Spotting the Eagles in Brackendale

It was sunny and cold and the mountain air felt good. It was the day after.







It was the day after New Year's Eve, and we were feeling the effects of a night with the Whiskeydicks.








We had stayed at the Howe Sound Inn and took in their New Year's Party featuring an energetic Celtic-punk-party band that kept the crowd on their feet and dancing. Yes, dancing. Even Jeem.




Fortunately no pictures remain of the night, and it was all in good fun. Perhaps I consumed a wee bit too much of the Howe Sound Imperial Stout that goes by the name: Pothole Filler. It's a bracing ale to be sure; a full litre in every bottle and a nifty nine percent alcohol content. That and the wine with dinner and hopping around like a banshee to an out-of-control fiddle player contributed to the morning after.



Throughout the town and through the night, and even from my now good friends in the Whiskeydicks, we kept hearing that the Eagles have arrived in Brackendale. The Eagles. Well. Of course we had to see them.

No. Apparently not those Eagles. Their fighting and scrapping wouldn't do in peaceful Brackendale anyway.






So New Year's Day morning, the morning after remember, we went to Brackendale. To see the Eagles, whatever form they might take.

We walked and waited. Watching. Waiting. With hundreds of others. In the cold and snow. Looking for the eagles.

Hundreds of eagles, possibly a thousand, winter here every December and January. However.






Are those the eagles?

Apparently the eagles were having a morning after too.

Photos, except for the band

 publicity photo, 

by Jim Murray. Copyright 2015.

Je suis Ahmed

Sometimes it takes time for things to settle. It's sometimes difficult to handle the twenty-four hour news cycle and its need, our need, to fill its space and time, to tell its story. Who decides the story and how it is framed? What happens when messy bits are left out, or inconvenient and confusing pieces are set off to one side?




Ahmed Merabat was the first of the twelve innocent people killed in Wednesday's attack on Charlie Hebdo in Paris.








Ahmed Merabat was a 42 year old policeman doing his job in the 11e arrondissement, when he was shot, point-blank by one of the three assassins, only minutes before they stormed the offices of Charlie Hebdo. Ahmed Merabat was also a Muslim and a proud citizen of the French Republic, like the vast majority of the country's six million Muslims.

One twitter writer said it best:

Je suis Charlie? Yes, of course! And also, most emphatically: Je suis Ahmed.

We're all in this together. Aren't we?

Copyright 2105 by Jim Murray

Sea to Sky Gondola ~ Squamish

At this time of year, it's best to prepare for winter and the cold of ice and snow, especially when you're heading to the summit of the Sea to Sky Gondola.















Located between Vancouver and Whistler, just outside the wonderful town of Squamish, where Sherry and I celebrated New Year's Eve, but that's another story, the ride takes about 15 minutes and covers almost 2km. The true vertical rise is 850 metres.







At the summit we are 885 m above sea level, the sun is bright and the temp is just below freezing and dropping.

There is a suspension bridge from the summit Lodge, which houses cafe, bar and gift shop, leading to viewing platforms and a number of hikes. At times the path is shaded, cold and almost dark with the heavy, low slung branches of the trees. At other times a person will walk out into the blinding brilliance of the sun.

The views are incredible from every direction. The sky is bright, the air crisp and clean, and the shadows long and cold.

Do we have to leave? Well, apparently yes. We have a dinner and dancing engagement with the Whiskeydicks at the Howe Sound Inn & Brewery. And anyway, in winter the last ride down is at 6:00 pm and by that time it is truly cold and dark.

Photos by Jim Murray. Copyright 2015.

It's the transition that's difficult ~ Christmas Eve 2014

The longest night has finally passed. It's Christmas Eve and the day is glorious and fit for a walk.

Or a game of golf.












Isaac Asimov once said, or perhaps he said it through a character in one of his stories, "Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome."

As is the sand trap on number seven.

This transition thing is difficult.

Photos by Jim Murray. Copyright 2014.

Walking the Squamish Estuary Trails

Within a short walk of downtown Squamish are some wonderful trails around the river's estuary, providing fantastic views of the mountains and life on the estuary itself.















Bordered by the Spit on the west, the Squamish Estuary stretches across the bay to the back of downtown. There are several trails and boardwalks of varying lengths.





The railroad tracks are walkable too, unless otherwise occupied by a train.

Trails wind their way over streams, through trees and tall reeds.

Over 200 species of birds pass through this place on their way north or south depending on which way they are going and the season. Any season is a good time for a walk and this place is ideal for just that. Anytime.

Some excellent information about the Squamish River Estuary, its history and development, and its future, is provided by the Squamish River Watershed Committee.

Photos by Jim Murray. Copyright 2014.

Vancouver's first snow of the season

It was cold last night when we were out walking, to our weekly lesson en francais, and the air felt like snow, that heavy dampness kind of thing, as though the clouds were falling to earth.











Through the night it did snow and by morning, the skies had mostly cleared and the first snow of the season remained.






And remain it did through the entire day. There wasn't much, only a few centimetres. The streets were clear of course, but through the parks the white crust stuck, especially in the shade.


The birds were active at our bird feeder, which they are every day, but there was something slightly more frantic in their behaviour today.

This afternoon we went walking again, through the nearby park. The snow was more than a dusting, but only barely.












The shadows of the late afternoon revealed their own hues of blue and purple, reflecting the snow, and everything else.






















It's only minus six, yet it feels rigid, though nothing like our memories of the first snow in the Yukon two years ago. That snow happened early in October, and unlike Vancouver, once the snow starts in Dawson, it doesn't disappear until spring.



Our first snow of the season will soon be washed away and we will await the next snow day.

Photos by Jim Murray. Copyright 2014.