Rain-Kissed Trails and Terpene Tales: A Rockies Forest Diary

We’ve had cool, rainy weather this summer here in the Canadian Rockies. For visitors escaping scorching temperatures in Europe and elsewhere, this must seem like a heavenly haven. Others who have come in the hope of being swooned by the majestic mountain peaks and glacial lakes, might be slightly disappointed to have obscured views. Campers will no doubt feel the chill through the thin material of tents at night. Still, there’s something magical about these misty days where the clouds hang like intricately embroidered girdles around the mountains’ waists.

For us who live here and have experienced the forest fires of the last couple of years, this mild, wet summer is a relief. Despite raging fires in Northern Saskatchewan and Lethbridge, southern Alberta, we’ve not had the suffocating smoke that blocks out any view outside your windows and holds you prisoner inside your home, sometimes for days. These blazing infernos also suck up the moisture from the air, staving off the much-needed rains of spring and summer. And our forests and underground reservoirs have been in desperate need of moisture.

However, there’s a notable increase in humidity — even here in the Rockies, where, at more than 1,300 m above sea level, the air used to be so dry, I had to moisturise the inside of my nose. Nowadays I’m concentrating my efforts on keeping the frizz out of my hair. I look a bit shaggy, but shaggy seems to be the flow of the natural world that surrounds me, so I’m going with it.

On days where the heat builds up slowly to an afternoon downpour, you feel the moisture creeping under your clothes, as if the heavy molecules are seeking respite from the burden of hanging in the air against gravity. If one wishes to take a hike, it’s best to look outside for an accurate forecast — the weather app can’t keep up with the changing conditions.

But when I do find an opportunity to head into the woods, I am rewarded by a tantalising sensory blast of epic proportions. Our forests are exploding in volume and colour: little streams have become tumbling waterfalls, last year’s seedlings have burst into lush trees and shrubs and thick moss covers the forest floor and seem to spill over rocks and into every crevice it can find. Due to the cooler temperatures, the wildflowers and berries are blooming earlier. I haven’t seen so many flowers on my forest hikes.

On the damp trails the earthy smell of decomposing leaves, twigs and organic matter on the forest floor hit you from below, while the trees drug your senses from above with wave after wave of terpenes and terpenoids. Nature’s energetic healing alters your mood. It turns the focus inward, outward, up and around.

We have also seen the emergence of a broader than usual variety of fungi. This year, yellow-hued mushrooms seem to be in vogue and they are quite eye-catching. But when there’s so much to see it’s easy to scan broadly. Stopping often and getting down on your heels, allows you to experience the micro world within the greater wooded ecosystem. To take in the details, see little spots and grooves and the fantastic colours and shapes nature’s palette and canvas produce.

It has started dripping again. While I seek warmth for my arms and feet, the robins are whistling their cheerful tunes, undeterred in their determination to make the most of the day’s hours. No Sunday’s rest for them. A family of ravens live in the trees in my backyard. I hear them communicating in knocks and gurgles, which grow louder and softer, depending on the direction they move. Now and then a fawn bleats in the dense undergrowth, calling to its mother.

And I, a little speck in this mighty cosmos, am feeling grateful.