The Vacation Needed: August 2014

Part of Vancouver's appeal is that after enjoying Gelato downtown, you can be walking it off in a mountain forest 30 minutes later. Having proved our devotion to our rowing wives the previous day, Allen and I drove across the bridge over Burrard Inlet and up the mountainside to Lynn Canyon.

Or so we thought. Alice the GPS sent us up a road to a parking lot with a sign and a big yellow "You Are Here" dot. But the surroundings looked nothing like the park we had read about.

We were, in fact, here.

But this didn't look like a good place for a hike in the woods.

But we were in the clouds.

A hiker appeared with his dog a short time after we had embarked upon a path that would take us in the wrong direction. "No, you don't want to go this way. Go back to the previous parking lot and follow the trail into the woods there." We followed his advice. Looking at the image of the sign, we wouldn't have needed his kind direction if we'd inspected the map a little better. Interesting how preconceived notions detract from powers of observation.

The trailhead beckons.

It was readily apparent we were not in Kansas.

Multiple mosses made mats on the trees.

An otherworldly visage greeted us
as we began our descent into the canyon.

Damp and still and green stuff everywhere.

Does this look like anyone you know?

Parts of the way down may have been treacherous without the stairs.

But the forest had reclaimed some of them.

And it was also reclaiming the deadfalls.

It did not rain as we hiked, but it was damp to wet the entire way.

The massive stump guarded a bend in the trail.

The dead supported by the living.

It was eerily beautiful,
but not a place I'd want to navigate after dark.

After a good bit of walking, we popped out
onto the stream that had formed the canyon.
Large rocks without moss make you think there are times
when a lot more water is flowing.

The smaller rocks were also nicely cleaned.

There's always one odd-rock.

The current had pushed some of them into interesting formations.

Back on the trail, we encountered this full step
created from half of a tree.

An over-used stretch provided access to the water from the trail.

This clear pool was just downstream from the falls.
The fence higher up the bank indicated that one should not go to the primo spot
for photography, lest you fall while capturing the falls.
I scrambled up the rocks. Hopping the fence would have been much safer.

Well worth the climb, barring mishap.

Photographer at work.

But some preferred to look the other way.

The bridge above the falls provided an excellent view.

Yes, an excellent view of a Crazy in a wet suit jumping the falls!

I meant, "Crazies," plural.

A giant returns to the soil.

The temperate rain forest beckoned us on.

We finally reached the suspension bridge where the Baden-Powell trail passes over the canyon. That's Baden-Powell, not Clayton-Powell. Do not get your founders of paramilitary organizations for children confused with miscreant congressmen from New York. The population density grew rapidly as we approached.

Allen is leading the troops across the suspension bridge.

Over the gorge far below.

We didn't realize that the route we took was unnecessary to see the big attraction. A few steps away from the western end of the suspension bridge was a park accessible by car. A full service tourist attraction, the place even had a snack bar with excellent sandwiches. Allen determined that we needed sustenance, and as long as it was being provided, we should partake to keep our energy level up for the return.

This memorial plaque was near the suspension bridge.
As teen Jacquie lay sleeping in the sun below, a huge rock
dislodged itself from the side of the gorge and crushed her.
So sad.

We headed back down through the canyon and then up to the car. It didn't become any more dry. Clearly a rain forest.

Pretty wet.

Wet and pretty.

Though they groped at us, the trees failed to catch us.

We were not the only ones slugging our way along the trail.

As we drove out, we were treated to wet snapdragons alongside the road...

In several hues.

All photogenic.

And all thriving in the damp climate.

Dragons captured, we drove down the mountainside.

And out of the clouds.

Vancouver is a great town, but not it's not all British Columbia has to offer. Victoria, the Capitol, lies across the Strait of Juan De Fuca. Wanda Who? I have to wonder about the nomenclature. The portion of the Pacific that separates Vancouver Island from the mainland is not straight, and the man it is named after wasn't really Juan De Fuca. In fact, there is some confusion as to what the Greek seafarer's name actually was. He was certainly not a Greek called Wanda. And to further complicate things, the city of Vancouver is not on Vancouver Island.

But we are intrepid souls, and chose to cross the water, whatever it may be named.

Approaching the Gulf Islands.

The ferry is a massive boat.
Note the deck wear people are sporting.
It may be sunny in the strait, but the wind is strong and cold.

The small Gulf Islands hug the southeastern coast of Vancouver Island.

There is a strong current between some of the islands.
It must have pushed these swanky homes onto the shore.

I bet there's a great view up on those hills.

Not so bad down here at sea level either.

As we continued southwest,
the hills got higher and the clouds, puffier.

It would be great to have a boat to explore the islands.
I could definitely afford this one...on the right,
trailing the sailboat.

Somewhere past that big island in the mist is the US of A.

Though our reservation was for noon, we just made it onto the 11 AM boat.
I had hardly stopped the car when the doors slammed shut.

They pack 'em in tight.

Having done the "cool wind in your face" on the way over, we decided it might be nice to grab a bite while we sailed back to Vancouver a few days later. (Relax. If you want to see Victoria, stay tuned for a following post. Or better...go there!)