Though not as cold and wind-blustery as yesterday, the mixed weather we were treated to today was a confusion of morning sun turning hours later to rain, then overcast with a timid wind forecasted to become 70km/hr by this evening, and relatively mild at 10C. We watched a blackbird repeatedly bathing in the backyard birdbath, leading my husband to observe that the bird might be trying to rid itself of mites. Either that or it was celebrating spring in its own version of spring cleaning.

When we decided it was time to go off to the ravine for an afternoon hike, the choice of gear was for rain, since it looked imminent, and we all went off wearing rain jackets. The wind had picked up slightly, but unlike yesterday it wasn't cold and the rain that had fallen earlier made a little more headway in washing away more of the snow and ice that stubbornly remains on some trails.

The area where the thick icy layers of snow are always the last to melt, remain entrenched on a sloping trail leading down to the creek and the first of the bridges crossing it. That area is the sole reason now why we strap cleats over our hiking boots, having finally rid ourselves of the constraints of our winter boots. The trails, free of ice and snow, have large patches of thick, deep muck which dainty Jillie never fails to try to skirt and roughneck Jackie plows right through.

We saw a family of two adults and two young children, walking two small dogs making their way down a narrow, steep trail that looks quite clearly like an accident waiting to happen, as the woman tentatively tried to edge her way past the mud slide to what looked like firmer footing to the side. We stopped long enough to recommend an alternate trail, explaining that the one they were prepared to attempt had been the cause of many an injury, and best avoided.

We're now increasingly more aware of squirrels as they become bolder and more comfortable about making their presence known, less likely now that the snow is gone, to become the next meal of an enterprising local coyote. One black fellow was curled up in the crack of a tree branch having an afternoon nap as we filed by and because he was absolutely still his presence was not detected by our two little sleuths who love to run after squirrels. One supposes the odour of its presence would be a giveaway for dogs' magnified olfactory sense, but perhaps they were busy with other scents.

At one point, high above the creek on a promontory of an ascending trail, we watched below as a middling-sized dog ran down the opposite hillside to approach the creek, and it was only then that we realized there was a male Mallard steaming along the creek. No female in sight, just the male, obviously just recently returned from winter holidays down south.