Speaking of adventures in the ravine, yesterday was one dandy when we forged our way through pouring rain. Just as well that we thought to arm ourselves adequately given the forecast and the fact that we'd been right royally inundated with heavy rain the night before, well into the morning hours. Rain pounded the patio doors as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. It continued on through the morning until early afternoon. And then we set off.

Jackie and Jillie wore their rainjackets and so did we. It was slightly milder than the day before, but the atmosphere was well penetrated with moisture under shaggy grey cloud cover. The forest was hazy with a light grey film of mist, most particularly over the creek. When we did get into the ravine it was to discover that tall barriers had been put in place to stop people from accessing the trail to the right leading to one of the bridges fording the stream now raging with an amplitude of rainwater.

The bridge itself has had a metal chain affixed to either side and a warning sign that trails have been temporarily closed off to recreational traffic for the past week. There had been a serious slump on a lower trail into the creek several weeks earlier. Easily avoided, since another trail leads further up the hillside and remains undisturbed. It's the parks authority of the municipality of this urban forest concerned about the potential of lawsuits.

We had set out in the lightest of showers. There is not yet any possibility of shelter from the forest canopy since the deciduous trees haven't yet leafed out, but we thought we'd be fine. The forest floor was thick with standing pools of rainwater. At one portion of the trail in the earliest part of our hike where a tree had fallen over the trail and there's a slight downhill jog to get past it, my husband, his attention elsewhere, slipped and fell sideways.

As we had approached that juncture there was a close and loud call of a barred owl which arrested our immediate attention. We hoped to be able to catch sight of the elusive raptor once we gained the top of a hill we were heading for. We knew where it had nested several years ago in a great hollow of an old pine, and planned to scrutinize the area once we reached it.

My husband had been so intent on focusing his long-distance sight on the area as we approached that he neglected to take care where he placed his boot, and thus the slide. I had gone before him and had noted a bare patch on the trail denoting the potential for a slip, but hadn't mentioned it to him, convinced that he would see it himself. And this is precisely what precipitated his fall. Needless to say the side he slipped on was well slathered with muck. I know from my own experience how uncomfortable that is, to feel the side and length of your leg wet and clammy under mud-slicked jeans.

On we proceeded, over the first bridge and up the hill, and there was no owl to be seen we simply continued. The owl likely was disturbed by Jackie and Jillie who, soon as the repeated hoots had sounded had themselves taken to barking furiously in response. So from the crest of the hill we descended again to access the next bridge, and make our way up a much longer, taller hill in pursuit of completing a long circuit.

And that is when the rain began to pick up. And pick up. And pick up. The forest floor as we proceeded along gave us delightful little glimpses of what has been emerging, horsetails, the most unfavourite for me of the vegetation that populates the forest, and the first of the fiddleheads emerging, along with bedding grasses which before spring is over, will be flaunting their delightful minuscule flowers, sending waves of fragrance into the air.

Great, wide pools of rainwater had accumulated. The forest hadn't completely absorbed copious rainfalls from previous weeks, and the current rain added to the pools still existing. As the rain picked up in intensity great, heavy drops plopped into the puddles, sending concentric circles of water into action. Jackie and Jillie picked their way delicately through puddles too wide to avoid, but they were wearing their little rubber boots.

Finally, the rain accelerated to an even greater degree, just as it would during the greatest thrust of a thunderstorm, only there wasn't any electrical activity accompanying it. We stopped briefly under the questionable shelter of a pine, with Jackie and Jillie milling about confusedly. Jillie hates rain. She will never opt to go out to the backyard even if she has to evacuate if it's raining, preferring to be uncomfortable until the rain stops. And even then, carefully avoids the areas where the ground is saturated.

We felt rather badly for the little fellows and picked them up to shelter them a little more from the rain, walking carefully ourselves along the trail to try to avoid the deepest areas of the steadily-increasing-in-volume pools. The rain began to subside, and just as we began  another long descent, down they went to continue on their own steam. Their coats kept their little bodies warm and dry; only their tails, topknots and ears were drenched.

As we gained another hill the sun suddenly blinked on. And the warmth of its rays suffused the atmosphere where a light mist prevailed. A light rain coincided with the emergence of the sun. And soon the rain stopped and the sun withdrew. Miserable? Hardly, we felt energized and really good to be out there. Everything smelled so appealing, and looked so sparkling.

Memories flooded our thoughts of other times in the past when we were caught out in woodland settings, sometimes on canoe-camping trips, sometimes going through rain-soaked forests in vastly different surroundings. So yes, it was yet another adventure to treasure.