His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. -John Milton, poet (1608-1674)
Up at 7:15 am as I knew I had to be ready to roll for the Boot Hike this morning, out of Summerland. Since I had an appointment with the dottore, at 1:30 pm, I decided I'd better drive straight to the IGA in Summerland to meet with Boot Hikers.
In his earlier message detailing the coming hike, Big Al had mentioned that the duration would be three hours but I knew, from past experience, that treks could sometimes take longer so I didn't want leave myself without some leeway. I had to drive back to Penticton to shower and change so I needed to be finished the hike and back at the second rendezvous spot by 12:30 pm, at the latest, otherwise I would be cutting things pretty closely! Did just that and once it had been determined, in the very slippery, with black ice, IGA parking lot, where the day's hike would take us, I gave Mother Teresa and Famiglia Dronkers a ride, along the Princeton Summerland Road to turn onto Bathville Road, aka Isintok . Followed this to where it intersects with Shingle Cr Rd, a private road, according to posted sign, leading to an acreage/farm/ranch of some sort, I presumed.
At any rate, we made ready once here and then, led by Big Al, we set off to explore the benches, (ancient flood planes of Trout Creek). Snow was relatively deep, 8'-10"or so, at least for boot hiking but if one followed in the footsteps of those ahead, going wasn't overly difficult, although trail blazers had their work cut out for them, obviously. Couple of fairly steep ascents, initially, but once we reached the first bench, terrain leveled off and we made our way, quite easily and pleasantly, through scattered pines. Couple more steep climbs and we zig-zagged our way up having to pay attention to one's footing as here the crusted snow was quite liable to collapse on the downhillside. Some of the earth, exposed by those ahead, was quite slippery as well. Not particularly dangerous but made progress a tad awkward at times.
Soon found ourselves in a number of large exposed meadows, sloping gently upwards, where snow was, generally, much deeper but still very manageable and loads of fun to go one's own way, at least for those with the energy to do so. Snapping shots, I lagged behind most of the group, only to catch up when people very kindly took a short break, to chat and perhaps have a drink. At one of these stops Big AL took a group photo and then we continued on our way. About an hour or so, into hike, we crossed a road and here Al told me that I could follow this, with a dipsy-doodle, here and there, back to where we had left our vehicles.
From this point on we started to hike through mist/low cloud. Shrouded by the gossamer whiteness sounds were even more muffled than they had been lower down, so even Aarturo's stentorian delivery was muted, dampened to a whisper by the time the airwaves reached the stragglers. Timon and I, along with Janos and Big Al, for a time, were the rear guard, and I enjoyed chatting with Timothy, in particulare, as we knew many faculty, in common, as he'd studied at UBC, both History and Education. A few more short rises and our intrepid leaders called a halt as it was time for a lunch break. By this time it was about 11:30 am and my considerate guide suggested it would take me about 45 minutes to retrace our steps and then make my way along logging road to cars so I snapped a few last pics of The Munchkids enjoying their tucker and said Arrivederci to one and all.
Sad to say, nobody missed a bite and I felt a bit downcast as I headed downhill, into the enveloping mist, now more like a shroud, as I made my solitary way through the snow and silent pines. Tracks were very easy, as one might imagine, to follow, so not a trial to keep to trail. In fact, once I'd left the heartless hikers behind, the silence was so complete that I became enchanted with the few sounds that broke the quiet: the crunch, crunch of my boots and the squeak, squeak of my poles. With nobody else to talk to or listen to, I thought of nothing, holding any thoughts other than the attention to the necessary step step steps I took as I retraced the route and it was not long before I felt the serene landscape wash over and through me.
While I didn't achieve Nirvana, I did relish being completely by myself and found the absolute stillness both exhilarating and refreshing. Once I reached the logging road, the going became even easier and I was able to take in more of the landscape as I didn't have to take quite as much care about footing now that I was walking on the fairly even, crunchy snow just off the ruts or in the middle of the track. What first came to mind as I strolled along were the forays I made, as a child of 11 or 12, when my family lived in Elliot Lake, Ontario, (north of Lake Huron, midway between the cities of Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie, for those not familiar with this uranium mining, now retirement, community), into the bush behind the small townsites at Panel and Stanleigh, the mines where my Dad worked between '57 and 59'. I was usually accompanied by my dog, Tag, a lovely creature, a beautifully tempered German Shepherd/Collie cross, but at times I would set off alone, carrying my slingshot to protect me from wolves and bears, to hunt partridge. I was not a particularly good hunter and when I did stumble upon a treed partridge and did manage to hit it, with a small stone, upon its chest, the silly bird simply ruffled its feathers an dcontinued to preen!
I was so embarrassed by its seeming insouciance, (although I didn't know the term at the time), and my hapless hunting skills that I slunk away, almost hoping that I'd be attacked by a bear or torn asunder by a pack of wolves, not that the latter were even known in these parts. However, other than this rather silly, boyish pursuit, I can still remember feeling, at one point, the visceral effect of the vastness of the forest that I wandered through, at times, paradoxically, claustrophobic and suffocating, at times, almost transcendent, shining. Some variation, of the latter, I experienced on the logging road. The quiet, the white space, the sentry-like trees all spoke of peace and harmony and I felt incredibly privileged to share this sheer, natural delight. Shortly before I reached the parked vehicles, a large, diesel pick-up passed me, shattering my reverie but not dislodging the sustaining wonderment of being in such a landscape.
Stats for hike:
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/1022224465#.VqB-LkCBHz0.email
Snowball video at: https://youtu.be/mIgHCPBAsL0
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