That was some wind last weekend, wasn’t it?
Normally I don’t think too much about how windy it gets here, but I’ve been doing a lot of walking around town lately (it was either get walking or end up slowly becoming fused to my desk chair, so I chose the former), and last Saturday, when I went for my usual circuit of downtown Ashcroft, I made sure that the wind was at my back during the last leg.
It wasn’t all that bad, I told myself, which was why — a couple of hours later, when it came time to head to the HUB for a play rehearsal — I decided to walk instead of take the car. All seemed well until I got some way along the bridge, when I became alarmed by the fact that the wind was blowing heavily enough that I had to grab hold of the guard rail.
I took a few halting steps and was buffeted again, more fiercely this time. Even more alarmed, I considered turning back, but upon taking stock of my position realized I was pretty much dead centre of the bridge. There being no advantage in retreating, I forged ahead, breathing a sigh of relief when I made it to the far side. On Sunday, however, the wind was even stronger, so I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and when rehearsal time rolled around I took the car.
That is, so far (and touch wood), the only untoward thing that has happened during almost two months of walking three to four kilometres around Ashcroft every day. The health benefits — both physical and mental — have been considerable; not only do I feel better, it gives me a chance to get outside and take a bit of a mental break from the world. I have my phone with me, in order to listen to music or the radio while I walk, so am not uncontactable, but I feel no compulsion to check my device every time it pings, and have no problem ignoring it until I get back to the office.
My walks take me down several of Ashcroft’s alleys and lanes, which are a quiet delight, and through the cemetery, where I have made the wary acquaintance of the pair of Canada geese who haunt it (pun intended). The first time I saw them I kept a wide berth, conscious of the fact that Canada geese often do not live up to the polite stereotype of Canada humans, and can in fact be rather vicious, but after honking in alarm they flew away. Now they don’t even move when I approach, so I think a truce has been achieved.
The only other wildlife I’ve spotted is a lone marmot which appeared, a week or so ago, in the grass verge across the road from the cemetery. He (she?) can often be seen placidly munching away at the grass, occasionally standing up to take a survey of the surroundings. It won’t be long before it’s popping up between the railway tracks at the nearby crossing, seemingly oblivious to the threat from passing trains.
At the far (southern) end of the cemetery are two sheds, and I have taken to snapping a picture there each day of the wooden fishing hut across the Thompson River at Muscle Beach. I took the first picture on March 27, and as of April 10 the water had not risen at all, and is still a good 25 feet or so from the base of the shed. In several of the years since I moved here in 1997 the water his risen, at the height of freshet, to completely cover the shed, so it will be interesting to see what happens this year, with the water in the Thompson lower than I have ever seen it.
I haven’t even mentioned the numerous drivers who, seeing me out walking, have kindly stopped to ask if I’m having car problems and/or need a lift. I’ve always declied with a thanks and a wave, but who knows? Depending on what the wind decides to do as the season progresses, I just might take someone up on their offer one of these days.
editorial@accjournal.ca
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