Dads and Crawdads in the Little Qualicum River

Our campsite at Whiskey Creek was only a few minute's drive from Little Qualicum Falls Provincial Park, and since the day after our beach excursion had ahint of warmness to it, Glory and I took our swim togs along.

Not that I am too much of a scofflaw or anything, but when we had visited there in 2009, we had left the trail at one point and found an amazing swimming hole formed by the fortuitous placement of enormous pieces of rock, downstream from both the upper and lower falls. The sides were a little slick and steep to be bringing in two small girls with little swimming experience, so we abandoned our attempt to swim in there fairly quickly, and I have dreamed of returning there ever since.

Sadly, the water levels were not as generous this time around but since my fencehopping ability has diminished in the intervening decade, so it may have been a blessing in disguise.

So instead, we trekked up the trail, past the lower:

and upper falls of the Little Qualicum River.

It's a gorgeous spot, with good trails and stairs in the steep bits. Despite the humidity and ever-present threat of rain, it was not too buggy, either.

It got up to about 24 degrees, and by the time we had climbed up past the upper falls, I was drenched in sweat, and eager for a chance to cool off. Eventually, we came to a bend in the river, just before it takes another turn and picks up speed before turning into a proper waterfall. It looked familiar, but I couldn't be sure it was the same spot we had swum in a decade earlier - it looked smaller, somehow.

With sweat pouring off my brow and no better opportunities in sight, I ducked behind some trees and put on my swim clothes, while Glory trotted off to change in an outhouse just down the trail.

Thankfully I had picked up a pair of river shoes (or water socks or whatever you call them) so my increasingly tender tootsies were able to make it across the gravel beach and into the water without incident. Once there, however, the size of the rocks increased dramatically and were impossible to stand on due to their slickness.

Oh, and it was cool. Like, 5-7 degrees kind of cool. I didn't have a thermometer with me, but I have drank many a beer at temperatures warmer than that river and thought, "mm, that is a cool and refreshing beverage." With a wide and unstable stance, and my right foot wedged under a particularly large stone, I was uneasy about taking the final plunge into the briskness of the river, but there was nothing else for it, so I leapt in.

By the time Glory arrived, I had acclimatized quite a bit and was finding my time in the river quite enjoyable. I hadn't bothered with the flippers and snorkel I had brought, but was doggedly perusing the river bottom. I was certain this was the same spot, but the rocks had looked more colourful, and had been positively teeming with crayfish that I hadn't yet seen. At 12-15 feet at its deepest, I felt certain it had been deeper too, but then, the mid-island had been dry most of the spring and summer.

Glory's entry into the river was just as apprehensive as mine, but more surefooted all the same. Eventually, she too took the plunge, but lacking my insulation, she did not find it quite as comfortable as I had.

Still, she borrowed my mask and was excited to see a fish (presumably a young salmon) shortly after that.

It was a little tricky extricating the straps of my mask from her hair, but when I joined her in looking underwater at the freshwater fry, I was thrilled to finally spot the crayfish I had come to find. 4-6 inches long, with white bands crossing their claws, they appeared to have vacated from one side of the river to the other over the past ten years. Since crayfish can't live in polluted waters, it is always a blessing to see them where you are swimming, even if they are a little creepy and vaguely menacing looking. (They are also astonishingly fast; Audrey reached out toward one in the shallows and it darted back perhaps 18 inches in the blink of an eye.

We swam in the river for perhaps half an hour before I came out to dry off on a nearby bench. A group of hikers smiled when they saw me, and asked if I'd had a dip. Still unsure of the legality of my immersion, I nodded, but replied, "If it's a ranger who's asking, I fell over while looking for crayfish!"

Once we were dry, we made our way back out the parking lot, checking a trail map and determining that where we were was a completely legitimate swimming spot.

You know what? Honestly, I was a little disappointed.