Spring is on the way. Today, in Edmonton, the temperature was 15 degrees Centigrade. That temperature is very warm considering that we have had below zero very recently.
Auntie Kay would have the garden planted by now in Oliver I think, but it will be the 24th of May weekend before Edmonton gets any eatables into the ground.
I always enjoyed Okanagan spring time. On Saturdays, I would lie on the living room floor, in front of the big picture window, and bask in the heat of the sun while reading the colored comics from the newspaper. Sometimes I even fell asleep there.
In the afternoons, I would take my wooden, willow fishing pole, dig some angle worms, and trot down to a favorite fishing hole in Park Rill. Actually there were six spots where I was able to find trout to nibble on my hook.
One of those fishing holes had a willow tree that had fallen over but remained anchored to the bank. The tree extended half way across the water. It made an excellent perch from which to fish.
I slipped off the tree once. As I fell, my foot became ensnared in the crutch of the tree and I found myself dangling in the water; quite helpless, with the fear of drowning filling my being.
I started to shout for help. Nobody came right away so I decided I had to help myself. I lifted myself back up and onto the tree, an action which freed my foot. I was standing viewing the scene when Wally arrived breathlessly, he had heard my cry for help.
I told him what happened. He could see I was wet but he chose not to believe my story. He told me instead the story about the Little Boy Who Cried Wolf ! I matured that day because I decided then and there that next time I could only count on myself in similar times of trouble.
The bottom of Park Rill was quite deceiving. When you looked at the water you would see two or three feet of water and the muddy bottom under it. If you ventured into the mud you would sink down another two or three feet. Now you were to a depth of four to six feet of water and mud. When you are less than six feet tall that depth is a little daunting.
Not every section of Park Rill had mud the same depth, and knowing that fact made me very cautious. Differing mud depths was good for the watercress which grew in various sections of Park Rill.
Where the watercress grew thickly, the stream would flow quickly between the patches. Upon reflection, it was the beavers and the muskrats that kept the watercress from closing over the creek completely, as the animals traversed the waterway in their habitat.
I found that I could walk on the watercress patches in sneakers, sinking down only six inches, but I was always careful when walking near the edge where the water flowed quickly. That seemed to be the centre of Park Rill; the darkest water, the most unknown, the most perilous.
The trout loved the fast water. They would hide in the shadow of the watercress and lie in wait for a tender snack to come their way. They would dart out trying to beat the competition.
I haven’t fished in years, but now I have a new motivation, that of a grandson. I have a hankering to go cut a pole out of a willow, don’t need to be fancy, just legal. Have to figure it out all over again for river fishing is a lot different from creek fishing. I’ll work on it some and create new memories.