As so often happens at this time of the year in the Great NorthWet, weather has moved in. It just so happens that by perfidy of nature, and disposition of geography we experience warm summers, crisp autumns and more than our fair share of precipitation which almost invariably comes to us as rain.
I had remarked once to a person that it was drizzling outside (it was a scant drizzle too) and she said, you must be from here. Yes, I said what makes you say that? You know another of the 50 names for rain, she replied. It is true that native WetCoasters know an almost inexhaustible number of ways to describe rain.
It matters not whether it comes spitting,drizzling or as a passing shower. Whether it's sprinkling, coming down or a real gully washer, we know we can handle it. On the coast it often comes with wind that makes an umbrella useless. It will be destroyed within seconds of being deployed. We just grin and soldier on, knowing as we do that our skin is waterproof and a hot shower and dry clothing await when we get home.
The seemingly inexhaustible supply of rain does make for some interesting photo ops though. Since the mountains rise up to the sky, and drop off to the sea there is no shortage of verticality. The rain will find it's way down. Areas of the slope which at most times of the year may support no more than a bare trickle become at times like these fresh if a bit thin and reedy cascades hastening their way to the chuck.
Many of you know that my preferred mode of travel on the Squamish highway is astride the saddle of a steel pony, with a firm grip on the handle bars and a steely resolution to avoid cranking the right wrist in a go faster direction.
On days such as this however, being inside a cage, with the seat heater on and the HVAC set at a steady 73F. is definitely preferable. As we continue up the highway the descending water may appear a little more enthusiastic, rushing downwards as though it's trying to make up for lost time, each drop anxious to outrace the other.
The rivulets shall not be contained, nor do they show any decorum as they continue their descent from on high in a jostling race to rejoin the sea, which waits below patiently.
In spots an entire section of the rock will be awash with water, each streamlet trying to shame it's brethren as they plunge towards the ocean. There's just something about the sound of running water. It brings peace to the soul. There is however a price to be paid for the verdant nature of the country we enjoy, and this is it........
The water coming off the hill flexes it newly found muscle, and exhibits a brawny exuberance as it races down to the sea which waits like an impatient lover avid with passion to hungrily embrace the approaching streams.
What a marvelous system we live in, where the clouds "bless" us with an abundance of rain, which joins the sea to be eventually recycled and to fall as rain somewhere else.
Almost back home to Squampton, we come upon Shannon Falls. While fairly impressive and full of visitors most sunny days, the park is virtually empty at these times of year.
When the rain has been falling for several days, the falls swell until the roar of the water coming off the hill can be heard from 10 miles away. It is when the mountains start to roar, that wise folk keep an eye on the river levels, and stay away from low lying areas.
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