Life's Trails

As I hiked in Ruckle Park yesterday, I could not help but be overly aware of the constant twists and turns in the trail.  Some were rather sudden and unexpected, perhaps more so because my attention had been momentarily distracted by my wandering mind and the development of a false sense of security in a relative consistency of the trail.  This reminded me a lot of life that nothing can really be anticipated.  Unexpected turns of events often occur without notice, jarring us out of our comfort zones, forcing us to react, to think outside of the box.  If we do not do so, we risk falling flat on our face and having to endure an even greater struggle to get ourselves back to the place at which we started.   

Occasionally, there would be something that looked like a trail diverging from the main one, often towards the cliff edges.  I felt myself drawn towards these pseudo trails out of a sense of curiosity and defiance of sticking to what had been laid out before me.  In these moments, Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote came to mind: “Do not go where the path may lead; instead, go where there is no path and leave a trail.”  I felt that it was quite fitting for this hike and as encouragement for the direction of my life.  I also encountered a number of obstacles along my way, including slippery slopes, steep cliff drops alongside, and downed trees.  Similar, to the natural turns in the trail, I had to approach these challenges differently, keep pushing on, and find my way when it was not so clear.   

Although, it is best to make a hike or life one’s own, it is also useful to draw on the experiences of others and follow where they have been to a certain extent, as I did mostly hike on an established trail, so that you can focus more on where you really want to go, focus on those twists and turns.  There is much to learn from the lives and lessons of others, even when it does not seem that it would be possible to learn anything from a particular person or something as small and simple as an ant or a flower.  It is all in the perspective, in which one views these things.  It is too easy to be judgmental and unappreciative of what is right in front of us.

Watching Wild Geese

There was a gaggle of Canada geese paddling about Grandma’s Beach at Ruckle Park headed by two adults, which were leading about ten babies with two more adults at the rear, as well as another six adults trailing at a safe distance behind.  The babies were about as big as those at the center, perhaps at the teenage stage on the verge of adulthood, and making the same chirping chatter.  They fed primarily on Ulva species, a thin, bright green algae, which was growing on the beach and the rocks and slowly becoming uncovered by the receding tide.  It made me wonder why we have been collecting terrestrial greens for them.  Perhaps, those would be their alternative diet, being a species at home on both land and sea.

One youngster became distracted by a patch of algae on a rock, by which the gaggle passed, and two others followed behind, trying to steal the seaweed from him and romping about.  One patient adult stayed on with them, supervising the play as the rest of the group paddled towards the beach.  However, after awhile, she had enough and felt that it was time to regroup.  She began slowly paddling away, sounding a commanding honk every ten seconds until by the fifth call or so the little ones scurried up behind her for a quiet journey to shore.

Island Life and Exploring the Seashore

It is strange to be on an island that is surrounded by so much land and activity on the sea with a rather severed, indirect connection to the ocean.  It seems to defy the concept that has been molded into my mind as to what an island really is.  There seem to be various types of islands, based on their formations over the course of geologic time, the climatic conditions that they experience, the natural resources covering the land, the size of human populations and the intensity of their development, the nearness to land, and the closeness of exposure to the raging temptress of the oceanic depths.

Although, I am technically on an island, it is still a whole new culture shock.  I was expecting to and given the impression that I would “get away from it all” here.  To a certain extent I have, particularly since home is at the opposite side of the continent, but civilization is only a fifteen minute drive away, where I am over-stimulated and still quite confused by the hustle and bustle of town life, which is complete with traffic, constant chatter, and thriving commercialism.  In the summer, during the peak of tourist season, the island population is supposed to double to something like ten thousand people.  The center of town, every tourist trap, and the island’s natural beauty attractions will be crawling.  I anticipate spending much of the summer hiding away in the woodland haven of the wildlife center. 

Yet, for now, I can immerse myself in the beauty of the island and give in to the allure of the seashore.  I still find it to be quite exciting and magical, as I cautiously step from rock to rock, unsure of my footing on slippery seaweed, and having become unaccustomed to such a balancing act, while simultaneously being distracted by familiar and new seashore treasures alike.  I imagine that there are at least creatures of the same genus as those found along the Irish coastline, as they are at a similar latitudes and experience similar climatic conditions. 

As I first stepped upon the stony shore of Ruckle Park, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, the scattered movement of several tiny critters.  Crabs covered the shore, racing for cover below rocks, between crevices, and underneath patches of fucoids.  I must watch where my feet fall, in order to preserve these precious lives, though it is quite challenging to determine exactly where they are hiding.  I descended upon another stretch of shore and was struck by the size of what I believe to be a Porphyra species, which is a papery, yet tough, reddish-pink seaweed with a glint of iridescence.  I found it to be double, maybe even triple the size of any plant that I had come across in Ireland.  From the grassy edge above the sea, I noticed a stretch of feathery looking seaweed, billowing in the current.  I could not be sure exactly what these plants were from such a distance and I felt the urge to find out.  I managed to navigate my way down and much to my dismay, as I approached the water’s edge, I became certain that the invasive Sargassum muticum has also found its way to the shores of British Columbia.