weeks, but even if I hadn’t, the dead giveaway would be all the people walking towards ‘the hill’ this afternoon with chairs
Sitzkrieg 2009!
strapped to their backs. Or to be more exact, chairs strapped to backpacks strapped to their backs. I was conspicuous without a chair, especially when I veered right while everyone else veered left, but…I’m not going to the Folk Fest this year. My ass insisted. Begged, actually. So, although I will be abstaining from the annual sitathon, I expect to walk by the site several times over the next four days, chairless yes, but with an appreciation for the familiar sounds wafting through the air. And a pain-free posterior.
Yesterday I wished for a cooler day, and for once in my miserable life, I got what I wanted. Hm. Let me rephrase that….must be a little residual grumpiness from the heat stroke. It was a beautiful day. And a fantastic walk. Warm, but not too warm, with just the right amount of puffery in the sky.
Walked through Mill Creek to the the trail that runs adjacent to 98th Avenue, which is far enough removed from the traffic that the thick foliage absorbs the sound. At the top of the steep climb, the trail opens up into the Forest Heights neighbourhood, and to the north, McNally High School. Normally, I would carry on to Riverdale, but that route is currently dead-ended by construction on the Dawson Bridge. So, back down the same trail I came up.
At the bottom, I took the path that I ‘discovered’ in the spring, which is unpaved and runs parallel to the river. It’s
verboten!!
completely overgrown now, and a little more dangerous in that the bush obscures the bikers (and me.) Also, there is an orange fence at both entry points, so in theory, it’s off limits. In practice, it continues to be a well-used path, especially by the bikers, judging by the number of mini-moguls on the trail. Not sure why the Parks dept has blocked off the trail, other than the area seems to have experienced more than it’s fair share of fallen trees. Ah well. I’ll watch for the bikers and the falling trees, and hopefully they’ll watch out for me. The trail is beautiful. Resistance is futile.
A roll out of bed morning walk. Lots of hills, lots of stairs. Could feel the mini-donuts oozing out of my skin. Ahh…if only it were that easy. At 9:00 am , it was cool in the shady parts, and warm in the sunny parts. Two hours later, it was warm everywhere. The creek has slithered back to its normal mid-summer trickle, and the meadows are waist-high and full of colour, like Impressionist canvases. Only nicer. Heh.
Along with the dogs and fellow river valley enjoyists, I was accompanied on my walk by one long continuous platoon of mosquitoes, but not in the same ludicrous number as in the previous few days. Two hands were enough to take care of the problem. I also noticed an upsurge in the grasshopper population, especially in the McKinney/Muttart area. Spotted quite a few sunning themselves along the white-hot pier near the river. Not being a farmer, I quite like these little jumpers. They seem rather affable as far as insects are concerned,
Snatch the pebble from my hand, grasshopper
and let’s face it, they have lovelyvoices. And impressive knees.
OK, here’s the thing: I love the sun. I do. But, is it too much to ask for a cloudy day? I’m not asking for a reduction in the heat, that would be too greedy, I suppose, but a little variation in the sky (other than a storm) would be great. A winter gust can feel like a slap in the face, but full on sun in the summer is a beat-down, no question. And there are many sections of the river valley that are completely open, without shade. Boy, I feel like I’ve become incredibly whiny in the last month. It’s either the rain drowning the life out of my iPod Touch (bought a better one, so there…), or the heat sapping the life out of me. I think what I’m saying is that I’m a temperate sort of person, with a fondness for the cold. And really, we’ve had a great summer so far with very few extremes, so I should stop complaining and mellow out like the grasshoppers. Chill, as it were. Too bad I can’t sing like them. Or jump.
