Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Monday, August 04, 2008

It's getting about impossible to use my computer any longer. Any agreement that this is the power supply? It will randomly, entirely freeze pretty well at random, but usually when I start up a program that'd take extra processor resources, or load up a website that has flash.

On the plus side, I ordered an iPhone. It's the first consumer good (consumables notwithstanding) I've bought for myself, because I wanted it, in quite a long time. Granted it's useful, but I don't need it, like the black slacks I bought for work at the cafe a few months ago.

Now, on to the real post. A shout goes out to Ernest Hemingway, whose immediately accessible works, despite their age, inspired this post about the Secret Beach, which feels entirely more like Nick Adams at thirteen than Yours Truly at twenty-six.

I took a couple of shots of this last summer, before they'd paved over the Milton Interurban Trail. Now there are occasional joggers, stroller-pushers, and dog walkers cruising along the thing, instead of essentially nobody. The trail contains the entryway to the beach, so I think a few more people have found it now, than before.

Still, when you get there, it doesn't feel immediately like it's been too touched by humanity. The only part that makes it clear that is HAS been so affected is the trash: there are a good handful of wrappers and boxes down here. The relative lack, though, of beer bottles makes me think it's still not too many adults that have discovered this place on their own. Mostly, though, it's because this is not a park at all, simply a wetland preserve, so the City doesn't come down and do cleanup here.

Every time I go down, I try to bring back out a few things that someone has left behind.

The open area is a sandy meadow, not as fine as ocean sands but the banks of some ancient river, now migrated and redirected to the creek that still runs just below me. This creek actually skims just past my apartment complex's property, which is how I discovered the Beach, and it led to a realization about the irony of apartment names. Most suburban apartment complexes are madlibs like this: "[Adj.] [Noun]" or "[Noun] [Prep. phrase] [Noun]"

Who wouldn't want to live at, oh, say, The Meadows on Beaver Dell?

Well, the one in which Yours Truly resides is called "Copper Creek." Of course, I then expected an eponymous body of water to flow near it, but so far as I can tell there is no copper creek. This is the Hylebos, but I suppose that doesn't sound as good in a "For Rent" magazine, does it?

Anyhow, here's the Hylebos creek. You can see more clearly here than anywhere else the signs of humanity, but at least it's just Conservation International, trying to keep the wetlands at least partially protected from the Scourge of Suburbia. Can someone more versed in wetlands preservation tell me what those stakes are for?

But, overall, you feel like you are really in the middle of nowhere, and if the semi-distant Lloyd Gravel is shut down for the day, you really can't hear the highway or anything else over the creek, the bugs, the birds. Around here, this might be the Last Good Country.


  • At 6:33 PM , Blogger Winger said...

    Hi. This is Chris Carrel from the Friends of the Hylebos. I stumbled upon your site (by Google) and saw your post about the project at Hylebos Creek. This is one of our current stream restoration projects; we are attempting to enhance accumulation of small woody material (which will enhance habitat), capture sedimment, re-aggrading the stream channel and reducing downstream sedimentation.
    You can read more about about the project, and see some project videos at our Hylebos Stream Team blog at

    If you're interested further, you can contact Hillary Kleeb via the blog to find out about volunteering.

    Thanks for your post. I enjoyed reading it!


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