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The lazy days of summer are wide open for camping. Our
first shakedown cruise is to Kinbrook Provincial Park to make sure the old
motorhome is ready for adventures and our tiny clown pull-car still fires on all
three cylinders. The park is only 2 1/2 hours east of Calgary. It’s almost a
guarantee we won’t run into snow and it’s close enough to home in case
something goes wrong.
After we settle on our campsite and the kayak is
pumped up, we take our first paddle along the shores of Lake Newel. It takes a
few strokes to get our timing right but soon we’re skimming through the
glass-like water. No other boats in sight. I’m hopeful the birds are eager to
cooperate because I’ve got my telephoto lens cradled in my lap.
When we head to the tiny island speckled with squawking
gulls, the noise level escalates. Like a
thousand toddlers arguing over a juice box. What in the world are they saying? And
Dad says I talk a lot.
We skirt the shore and I spot my second favourite bird.
The pelican. He’s surrounded by a platoon of gulls and a line of cormorants. As we paddle towards them, a few heads turn but since we don’t have to get close
with my man-lens, most of them ignore us and continue with their sentry duties.
On the other side
of the island a few gulls strut along a sandbar far away from the squawking cluster
we passed earlier. And they have a couple of chicks with them. The pin
feather fluffy young waddle about mimicking their parents.
Just then, a large
pike jumps right in front of the kayak. We’re not in alligator infested water
but holy smokes, it scares the crap out of me. Pikes are opportunistic fish and
if they come upon a chick bobbing in the water, they’ll snatch it up and eat it.
I verbally encourage the gull parents to keep their young safe.
The wind picks up. We head for shore and after the kayak is tucked away, I go down to the dock to see what's rolling in. Dark clouds darken the west horizon. The cacophony of noise from the island is replaced by crashing waves. And a gusty cold breeze chases me back to our site.
Phones throughout the campground blast the Alberta Alert siren and broadcasts the announcement: extreme winds, heavy rain, potential for tornadoes in the vicinity.
“Drive the car over to the Visitor Centre parking lot,” my husband shouts as he unplugs the motor home. “And park behind me.”
In mere seconds the wind is so intense I have to use two hands to open the car door. The wipers bounce across the windshield as I creep along the dark pavement and park a few feet behind our RV in the treeless parking lot.
The car shakes. I can’t open the driver’s door. Rain pours in through cracks in the convertible top. I crawl over to the passenger seat. It can't last long, right?
Five minutes in, a red-coated figure comes from the side of our camper and opens my passenger door. He’s such a knight – a bit soggy though. I run behind him, get inside the RV and peel off my raincoat. The storm rocks the motorhome like it’s a dinky toy.
Two hours later, the sky clears. The sun comes out. And we head back to our site. Before we can park, I gather all the downed branches and stack them close to the road for the park’s staff to pick up.
So much for lazy days of summer. Much like winter and spring, summer also has a wicked sense of humour.
Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)
Barbara Baker Author Page Facebook
Summer of Lies by Barbara Baker — BWL Publishing
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