A Different View of the River
On Saturday night I attended a dear friend's eightieth birthday celebration. It was a group affair: a river cruise with dinner and dancing. My husband couldn't come, and at the last minute, I feared the birthday girl and her husband would be the only ones I knew, and they would be busy with many friends to talk to.
I needn't have worried. Before I was fairly aboard, I was hailed by my former doctor (now retired, but, as he reported, still "docking" from time to time, to use a suitably nautical term.) Sitting with him and his lady, and watching seals and sea birds from the deck, I spent a pleasant evening on the water. We ate, drank, listened to old music, danced and sang while Daphne and John made the rounds.
It's strange how the distant ribbon of the Fraser as seen from the train bridge bears so little resemblance to the broad tidal estuary of the same river, observed from a very small boat. The log booms are at eye level, and the alluring purple loosestrife that grows on the small islands between the Patullo and Port Mann Bridges is close enough to be identified; from the train it is merely a distant blur of colour.
The Native left New Westminster Quay in a Scotch mist at around 7 pm and headed upriver. We passed below the Sky Train bridge first, and then through the opened gap of the railroad bridge beneath the car bridge of the Pattullo. We followed the northern channel upstream and chugged quietly eastward toward the Port Mann.
"John helped engineer that," Daphne told me, as the huge structure loomed above us. Now construction has begun on the twin bridges; the old one is scheduled for demolition once the ten new lanes open.
As we passed below the high span, rainwater dripped from the bridge deck to fall on our tiny boat below. Looking across the river, I could see a row of drops falling into the water, giving the dark shadow of the bridge two lacy edges.
We all went back inside as it grew dark, and had our pictures taken. How glad I was to have helped Daphne celebrate her eightieth. We have known each other for thirty years and more, since the day I met her and we instantly began to discuss what books we were reading. That day I was waiting for the doctor; she was the nurse-receptionist.
I needn't have worried. Before I was fairly aboard, I was hailed by my former doctor (now retired, but, as he reported, still "docking" from time to time, to use a suitably nautical term.) Sitting with him and his lady, and watching seals and sea birds from the deck, I spent a pleasant evening on the water. We ate, drank, listened to old music, danced and sang while Daphne and John made the rounds.
It's strange how the distant ribbon of the Fraser as seen from the train bridge bears so little resemblance to the broad tidal estuary of the same river, observed from a very small boat. The log booms are at eye level, and the alluring purple loosestrife that grows on the small islands between the Patullo and Port Mann Bridges is close enough to be identified; from the train it is merely a distant blur of colour.
The Native left New Westminster Quay in a Scotch mist at around 7 pm and headed upriver. We passed below the Sky Train bridge first, and then through the opened gap of the railroad bridge beneath the car bridge of the Pattullo. We followed the northern channel upstream and chugged quietly eastward toward the Port Mann.
"John helped engineer that," Daphne told me, as the huge structure loomed above us. Now construction has begun on the twin bridges; the old one is scheduled for demolition once the ten new lanes open.
As we passed below the high span, rainwater dripped from the bridge deck to fall on our tiny boat below. Looking across the river, I could see a row of drops falling into the water, giving the dark shadow of the bridge two lacy edges.
We all went back inside as it grew dark, and had our pictures taken. How glad I was to have helped Daphne celebrate her eightieth. We have known each other for thirty years and more, since the day I met her and we instantly began to discuss what books we were reading. That day I was waiting for the doctor; she was the nurse-receptionist.