Friday September 5: This is rainforest country with great tall cedars,
Nearby Wilson Creek tumbles down from the mountains to the east, qualifying as a river in my book.
Exploring its banks, we see bright red-orange fish, the likes of which we have never seen before, hanging around in the pools created by rocks along the water’s edge. We later learn that they are kokanee, a type of small freshwater salmon.
In the afternoon we go for a short drive to the Galena Trailhead across the highway from Rosebery Provincial Park and walk down to the shores of Slocan Lake. On the map, Slocan Lake does not look huge, but standing beside it with the towering mountains of Valhalla Provincial State Park across from us, we see that it is quite a good-size lake.
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Reading a brochure picked up from the trailhead, we learn about the history of the area and the important role played by steamers navigating the lake, bringing passengers and freight into the Rosebery harbor in the 1890’s, as well as railroads taking out silver ore, the commodity for which the area was famous. A submerged portion of the great harbor can still be seen.
Saturday September 6: As soon as I get up, I walk from the campsite to the shore of Slocan Lake and along the lake to the confluence of Wilson Creek flowing into Slocan Lake.
I feel like I need to be doing more walking and the light is very nice this time of the day. I take photos and sit on a log in the sunshine enjoying being in the presence of the lake and the mountain before heading back to camp and breakfast.
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I get my chair and a small table set up on the gentle rise behind the Pony (our little pop-up) where I can look down on Wilson Creek as I write in my journal, read, and play the flute. I have recently started playing the flute, as the cello (I am a cellist) is big, awkward, and fragile when it comes to camping. Guess we’ll see how it goes with the flute. Much easier to pack around, but not sure if my personality resonates with it.
In the afternoon as the campsite becomes shadier and cooler, I build a campfire. We buy the wood for fires, as wood-gathering is not allowed, even though there is a lot of deadfall in the area.
Sitting by the campfire, I review blogs and photos of our trip to Trout Creek (near Superior, Montana) in August and pick photos to go with the blog. Once it becomes too dark to read by the firelight, I head inside to consider dinner. There is a part of me that wants to stay outside by the campfire until every little ember has died away, but the more practical side of me is still in control. So many years of “shoulds” and “musts” – it might take awhile to move beyond “doing” to just “being.”[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]