Across the bay, clouds drag curtains of mist across the lower slopes of Hope Hill so I take another path at Indian Point; one that leads up through the cedar forest and across the rounded rocky feet of Reginald Hill. Mist is a transformational element and I want some!
Partway through the cedar forest I branch off and follow a scramble- path up the slope onto a mist-wrapped rocky clearing. Here I am at the upper limits of the Indian Reserve that encompasses Indian Point, a place I have not visited before because it is usually so much more attractive to stay close to the shore. These passing scarves of cloud at the foot of Reginald Hill merge into thick mist that reaches hundreds of feet up steep slopes of mossy rock-face and forest. Here in this open space is a landscape of Garry oaks, individuals and ballet troupes stretched and twisted into frozen poses when they sense my presence. Arbutus trunks shine red through the mist like ship`s lights out at sea ( I can hear the foghorns of ships passing further out in the channel) This atmosphere is a precious thing in photography and it will not last for long!
Soon the fog-cloud rolls away and I slide back to the trail and continue across the slopes and down to the coast again. Already the sun is shining through the ragged clouds and reflecting pally on the smooth sea surface. I have another face of this place to do justice to: a rocky beach, an arbutus reaching out to the light, the first spring leaves bright green in the rapidly changing light.