“But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.”  ― Stephen King, Salem's Lot

Seasons change quickly up here in the Canadian Rockies. The temperature drops and is slow to return. Soon it will be time to trade in the hiking shoes for cross-country skis and heavy boots. But not quite yet.

We managed to get in a hike that we were hoping to do late last week. The Rummel Lake Trail had a bear closure two days prior, then miraculously reopened. Splendid. It was raining the day of our hike, with about a 30% chance forecast throughout the day. We decided to take our chances, bundled up and headed out to Spray Lake Provincial Park. The rough, loose gravel road was blessedly clear of dust, settled from the rain. Our hike was about 9km (5.6mi) roundtrip, with a gradual elevation gain of about 427m (1,400 ft). It intersected with the High Rockies mountain bike trail and had a viewpoint overlooking the entire valley. The fall colors were just beginning, with the occasional lone aspen showing off it’s golden hue.

About two-thirds of the way up, it started to drizzle. Then, it rained. Big, heavy, cold drops, freezing hands—you get the idea. The rain jackets came out, and we trudged up the trail, heads down, hoping the lake was just around the corner. Eventually it was, and it was spectacular.

It was not conducive for peanut butter sandwiches, however. As Dave and I explored the trail up to a meadow, the rain stopped and the skies started to clear. Heading back, we took some additional photos of the lake, now sunny and as smooth as glass. The Spray Valley was dappled with sunlight.

Towards the end of our adventure, we passed hikers in tank tops, who quizzically looked at us in our rain gear as if we were from another planet.

When I think back, what seemed really strange that day was that a half dozen spruce grouse were so busy feeding that they completely ignored us and wouldn’t give way of the trail.

Do they know something we don’t know?