Earlier this month I had taken an early morning paddle up Pitt lake. I had the goal of checking out a rumoured campsite on Goose Island. Conditions were good. A slight wind coming from the south sped my crossing to the island. I found the campsite with ease; it turned out to be closer to the water than I had expected.
There's a somewhat rustic firepit, and a nice flat rock to pitch a tent on.
Contented with my exploration I sat down to eat lunch. It was then that I realized that I had lost one of my gloves. I looked all over the mossy campsite. I checked my kayak, and looked around the campsite once again. Nowhere was the second glove to be found. I began to question whether I had actually brought it. I could swear I took two out from my under deck bag. The image of two gloves sitting on my seat was fairly clear in my memory. I checked the area where I came ashore. It's a rocky landing, crisscrossed with driftwood logs. Had my glove taken a tumble between these logs? I searched again in vain, my glove was nowhere to be found. One more search around the campsite yielded zero gloves.
I had to make a Zoom meeting in the afternoon and didn't want to be late. I abandoned hope of finding the glove. As I paddled back I entertained the notion that perhaps I had only grabbed one glove off the dresser top that morning. As I loaded the car I was giving more credence to that version of events. As I drove home it seemed evermore likely. As I put the kayak in the garage I was virtually certain that I would find my glove, simply forgotten on my dresser.
But as I entered the bedroom as cast my eyes upon the bare dresser top I knew that glove must be lying on the mossy ground of Goose Island.
When I mentioned this unfortunate blunder to my wife, she reminded me that I would have to break the news of my lost glove to the glove's creator, our knitting needle wielding friend. I imagined myself explaining the carelessness involved in losing a wet-moss coloured glove on a wet, mossy island. No, this simply would not do.
Thusly I found myself paddling to Goose Island on the 28 of November, determined to locate the missing glove. I had a few days off and was thinking of trying to find the pictographs that are farther up the lake, as well as check out a few of the marine sites. As I paddled up the lake I was treated to many rainbows and generally nice conditions.
It started to drizzle as I crossed to the island, but overall it was quite mild. I got ashore and began to set up camp.
A bit more poking around near camp showed the mossy and overgrown nature of the island's forest. I originally thought of hiking around the island, but decided it was too wet to merit much more exploration.
I changed out of my dry suit and into my camp clothes. Donning my hiking boots I took two steps before losing all traction on a root and nearly falling flat on my face. I caught myself just before hitting the ground. Sitting squarely in front of my face, completely waterlogged and nearly indistinguishable from the moss around it, was my glove. I have never been as appreciative of excessively worn lugs on my hiking boots. The evening was spent in triumph, eating some rehydrated chicken and rice before going to bed at 6pm.
My plan for the next day was to cross to the western shore, and continue north in search of pictographs. Then I would cross to Osprey Creek and make camp. The wind had different plans. I waited to see if it would abate. It did not. Figuring the day was already destined to be windy, I ate baked beans for breakfast. The wind did not show any signs of stopping, but I thought I'd give it a shot and see if it was doable to head up the lake. As I reached the western shore I decided fighting the wind and waves just to commit to a longer crossing was not something I wanted to do. I veered south, remembering Dark Creek marine site was somewhere nearby. With the wind at my back I very quickly scooted behind the point and into more sheltered water. In summer I would perhaps have enjoyed the downwind surfing a bit more.
The campsite at Dark Creek was nicely suited to setting up a tarp, though I was disappointed to see any suitable sites were a bit more concave than I would like given the incoming rain.
With a view back across to Goose Island I settled in for a wet evening of reading Jack London. Wet weather doesn't seem so bad when reading about murder and frostbite...
The next morning was a very soggy packing up of camp and a swift downwind paddle back to the launch.
My main goal was accomplished, regardless of how silly it seems to go back for a glove. I'll have to make another trip out to check out the pictographs.
Maybe in spring...