There have been a lot of bears around the West Kootenay region this year; sadly, seven have been killed because they came too close to the humans living here.
I saw this one near the Seven Mile Dam, about 15 km SE of Trail, B.C.
An internal sea of dynamic, immeasurable chaos resulting in the ultimate simplicity.
I wrote that about the human heart a long time ago. Today, I got the chance to see and hear the sea churning.
I went for an “echo with Doppler” test today at the Trail Hospital. It’s another of the “let’s check this and eliminate another thing” tests I’ve been undergoing since finding out my lipid levels (cholesterol, triglycerides and the like) are roughly equivalent to pure, dark, Swiss chocolate.
Though it sounds impressive, this test doesn’t involve a giant, rotating satellite dish. Instead, it’s a few electrodes, cold gel and an even colder transducer bouncing high-frequency sound waves around your innards. The echoes coming back are magically transformed into moving pictures (!) for a Genuine Smart Person to interpret.
Based on previous experience with electrocardiograms, spinal taps, stress tests, angiograms and sexual encounters, I was expecting something in the range of 10 minutes or so but I was horizontal for about four times that amount of time.
Laying on my side in an elegant, dignified, Roman-statue-esque sort of way, it was easy enough to steal the odd glance at the screen but something deep in my psyche wouldn’t allow me to look at it for very long. Sure, when the tech turned on the sound and the “fffwoooosh, fffwoooosh, fffwoooosh” sound of my circulating blood filled the room, it was hard to resist… but resist I did. Upon review, I think it was likely that I didn’t trust I wouldn’t say, “What’s THAT?” and “Is THAT normal?!” to the sonographer/ultrasound tech. While no one has ever directly accused me of being a hypochondriac, it’s a well-known fact amongst my family and friends there is no love lost between me and medical institutions.
It also occurs to me, being a visual sort of person, a pulsating grey group of heart muscles just isn’t appealing at 7:30 in the morning. But it was more than that. I felt like I was peering behind the curtain, snatching glimpses of my mortality in action. At 45-years-old, I sometimes feel the gravitational weight of time pressing hard and the questions that generates is equally unappealing, at any time.
Scientists estimate about 95 per cent of the universe is made up of matter so minute it’s detectable only by its effect on normal matter. I think it’s the same with the internal sea… most of it, of us, is on a journey far beyond what we can rationalize, much less control. Instead of trying to find answers in minutiae or build fourth-dimensional dykes, it may be better to just surf the waves.
When I headed out to see this creek, I wasn’t honestly expecting too much. On a map the landscape appeared relatively common but I was pleasantly surprised.
The walk in is easy and the falls are gorgeous. On another day, I’ll walk down to the base to see what I can capture from there.
If you go, be mindful of where you walk and where you set up for photos; it can be slippery and it’s a long way down from some spots.
Watch for Fletcher Creek Frontage on your right if you’re driving north on Hwy 31 toward Kaslo. You can either take that turn, then left to the parking area or continue a bit farther until you see the second entrance for it. The second turn is where you can see a yellow metal gate and that’s the entrance to the trail. See Google Map HERE.
I’m now looking at this, and other, photographs that I took of the devastation in Rock Creek differently.
At the time, I was aware of the sensitivity of taking photos in places affected by disaster — and walked away when I saw anyone nearby — but it hadn’t hit me emotionally. Now it has.
It’s hard to imagine what it must be like to lose so much, so fast and so dramatically. This could have been worse, too. From media reports, many people had little time to evacuate; lives could have been lost. We still aren’t done with this fire season yet.
I hope no one else has to return to scenes like these.
I love to watch the sky — always have. I see what’s in front of me but I always catch my imagination looking past the clouds or rainbows, out into space, out of our solar system, our galaxy and beyond.
I’m off to sleep… because around 2 a.m. I’ll be awake and driving a short distance from town, away from the annoyance of city lights to try and digitally capture a meteor or a hundred.
Why DO we spend considerable resources to illuminate our roads? Isn’t that why cars have lights? I love it when I’m out for an evening walk and happen upon a block or two where the streetlights have fallen into disrepair. (Which actually doesn’t happen often because crews descend on that shit like the water housing around nuclear reactor rods have sprung a leak.) Anyway, that light pause is a bit similar to what happens when you’re driving in a storm and go beneath an underpass; the surrounding air gets quiet and the sound of your voice in your head gets really loud.
It’s no wonder light and dark are central themes in our tiny lives on this tiny planet. Light is the only form of fast-moving particles we can really relate to. Dark energy? Dark matter? Though they comprise the bulk of all things, it’s just never really on our radar.
I blame their names.
Over a month since I put anything here… sheesh.
It’s true what they say: time seems to pass faster as one gets older.
I’m hoping to make a trip to the Shuswap sometime soon — time seems to pass slower there.
Here’s a photo of some sunset-illuminated virga for you.