Good Friday

Yesterday was one of those rare days when JR and I have time off together. We decided to ride on his motorcycle (BMW 1200 GS) to Harrison Hot Springs for a day trip, trusting that the threatening clouds would decide to move on instead of raining on us. (This was most important to me, as I haven't yet found my wet suit since the move.)

We took the freeway out of town and joined the Lougheed Hwy just before the Port Mann bridge, as we wanted the more country-like setting it offers. It doesn't really get rural until east of Mission, where it opens up by Nicomen Island, but the scenery between Mission and Harrison Mills is worth it, winding along past Loch Erroch and the Sasquatch Inn. The section up and over Mount Woodside is a great ride, especially coming down the east side - some steep corners and curves on the last stretch before the road flattens into the Agassiz farmland.

I found that from the time we left Mission, I was on a nostalgia rollercoaster ride, recognizing all of the landmarks and many of the buildings from years of having traveled the Lougheed. The view up the hill of the Abbey, the right-angled train crossing at Dewdney, Nicomen Island, Deroche, where we had stopped one time on a family drive to play in the schoolyard and 3 year-old Pete left behind his beloved red foam horse, causing tears all the way home once the absence was discovered, Loch Erroch - it's now unimaginatively 'Lake Errock', and Harrison Mills, with the Sasquatch Inn and Kilby's museum....all of it so familiar. I searched in vain on Mt. Woodside, coming and going, for the spring where we used to stop to get the pure, clear water bubbling up by the side of the road; in fact, I had been dismayed some time ago to read that the source of the bottled water I was holding was Mt. Woodside, so I guess the free part of the spring had to be suppressed.

Due to bridge repair work on Miami Slough we had to take the back road into Harrison, going past Tony's house as well as a new section that had been swampy forest when I lived in Harrison. We were early for lunch, having stopped in Dewdney for a coffee and snack, so we drove up the road around the lake and went to Greenpoint Park, where our family used to picnic and swim every summer. I pointed out the small island which was owned by our neighbour, Fred; throughout my childhood it was the pinnacle to me of ownership, to have one's own island - I haven't lost that feeling!

Walking under the tall cottonwood trees that surround the boat launch area, I experienced an annual phenomenon for the first time: the cottonwood tree leaf buds were bursting and falling to the ground one-by-one in a continuous cascade of spent shells. They made a noise like raindrops at the beginning of a shower - a sort of popping noise as they hit branches on their way down; to my delight, I was able to stand beneath with my face turned up and watch as the bud casings fell all around me. It struck me once again how much pleasure and peace I derive from contact with nature, however simple.

Because it wasn't sunny and warm (it was, at this point, cloudy and windy - the 2 o'clock southerly had started off the south end of the lake and created a windline of waves that was slowly advancing northward) there weren't too many people in the Village when we returned, but there were still no parking spaces along the dike. I looked in vain for the Springs Cafe, and remembered finally that I had learned of its demise the last time I had been in Harrison, two years ago. We ended up eating in the Lakeshore or some such - not particularly tasty but definitely a great view!

After lunch we walked out around the spit in the centre of the beach, and I told JR the story of how our neighbour, the same Fred, had been the head of a project to dredge the sand of the lake and create the beach and spit when I was a teenager. Up until then, Harrison Village had only the dike at the end of the lake to offer visiting tourists - there was no beach at all along the entire end of the lake. The village council paid Fred and his crew to dredge the lake sand and form a beach and spit across half of the end of the lake, to enclose a large swimming hole that trapped the lakewater and warmed it, unlike the rest of the lake, to a bearable temperature for swimming. The beach has been an enormous success; most people visiting now would never know that it was not a natural phenomenon.

Having walked the circumference of the spit, we proceeded back along the beachfront, stopping at the Rocky Mountain chocolate shop for some Easter treats, and watching the tourists. Of course, we were tourists too, but I found that I haven't lost the proprietory sense when I am in Harrison of 'them' vs. me-belonging-here, even as I am looking at, and disagreeing with, the latest incarnation of supposedly tourist-friendly landscaping the Village is imposing on the main intersection....Over the years, the Village has, in the name of 'tourist attraction', built up the section of beach where tourists first see the lake, so that, in fact, they cannot see the lake for the washrooms, viewing platform, rock gardens, and other trappings deemed necessary to keep visitors in the area. I think it a shame that they didn't build a little further along the beach, so that visitors approaching on the main road into town would see, first and foremost, the stunning vista that is the view from that spot: a long sweep of dark-green lake with mountains rising on either side, and snow-topped Mt. Breckenridge in the distance, blue and white and towering over Echo Island.

In any case, we changed back into our riding gear, climbed aboard, and headed back home, taking the Lougheed back to Mission and then joining the freeway at Abbotsford. Again, we had some spatters but no real rain, and arrived home tired but dry about 5:30, 7 hours after we had left.

Both of us agreed that it had been a lovely day trip, and that we had seen enough of Harrison Hot Springs to last for some time. As much as I have fond memories of growing up there, I find it poignant to look at the old family home (something we can do easily from the Village, as it is perched on the mountain-side quite visible to all, albeit at a distance) - I see how beautiful it is now that someone with money has completely remodelled it, and have many regrets about not being able to keep it in the family.