Out & About #754 | Scanlon Creek Conservation centre

Gas prices have seen a steep incline in the past several weeks. The increase brings about sorrow, as well as a sense of resentment amongst the already amplified highway congestion levels. With each additional kilometre tackled, I am reminded of the need to fill up. The thought has left me in constant worry of unnecessary turns and detours, and the need for fuel conservation in advance of inter-regional trips.

Given orangecane's coordinates the evening prior, I sacrificed my overwhelming desire for a Grey County expedition. Instead, I proposed a destination at the longitudinal midpoint of our residences. Carpooling was suggested for efficiency; I arrived at the Hwy 407 hub roughly thirty minutes later than planned, unsurprisingly, notifying orangecane as appropriate.

​Despite the long weekend, there remained a handful of riders at the station. In wait of orangecane, the grounds were explored for any divergences from previous encounters. Skies were an ashen azure, with soft splotches of cloud positioned here and there. Within the streetscaping components of the commuter lot were noticeable white bulbs - fungi that had sprouted as a result of persistent rainfall. The same circumstances had been witnessed on my own front lawn.

Roaming some more, my frugal senses were alarmed by the sighting of a Green P meter. Thankfully, a quick check confirmed that fee collection would not be enforced lot due to statutory holiday status.

In keeping with tradition, the first stop of the day was established as a location offering both sustenance and indoor plumbing facilities: McDonald's. A McWrap and Spicy Nuggets (clearly not me) were devoured in the presence of wasps on the patio. Then, we proceeded to our point of interest.

The admission house was unstaffed at our time of visit, thus any associated visitor charges were to be paid electronically, on the basis of the honour policy. Admission was free, though parking dues were in effect; a QR code positioned in each lot allowed smartphone users to remit payment on an hourly rate of $2 or day use rate of $6. The amounts were quite affordable in comparison to hiking areas closer to home.

We had been graced with exceptionally warm weather for mid-October. A sleeveless top had been derived from the closet once again and bug repellent was sprayed liberally to combat the moist, mosquito-fostering conditions. Unscathed we did not emerge, unfortunately. I collected three prominent bites, with a few smaller ones on the chest and chin, while orangecane received a few bumps on her hand and claimed more on her thighs.

The scenery was largely suburban, demonstrating plant and animal species similar to those spotted at Mount Nemo two years prior, from the dual-tone caterpillars to the white baneberry wildflower.

​As with the one that had swiftly slithered away at Rouge Urban National Park, a baby snake was also observed amidst fallen leaves on an uphill portion of the hike.

View the full album HERE !

Leading up to the long weekend, I had anticipated minimal colour change. These suspicions were affirmed with a primarily green landscape with tinted edges of yellow or muted orange. Shrubs lining Scanlon Creek evoked a flashback to Forks of the Credit, but to a decidedly less striking spectrum.

We had sauntered about aimlessly over tree roots, mossy rocks, overpasses, and wooden plank-enforced staircases before arriving at the Head of Trails. By this point, majority of the Conservation had been traversed. In review of withering energy levels, the conclusion lay with completing remainder of the black "Chickadee" trail and looping back on either the blue "Kingfisher" or red "Sugar Maple" trails. Over the course of 3 hours and 10 minutes (or 190 minutes), roughly 10 km had been traveled.

The trail map found online proved an accurate depiction of the pathways in the conservation area; our exhausting journey had seen coverage on majority of the coloured routes and some divergence onto paved shortcuts. Our trek had omitted the green "Evergreen" and the purple "Creekside", which could not be located even on the map.

​Scanlon Creek offered an intermediate-level course with a steady climb and adequate elevation. The definition of "elevation" was selected for debate, for any region possessing a positive slope ought be considered a terrain of elevation. Orangecane's perspective differed, as she warned of the continuous ascents on BC lands and the utter lack of grounds for comparison. Tales had been heard of freakishly fatiguing hikes on the endlessly mountainous West Coast, though there was no intent to undertake such treacherous ventures in the near future. It mattered not at the current point in time. Posing immediate threat was the descent along the rail-less staircases: tremendous pain in the knees was experienced, along with instability in the ankles.
In analysis of our field visit, the area had offered a 64 m elevation delta - on par with Rouge Urban National Park's steepest section (58 m delta).

Post-hiking rewards tend to assume the form of iced, sweet treats. Orangecane denied the proposal of ice cream and bingsoo, claiming chilliness; in hindsight, there were no bingsoo vendors to be found in the neighbourhood anyway. I was bestowed a Starbucks creation: an iced Latte with White Mocha Syrup and Pumpkin sauce of sorts.

This description may be deficient of precision from the eyes and ears of those more familiar. Alas, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet: The concoction was sweeter than accustomed but nonetheless delicious.

In the adjacent plaza was a Portuguese bakery, by the fitting name of Portugalia Bakery, which retailed a vast assortment of cream-filled pastries and non-Nata tarts adopting flavours of orange, cheese, and more.

Driving through Bradford, the streets differed a trifling amount from that of my own neighbourhood, albeit with fewer sightings of public transit services, which may or may not have been owed to the holiday schedule. We proceeded along a rural stretch of the city - Canal Road to be specific - where I was reminded of shoreline residences along the perimeter of Nova Scotia. The path followed one of the numerous rivers that had originated from the channels of Cook's Bay, eventually connecting to Hwy 400.
On the return route, I was ecstatic to catch sight of the new HOV lanes on the SB portion of the highway.

Since the September visit to Dave & Busters, I was quick to declare an absence of worthy eateries in the vicinity. IKEA was nearby, open, and convenient, thus selected for supper without hesitation. The meal marked entry into the warehouse for the first time since childhood. Swedish meatballs with cranberry sauce and an extra vegetable medallion were obtained cafeteria-style.

As orangecane naturally swooped up a white ceramic mug for self-serve coffee and tea, I opted to retrieve my water bottle from the car. The retailer's one-way measures and displays constituted a maze, which was an indubitable way to encourage browsing, but an enormous annoyance when attempting rapid access and egress.

​I returned to consume a dinner of stiff meatballs, filler-filled mashed potato, and satiating vegetable medallion. Better quality had been tasted elsewhere, though the platter was, oddly and amusingly, delicious. Hunger was on the rise and, in spite of the components being not a far cry from pre-packaged boxes in the frozen aisle, I deduced it a satisfactory meal.

​The second-level Bistro of the building began to cease operations for the day. Orangecane made her way downstairs, while I lingered for a moment, catching the coral spectacle that was the sunset before joining her.
Following checkout, I was introduced to the furniture store's Frozen Yogurt. My IKEA mentor opted for the standard Frozen Yogurt, served in a cone. I took to the Lingonberry Sundae, which resulted in digestion issues shortly after (and zooming back to the Hwy 407 carpool lot).

​By the 9 PM mark, we confirmed tiredness, each embarking on our own homebound commute.