Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who believes life takes her where she needs to go, no matter the roundabout path.
Yesterday was a beautiful day, and I felt like a good Salt Spring Island ramble. The kind that takes hours with a route only vaguely determined.
I turned left instead of right at Rainbow Road to retrieve a paperback called Speaking of Winnipeg from its tree stump to pass along to Torontonian with nostalgia for her hometown. Then up up up to Rainbow's summit, and up some more to Juniper's peak.
At the hilltop fork in the road, I turned left instead of my usual right, looking for a track I often rambled in the time before I commenced properly adulting. It's an abandoned small-scale logging road that skirts through the mountain to the Cranberry Valley, avoiding the slog to the peak.
I'm currently captivated by the idea of walking from my house to Fulford Harbour on dirt trails and am searching for a shortcut over Erskine.
I found the track and felt a rush of happy nostalgia as I walked up. The new property owner has blocked the way. I didn't care. I passed a no trespassing sign and climbed over a stone barrier. I have rules I've set for myself about trespassing on the Salty Isle; don't invade personal space and keep my private trails a secret.
After about half a mile, I wondered if I was where I thought I was. Then the trail dead-ended. Turning back felt like a defeat, so I turned right onto another track and started climbing again. This track isn't official, so parts of it are hard to climb, steep and narrow, with lots of loose debris and sections fully consumed by Broom.
Then I was scrambling more than rambling. I used my hands and feet, grabbing handfuls of Broom to pull me up over loose rock and boulders. I know from experience I can't pull this plant out of the ground without a shovel. I got nervous and contemplated turning around, but at this point down looked scarier than up.
I emerged under the hydro poles. The route is familiar. My husband and I hiked every inch of this mountain when we were dating. However, with every mini-summit I climb, I find I am still not where I think I am. So, I keep climbing. Soon I can see the snow-covered mountains in North Vancouver. I try to text my husband my location in case I can't find my way out before dark, but I don't have reception.
So, I climb until I arrive at a Salt Spring Conservancy boundary sign. Now I know where I am.
I was relieved not to be lost but also discouraged to know that to get home, I must now hike the ridge almost to the peak and then go back down the other side of the mountain. In taking a shortcut to avoid climbing this mountain, I will now climb it twice, both front and back.
I'm tired and thirsty, but it's worth it. I love this ridge and haven't walked in decades. I think this trail is one of the most beautiful on the island.
It makes me think of Susan because she helped protect this land. It's a story I haven't thought about in a long time.
Susan was rich. I once asked her how she got rich, and she responded that although she respected the bravery of the question, she wasn't going to tell me the answer. Susan used her riches to support the folks fighting to protect B.C.'s rainforests.
She was a maverick without concern for tax receipts and gave mountains of money to projects foundations wouldn't touch. These projects intrigued me, and she funded parts of my work for years.
The biggest was the battle to save the Great Bear Rainforest in the late nineties. I was facilitating a truly unruly coalition of environmental groups who put as much energy into disagreeing with each other as they did the forest companies. It was a two-year contract that lasted a decade. I burned out.
I realized on that ridge that the last time I was as anxious about life as I am now was then. I wanted to bring that campaign over the finish line with the others, but I was burnt. I was the first in the group to leave. I rambled away the anxiety back then, walking over Vancouver's Burrard Street Bridge in the dark from downtown to my home in Kits every day after work.
During the height of it all, Susan invited me to Saltspring to renew my energy. I spent a week alone in her home. Her home was nicknamed the Castle by locals and sits on a popular little beach. During this trip, I saw a handwritten for sale sign on the Treehouse Cafe doors and decided to quit my life and move. Susan offered me $50,000 and said I could use it to work on whatever environmental work I wanted if I didn't buy the restaurant. I declined, and we lost touch. She was disappointed in my lack of resolve. So was I.
Years later, I was on a committee to help raise funds needed to buy this land to protect it from logging. Half of it was already clear-cut. The clearcut has greened over now, and the view, I have to admit, is better than before because without the trees you can see the ocean. However, at the time, the clear-cut broke my hippie heart, which is why I haven't hiked here since then.
Millions of dollars were required to buy the land, and there was a non-negotiable deadline. The committee to raise funds consisted of wealthy old islanders with deep pockets and connections, so we'd raised the millions required and were short just $10,000. We had 24 hours to find it. We'd come too far to give up, so I ate my ego and asked Susan. She gave us the money on the condition that I stay on the Conservancy Board of Directors for one year after the gift.
I agreed. I wish I could say I stayed on the board for longer, but it was the time of my life when using my extra time to be a Girl Scout leader was more important than saving trees. So, I left that work to the empty nesters.
The ridge trail was longer than I thought, and eventually, I came to a trail sign with an actual map and found my way back down. When I passed a woman walking a dog, I felt the relief of being sure I wasn't sleeping on the mountain.
I phoned Stormy for a ride when I popped back out at the top of Juniper. When he picked me up, I told him I was relieved not to be sleeping on the mountain. He said, "You often get lost under those power lines. I was waiting for the pickup
READ MORE > JT's Tales From The Trail, Rambler Cafe Blog
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