Old Sicamous Road Trail, On the Road Again

...end of the Cross Country Ski Trail with the RR tracks in view...

I am trying to make Old Sicamous Trail by own by walking it until I know every curve and bend.

Last year was my first real walk along the trail.

To continue learning about it, my first walk of the year began by dropping by the Pillings House at 6 am -- hoping that Laynie could slip out for a bit of exercise with me before her baby woke up.

... over the stile ...

Landon was already up, as was Glen -- and Patrick and Morgan Carter, so away all of us went on the walk.

The group of us were walking as fast as possible along the Trans Canada until we came to a couple of large rocks will positioned on a highway cement abutment, a signal from Glen telling us that this was the spot where we should climb over the cement to the lake side of the road and begin our walk through the forest.

I thought this was the place that we were setting the pace for the whole trip, but that would come later, when Glen increased the speed so that he could be in front, even if he was lifting the baby over newly fallen logs or giving him a lesson in derby-stroller riding.

... look up, Arta, look up ... take off that hat and look up

Old Sicamous Road Trail is easy-peasy. The homeward walk, where we take the ski trail swiftly downhill involves deft manipulation of the baby's stroller.  "Look up, remember to keep looking up.  That is what they were always telling us in Forestry School," Glen kept saying.

It wasn't until I looked at this picture that I could tell why I wasn't getting that view he was always telling me to catch.

Impossible to keep a brimmed hat on my head and see the top of the tree cover at the same time!

This hat gets me full points when I got to the dermatologist and he comments on my perfectly preserved skin.  "How have you done it?", he asked

Yes, I think to myself, I have had that hiking hat on my head for the last 20 years, but I have been missing the view of the tops of the trees all of this time. 

The route on this day was a carefully timed walk.  There was no slowing us down!

 ... ya gotta love the good shocks on this stroller ...  now over we

No time for taking pictures.

No time for talks about mother logs nor for talking about the evidence of creatures in the forest.

Not even any time for a discussion about good hiking practice as in lectures about wearing sturdy shoes or keeping one's arms covered.

"You will know for next time what to wear," our guide says when anyone stops to nurse a blister or rub the sting out of a scratch.

...slow down ahead, boy ... we don't want a bear
to eat that tasty morsel you are pushing in front of you ... 

The truth is, I have been on this walk so many times this year ... this walk and other walks through the woods, and taken so many face plants because vines have trapped my feet when both of them wanted to get ahead and were wrapped in forest undergrowth, that I am getting new lenses on my glasses next week, ordered today because I have so many scratches on them.

"Don't you want to check my glasses to see how bad the scratches are?", I asked the technician today.

"Don't worry about taking them off to show us. We can see them here from the other side of the desk," the second woman responded.

... close to home ... and Landon has not so much as let out a peep

We made it all of the way to the Guest Register at the Sicamous End of the Trail, and then back again, taking the railroad tracks as the quickest way to get home and breakfast on the table.

... a sign alerting trail walkers of danger ...

Monotropa uniflora [Lt] / Corpse Plant / Ghost Flower / American Ice Plant
We know it as Indian Pipe

I've walked by this sign so many times -- always wondering who was there before me and asking myself what is the danger I am being alerted to.

There are parts of the trail where I want someone's shoulder ahead of me -- like the little crevices, deep from the overflow of spring water, of like the places where the tree branches not held long enough by the person ahead of me, slip back and lop me with their surprise swing.

And what is not to love about stopping by the Indian Pipe, bending down low and seeing if their beauty will come into focus for me.

That beautiful whiteness with the shades of grey is fading now -- spots of brown appear and the heads of the pipes are hanging low.

Signs that summer is on the wane.