Life on the River

Maybe I'm getting a little off message here, but so what. I just came in from a cold, drizzly after-dinner walk by the river. At the sandbar upstream from the railroad bridge, where only a few old logs were stuck in the sand on the day of the Ski to Sea race, there is now a good-sized new-fallen tree trunk lodged cross-ways to the current, which is running fast and high. I spotted a big brown lump on the trunk, which turned out to be a pretty hefty beaver, munching on bark and twigs stripped off the fresh tree.

Two summers ago, just after I first moved to Ferndale, I watched a crew in power boats dismantle the old haystack-sized wood pile by the railroad bridge. A guy who stopped to watch with me said it was a beaver lodge, built by some really big beavers. I thought he was just twitting me a bit.

Now that the race is over, I hope they'll let the beavers alone. The critters seem determined to stay, and it's a shame to tear down so much hard work.

Ski2Sea

Loyal and well-prepared spectators

Memorial Day Weekend: Wet and Wetter. And the Ski to Sea race on Sunday. Around noon I went out to stand in the rain by the Nooksack River and watch the canoe racers pass under the bridge. My camera battery died after about sixty canoes has passed by, so I was unable to get any photos of the next leg of the race, the mountain bikers.

Yesterday, on Saturday, after a sunny thirty-mile ride in the afternoon, I put my bike up in the rack for a thorough clean & tune. So naturally I didn't want to ride it in the rain today. But maybe on the next sunny day I'll go out and see if I can find the bike race route - my Surly CrossCheck is sort of a basic-level cyclocross bike, and does pretty well on easier trails, though it doesn't have shocks.

Maybe this is why I think of Mark Twain so much

The canoeists pass off to the bikers at Hovander Park; then the mountain bikers ride on the road to the intersection of Main St. and Hovander Road, near the bridge, where they cross under the railway overpass on the sidewalk, then zigzag around the back of the Haggen shopping center parking lot before disappearing in the woods. I saw riders on mountain bikes, 29ers and cyclocross bikes, already muddy from the start because it rained heavily for a bit just as the first canoes were arriving. There are some pretty tight turns and curb-jumping through the intersection and parking lot, but I don't think the route can be awfully rough (not that I've tried it myself, yet).

Anyhow, here's a bunch of photos of hardy Pacific Northwest canoeists:

First team to reach the bridge

These guys raced side by side under the two bridges, before one pulled ahead

First women's team to reach the bridge, in eleventh place, I think.
Followed by many mixed teams, and more women's teams.

The bridges are 17.5 miles from the start, and one mile from the end of the 18.5 mile river course.

Tight Genes

These guys were digging in hard and pulling a big wake

Some teams were a little unsteady

Many grey-hairs among the early finishers

Fifty Shades of Green

The petunias baskets are back, a bit late and a little down-sized. We had a week or two of sunny weather when I started using my bike instead of the bus for errand running again, riding twenty-five or thirty miles a day, three or four times a week.

I still use the post office in Bellingham, even though my emergency move to Ferndale is now more than two years past - this was supposed to be a short-term arrangement. I've come to like it, though, even with having to make regular bus trips to Bellingham to pick up mail and do my laundry. A yoga studio opened recently just a ten minute walk away. If there was a bike shop and a laundromat in town I would definitely change my post office box to Ferndale. But then I would have to plan bike excursions, rather than riding because I need to get somewhere.

This barn blew down in an early windstorm last fall

And a job, too. I still need paychecks.

These photos are from one of the prettier stretches of my old commute route, a marsh separated by railroad tracks from Tennant Lake, which isn't much more than a marsh, either. In the morning the roadside is alive with goldfinches and red-winged blackbirds, and frogs chirping in the ditches. Riding through on my way home in the evening, I sometimes heard heavy splashes in the water, maybe otter or beaver.

This is the season when the roadsides suddenly change from dull brown blackberry thickets, bare tree trunks, dead leaves and dry grass to layers of green, green, green.