By Gordon Patterson
A Fallen Leaf
A single Maple leaf laid on the trail entrance. It hadn’t fully turned yet, still firm with a touch of green in the centre, but the margins carried that first rusty hint of Autumn. Colourful harvest hillsides haven’t arrived, no sudden shift in the canopy colours. Just one early leaf letting go, as if the tree had quietly acknowledged Fall would be arriving soon…
There was a subtle change in the air too… a freshness that carried a musky scent beneath the familiar earthy aromas of evergreen and moss. Summer still lingered in this remote Vancouver Island forest. Bracken fronds stood tall; and plump, deep blue Salal berries hung from branches in chorus lines. Sunlight too remained generous; but no longer carried the same confidence, and dark shadows gathered sooner along the path. Further down the trail something was pulling back as white silky Fireweed seed tufts, delicate as cotton, now crowned their tall green stalks.
Autumn doesn’t arrive on Northern Vancouver Island with sudden riotous applause. It appears slowly, in bits and pieces over a period of time. Small changes you only notice if you’ve walked these trails over many seasons. A timid leaf curl here and there… on salmonberry, thimbleberry, and huckleberry bushes. Ripen Spruce cones discharge next Spring’s seeds, and ample dry grass tug on boot laces. The forest, warm for so long, cools under a canopy that darkens earlier. Foliage has a new gentle musky scent, mushrooms sprout from unseen mycelium threads… Even the evening settles differently as Mother Nature contemplates coming events.
The woodland draws you close like an old friend, a comforting feeling known to those who frequent these trails. We remember where the ground dips, where roots rise, where the sky opens for a moment before closing again behind a cathedral of maple, alder, and hemlock branches. Ever Rosie our Australian Shepherd darts ahead with familiarity. Yet knowing a trail well doesn’t dull a place… it sharpens the enjoyment of it! Today Nature is presenting a different chapter of this forest habitat. Knowing a place well you see and feel the smallest seasonal departures. Rosie moves ahead, then falls back, nose low, pausing at a deer track as Christine crouches to admire a single orange jelly-like mushroom…. hidden under Salal sprouting from moist soil amongst old composting leaves, twigs, and evergreen needles.
We were hiking to nowhere in particular. The trail’s ambiance is fulfilling enough, and today it offered a wonderful and different version of itself. We move forward slowly, pleasantly interrupted by many small pleasures. A cheeky Steller’s Jay crossed the path, back and forth; his shinny blue feathers a vivid against an evergreen backdrop. He seemed annoyed and nervous, flittering from branch to branch scolding us before he tired and moved on. Then a welcoming gentle sound of water bubbling emanates somewhere beyond, as a startled Ruffed Grouse scampered off into a Salal sanctuary… to avoid our intrusion.
In summer, the backcountry feels outward‑facing. Long afternoons, easy light, the sense that the day will stretch as far as you need it to. As autumn approaches, the forest draws you inward. Not from fatigue, but from attention. Details sit closer to the surface. Bird‑nest fungi on a stump tells a story of a remarkable camouflaged micro world. Dew gathers on spider webs in exciting patterns highlighting skill and perseverance of the arachnoid nature. Leaves of wild Rhododendron loosen their uniform stiffness, some dulling, others glossy in uneven patches. Their amazing pink and purple flowers now only a memory.
Near the River, the smell of salt and salmon teases the imagination. Calm pools form in the shadows, holding bits of sky and water skitters. River-bank cover has a late summer subtlety about it. Reflections of soft amber and blue tones lend a mature completeness to the surroundings rather than decline…. A watercourse full of life as returning salmon playfully splash sporadically for reasons unknown. Another single leaf drifts on the river, turning once or twice before the current slowly carried it off. No drama. No loss. Just the continuation of a circle of life as old as humanity.
Harvest colours never arrive suddenly. One tree changes before another. Fireweed decides colouring on its own timing. Nature’s paintbrush moves unevenly Wild Rose and Alder trees…. moisture and sunlight dilutes colour choices she makes. There’s a story in her subtlety, in every mossy rise, every wildlife sighting, and in every frosty morning. Small things hardly noticeable are waiting to be noted in my journal.
Wildlife senses seasonal movement long before we do. Bull elk bugle, messaging the herd he is anxious to start a new generation. Bears ravenously feed, Ravens become more vocal, their rough calls echo from distant places adding dimension to the forest. Squirrels move with energetic purpose, leaping branch to branch, cheeks full of cone seeds. Rosie watches with curiosity as they disappear into the green thick salal. Their urgency isn’t nervousness or new; it’s the same work they’ve done every autumn for eons. From a distance they look frantic, but it’s simply preparation…. The way of the Wild Kingdom.
The first geese pass high overhead in a loose V. The lead bird shifts, the line wavers, and their calls reach us before we see them. Familiar, yes …but still an amazing call of nature…. Always worth stopping for.
By afternoon, the forest felt more alive than the open road. A Barred Owl called from a hollow somewhere unseen. Wings open silently. Eyes watch us from creatures hidden by foliage. Woodlands are never empty, even when you can’t see the pulse life there.
People change with the season too. Fewer hikers. Quieter conversations. Shoulders tucked into jackets. Hands warm in pockets. There is melancholy in the way folks move. Perhaps sadness summer is ending. But warmth lingers in river stones, in the smell of dried grass, in the memory of an elk’s bugle bouncing off hillsides throughout the valley.
Memory deepens a trail. A bend isn’t just a bend, a hilltop is not just a hilltop… the land holds recollections of vivid evergreens, small pink alpine flowers of Mountain Heather, blankets of bright red Kinnikinnick berries some call Bearberries. Recollections of wet mornings, bright afternoons, and moments when Rosie stopped us to study something only she could sense. A stretch of Western Hemlock recalls a Pine Martin sighting, a scolding Red Squirrel, a glimpse of a shy Black-tailed deer. An uphill pace reminds you of more youthful days, and a stronger you many years ago. We return to quiet hide-and-ways visited a decade ago, to find the land has kept more of us than we realized. Our heats quicken recalling fond moments immersed in worry-free wonder.
The Fall steadies things. It shows the familiar in a different light. The path is still the path, but its edges have shifted with annual adjustments. Colours thin, fragrances crisp, and paths clear. Rosie catches a scent and pauses, ears up alert as light rests across the trail in long quiet bands. Then somewhere above, a Bald Eagle calls, a reminding the three of us to turn back.
Walking back we reflected on the sights, aromas, and wildlife of the day… Autumn’s arrival doesn’t shout; it taps you on the shoulder with gentle reminders. Then another leaf loosed and fell at our feet. No farewell… just a final gesture of one leaf out of countless millions. The act a silent part of a woodland returning to itself as we walked side-by-side as we have done for over fifty years. It is Nature slowly letting go making room for renewal with a promise that Fall’s meaningful change, although quiet, is followed by winter’s restful slumber and then a miraculous Spring of rebirth and regrowth.
The trail was already calling us back again, God willing. Not to the past, but to future renewal full of hope, new memories, and new beginnings.
Safe travels,
Gord
Photos © 2026 Christine Patterson