Ep 04: The Beecher Creek Adventure
Role-playing Craig of the Creek
November 2023 - An errand run
I was on my way to get a flu shot when I noticed a lovely stretch of greenery in the Parkcrest-Aubrey neighborhood. I was intrigued by how it divided this area from Brentwood. The sign read “Beecher Creek”, and something drew me to it…but I had to be elsewhere; I had an appointment, after all.
January 13, 2024 - Metro Vancouver remembered its meteorology and shed snow earlier this week. It’s no longer falling, but the winds are mad chilly!
Today felt like a good time to play Craig of the Creek and check out the place I had noted many months back. According to Waterways of Burnaby, Beecher Creek is one of many in the city, named after “Jimmy Beecher, who owned a farm on Springer Avenue where Beecher Park is located.” Cool.
For this little adventure, I wore my iconic jacket, a T-shirt, and footwear unsuited for snowy terrain. Judging by how small the creek looked on the map, I did not plan to stay long. I got into it through some cul-de-sac and almost thought I went the wrong way. The ‘entrance’ was behind a quaint house, taking the shape of two-by-four wooden stairs atop some ice. One step followed another, and the sudden yell of a Ghanaian man screaming for dear life (it goes like yieeee!).
Whoosh! I had stepped onto the ice beside the stairs, thinking my already inappropriate shoes would make good contact. And that miscalculation sent me tumbling down the muddy—albeit short—descent into the creek. A few crows flew off, squawking as I picked myself up and wiped off the mud. I was too embarrassed to accept that this was them laughing at the stranger who’d visited their domain. Say what you may, that was a great introduction to the creek, haha!
Once the embarrassment had faded away, I could see the magic before me. Despite most of the snow melting off North Burnaby’s salty streets, this place still had thick blankets. It made for a lovely fall-ish palette: greens, whites, and red oranges. The creek was running so cold—my fingers and the icicles about the streambed will attest to this.
It took about thirty more minutes to see the northern end of the creek. Within those minutes were sounds of powdered leaf litter crumpling under cautious steps, Burrard Inlet water running to who-knows-where, and a careful Ghanaian man awing at the view (it goes like this).
As I set foot on Springer Ave, I smiled. You could hear faint squawking from within the creek. Mocking announcement of a new visitor, perhaps?
The rest of my day was a chill slice of life. Later that night, my phone buzzed with a notification; I wondered what it was....
Ayyy, it looks like Gogomi has picked up on the walk. That means the pipelines are working just fine; hehe, this is good 😁