[11/30/2001 2:44:39 AM | Chris Corrigan]

Here is something I've been meaning to write about.



Ever since we arrived here on Bowen we have followed with interest the life cycle of the Western White Clematis, aka Virgin Bower (Clematis ligusticifolia). It's a native plant that climbs anything, sometimes reaching 10m or more. They grow all over the place, colonizing Douglas-firs and weaving around Ocean Spray and salmon berry bushes. They have a little white flower that blooms in July and stays bloomed until September at which time the seed heads form on long tendrils, tripling the size of the flower.



By this time of year the seed heads are mature and have grown fluffy and huge. They catch the sun and from a distance look like massive cherry blossoms. Right now this is the state they are in. There is a huge one growing up a tree on our neighbour's front yard which we can see from the living room window. For most of the day the sun shines through it lighting the whole thing up. Caitlin says they seem to take whatever light there is and multiply it, so that in the twilight they fairly glow.



Here is a photo of one in all it's seed head glory:

Winter is creeping down the mountains. Today was crystal clear and pretty cool. The snow on the North Shore mountains was breathtaking, down around the 1700 foot mark. There was a dusting on Mount Gardiner too, but the snow on Mount Apodaca yesterday, lower at 1500 feet was gone after rains last night.



Clean cool air, gllistening water, everything perfect.

Right now I'm in a period where I can do most of my work on the island, which means steadying the never ending writing assignments with some ritual break in the day. Either this takes the form of the Globe and Mail cryptic, playing some flute tunes, or, more frequently, wandering down to the Cove for the midafternoon siesta.



There is a period in the middle of the day where almost nothing happens in the Cove. The ferry takes a 2.5 hour break at lunch and so there is hardly any car traffic down there. That's when I love to go to The Snug and douse myself in a latte and maybe their soup of the day. And it is always interesting in there. Today, just as I was about to leave in walked my friend Bob Doucet and we chin wagged for a while about working from home and so on. Then Andy Hilhouse joined us, stopping in for a somoza on his way home to North Van after his weekly teaching stint at Island Pacific School. Running into friends in the coffee shop is just about the finest way I can think to pass the afternoon by.



The other reason I love walking lately is that I get to watch winter creep down the mountains. There is fresh snow on the North Shore mountains almost everyday now and it is getting lower and lower. The air is growing crisper and the light is starting to get that wintry lemony tint about it. It's just spectacular in the still afternoon air to watch this season descend from the alpine down to us. Our first snow fall cannot be far off. We're within about 3000 feet now.

Cold night, relatively speaking. This is one of those nights when the temperature is down well into the single digits and the smell of snow is lingering in the still air. Thin cloud out there, but too much of it to see the aurora storm that is buffeting us right now. As I write a late night tug is towing a barge or a boom north into the Sound.

By the way, I've been building top down fires. They seem to burn longer. And it is a neat trick...

The thing I love about the walk between our house and Snug Cove is exchanging waves with drivers heading in the opposite direction. I used to wave at cars going the same way as I was too, but they would stop and see if I needed a lift, so now it's just folks that are going the other way. This is something which is a prevalent aspect of island life, no more so than on Cortes Island, but seemed to me to be a waning activity on this island. I have set out to change that. I now wave at every car passing me. More and more, people are waving back. Maybe they think I'm crazy, but lots of people also smile when they do it. Little tiny acts that create community.

More wild weather lately. We've had a series of lows come in off the Pacific bringing furious south easterlies. Not the same amount of rain, but strong wind, gusting to 70km/h again, and leading to wind warnings. There are lots of small branches on the ground, Douglas fir cones and needles.



We're getting more and more weaved into the island social scene. On Sunday night we went over to our friend Brian and Shasta's house for a drum circle and a potluck dinner. These two are serious community builders, a pair after my own heart. It seems that whenever some interesting business gets going, Shasta and Brian are behind it. They are thoughtful stewards of the island community and great musicians. Good cooks too.



We've started to get some dinner invitations too which feels like we are settling in. Once winter descends on this part of the world, people begin to reach out and open their homes, in the hopes that we all can hang on for the wet months.



Speaking of which, it has felt more like fall this week, although yesterday the sun peeked out and illuminated the low clouds clinging to the slopes of Mount Gardiner. A few ravens about, but the flocks of juncos and kinglets have puffed themselves up as if there is both safety and heat in numbers. That's as sure a sign of deep fall as any. The other sure sign is the humming of our little woodstove as it consumes the firewood I bought last month from some enterprising and hard working students. We had some nice dry alder that came with the house, and we still have a lot of it left, but it burns so hot that I've added the newer wood to slow it down a little and keep the stove warm longer. It's taking a while to get the science of wood burning down pat, but I've getting the hang of the variables of wood and stove and now almost ready to try building a top down fire. Seriously!



The Leonids were amazing by the way. The nice weather held long enough for me to go out at 1:30am and spend an hour watching the meteors streak across the sky. They came every few seconds until I got cold and went in. Others who saw them reported busy activity at 5am too. Nice to have a dark sky to see them for a change.

Living on an island means having to accept what you are given a lot of the time. You have one lumber yard, one general store, one bookstore. If you are lucky it's a good thing. If it isn't, there isn't much incentive to change.



Here we are blessed with one great breakfast spot for weekends. The Breakfast Cafe, owned by a lovely English couple with a passion for traditional music and a real good set of skillet skills. It's a treat for us to wander down there and order up a "Paisly" (poached eggs with smoked salmon and asparagus on an English Muffin with Hollandaise) or a Pear Waffle with caramel and yogurt. Or the "Aine Special", which is scrambled eggs and hashed potatoes smothered in cheese.



And that's what we had today there.



And what a beautiful crisp fall day. There is not a cloud in the sky and no wind to speak of. There is a boat out on the channel right now valiently trying to find a breeze. It's going around in circles. It looks like the weather will hold for the meteors tonight to which is wonderful.



Belly full, tea in hand, I've settled down to work on a Saturday afternoon for a couple of hours.

Summer returned, so it seems today. One advantage of the heavy wind is that it tends to clear the clouds out pretty quickly, and that's what has happened. Now the sun is sinking in a mid-fall early afternoon kind of way closing what was a really warm day. I had to go into town early this morning to get one of my eyes looked at and came back on the sparsely populated 10:10am ferry. It was just beautiful on the water. Warm, with a light breeze. As I walked back across The Causeway at the foot of The Lagoon, there were Chinook and Chum making their way up the fish ladder, the Chinook flshing red and green and the Chum all mottled grey and white.



Now the water looks slack out in the Queen Charlotte Strait. No more wind. Douglas-fir needles piled up like snow on the side of the road. Hopefully the weather will hold until Sunday when the Leonid meteor showers are on.

No damage from the wind last night. Power stayed on and trees stayed up, so everything survived. There was a big swell at sea today, made all the more rolling by the narrower hull on the Bowen Queen.



Parents left today, and I travelled with them into Vancouver. We had a nice visit, seeing a little of the Island, whetting their appetite for more. They had a nice stay at the Lodge At the Old Dorm, which is the old Union Steamship Company staff dorm. renovated and converted into a great B&B - very much a labour of love for Dan, the proprieter. It's a lovely place, and he has a nice touch.







Ferry overloaded so we wandered somewhat aimlessly around the Cove for an hour mostly trying to stretch out my dad's back which had spasmed after he fell on some wet stairs.

We are in the middle of what feels like a hurracaine. The house is making strange noises. The weather office says that the wind is to reach 70km/h tonight, and I think that it just gusted to that 30 seconds ago. There was a heave, and a draft actually flowed through the house. Fir needles hit the front windows like bullets. My heart lept there. This is really scary. I had to wait for the sweat to leave my fingertips before I could start writing again. Whew.



Everything seems to be holding together. At least my firewood will dry out.

There is a term for the kind of storm that is raging outside the house right now. Here on the coast it is known as a "Pineapple Express." These kinds of storms deliver strong south-easterly winds and heavy, heavy rains right to the front of the house. Water literally cascades off the roof. Yesterday we had 100 millimetres of rain projected, which is 10cms. Which is the equivalent of one metre of snow, should it have precipitated that way. Luckily, the Pineapple Express at this time of year is also accompanied by mild air temperatures, and despite the heavy rains, there is no snow on the mountains.



The Chinook love this weather. They are all massing at the bottom of the fish ladder on Kilarney Creek and valiantly leaping into the waterfall. It's punishing to watch them try to get up there. The smart ones are heading for the ladder where they jump in discreet leaps up the gentle grade to the calm water above.



My parents have been here visiting for the week, which has been great. They complained about my Bowen Island journal not being updated frequently enough, so I've converted it to a web log which is much easier to post to and maintain.



Chaos at the ferry these days. The Queen of Capilano, which is our regular ferry went in for her annual refit and was replaced by the much older Bowen Queen which holds 15 fewer cars and is a lot more cramped upstairs. Combined with a berth closure at Horseshoe Bay for regular maintenance, and you have the makings of half hour delays, frequent overloads and the odd irate islander. It makes for a wonderful chance to practice patience...