A blustery wind escorted us up the street to our destination this morning. As soon as we rounded to a right-hand turn off the street into the waiting forest, its sheltering screen shut out the wind and then it was just cold. But the sun was moving out of the cloud cover that had blanketed the sky for days, and we knew the atmosphere would begin to warm, just not an awful lot.

There are no more blackberries and thimbleberries on offer as we make our way down into the ravine; the supply has been exhausted and Jackie and Jillie are quite, quite disappointed. Any time they see us making a move toward the berry shrubs to see if there are any hidden gems, their level of expectation skyrockets. And when, despite their anticipation, there is nothing, they're quite subdued and resigned.

 

But it's early morning, and we have a full Sunday ahead of  us. This morning no more dripping off the tree canopy as we proceed along the trails. The weight of rain that had burdened branches yesterday has seen relief in the presence of what drying wind does penetrate the forest. No longer are there any accumulated rain puddles on the trail; the forest floor however saturated, has managed to find absorption room for all the excess.

As we ascended another hill to reach the plateau ridge above the first of the bridges fording the creek, we are watched by a tiny red squirrel clinging to the edge of a pine trunk. And unlike most red squirrels' inclination to scold and scramble out of sight, this little fellow's curiosity has the better of him and he remains in place, steadily and quietly watching us.

Neither Jackie nor Jillie sense the presence of the little fellow and so there's no barking and effort at dislodging the squirrel. We wait a few moments at the top of the hill, then proceed onward, descending to another bridge, and from there, proceed to ascend yet another hill. This, a prolonged ascent in view of this hill being a seriously long one, somewhat narrow and closed in, where the understory of sumacs predominate among immature poplars, hawthorns, serviceberries and maples, old pines towering overhead. 

Further along we come to a number of wild apple trees, none of which are ripening apples this strange summer. Squirrels have been feasting on and storing away seeds from spruce cones, called into action by the shorter daylight hours and cooler night time temperatures. In some areas of the trail the ground is littered with fallen spruce cones. We've seen only a few acorns this year as yet, but it seems obvious that there will be no dearth of seeds, nuts and cones for the small furred wildlife of the forest this winter.

The sun's course through the sky has been altered; it sits lower and sunlight streaks through the forest canopy at a different angle. It's both dark-shaded and ultra-bright in the ravine this morning. At some junctions through the forest landscape the sun becomes almost blinding. But the leafy canopy provides an almost impenetrable shield distancing the forest from the sun, as we move briskly along.

The creek is still running high and wide, albeit somewhat reduced from yesterday when we were out in between rain events. Its waters course down through the rapids and push detritus ahead as it winds its way through the forest toward the more sheltered area not part of most people's perambulations in the ravine, where beaver tend to make themselves at  home. 

We have more than ample poplars for them to fell in their building frenzy, and it's a treat to glimpse them in action on occasion, but there are people who complain that they're taking down trees, demanding the animals be removed and relocated elsewhere.

Our circuit completed for the day, we return home to our habitual turn in the garden while Jackie and Jillie patiently await entry to the house and preparations for breakfast.