7 June 2025 – Having walked down Heather Street, right to the False Creek Seawall, I am — not surprisingly — at the Heather Civic Marina. Which — also not surprisingly — is full of gently rocking boats.

I am not interested in the boats. I look left, where my feet will next take me…

and my mind bounces off most of what I see. Bounces off the low tide, the prow of a boat, the Seawall pathway, the bench in the bend of that pathway, and the collection of blue café umbrellas in Leg in Boot Square just ahead. My mind lands squarely on all that rock.

That sloping expanse of rock.

Riprap!

I grin at the rocks, mouthing the word.

I am surely influenced by Ana’s recent posts in her Anvica’s Gallery blog, in which she pays tribute to Wonderful Words. Most recently, to “ababol” — local slang, in her part of Spain, for “poppy.” She knows the correct Spanish for “poppy” is “amapola,” but she prefers “ababol.” Why? “It’s more fun.”

That’s my attitude to “riprap.” The fun you can have, with those two short syllables! Roll the r’s (Rrrrip-rrrap). Or pop the p’s (Rippp! Rappp)!

For me, though, it’s more than the fun of word games. It’s time travel.

Like Colonel Aurelio Buendía, remembering the day his father took him to discover ice, so I stand here on the Seawall, remembering the day I learned the word “riprap.” I was typing up some handwritten notes for a friend, and dissolved in giggles at a word I couldn’t read but deciphered as something like… “riprap.” Well, it couldn’t be that, could it, that’s not a word. So I said rude things about his horrible handwriting. And he patiently explained the word and its application — loose rock placed so to prevent erosion and preserve structural integrity.

For example… along the maritime edge of the False Creek Seawall.

Though Aurelio Buendía got to discover ice, the memory only surfaced as he faced a firing squad. Now, in much happier circumstances, my memory & I set out to discover riprap as I continue my walk toward Granville Island.

Vegetation has already discovered the riprap. All those crevices, just waiting to host whatever might be blowing in the wind.

From tiny, tenacious growth I can’t identify…

to shrubs and tall spikes of aconite, escapees from planted gardens.

A crow forages, for whatever he might find…

and I, initially taking in yet another sweep of vegetation, suddenly notice a tiny turquoise medallion, set in the Seawall ledge.

Which leads me to other discoveries, this bright breezy day.

It is one more marker in the provincial Control Survey system, a database of coordinates, elevations & related information archived for public access & use. The word “survey” flips me into more time travel. Almost 100 years ago, my dad spent two university summers as part of a survey team paddling the rivers & lakes of northern Saskatchewan.

The Seawall itself invites time travel. At the appropriate spot, signage shows us the unobstructed 2017 view across the water and through the city, right up to The Lions (two iconic mountain peaks, now more often called The Twin Sisters). It is, the signage announces, a protected view.

And yes, today in 2025, there it still is.

Right at the eastern edge of Charleson Park, more signage. This one a warning.

I am bemused. Warning? Are the elderly armed & dangerous? As I play with this very entertaining possibility, I hear the sound of approaching cyclists and a happy voice cries, “Well! That looks good!” The voice belongs to the man pedalling a trishaw, with two elderly passengers on the seat in front of him. A second trishaw follows. Laughter all ’round.

No wonder they approve of the sign — Cycling Without Age is a Canadian charity whose volunteers take local seniors (and their families and friends) out for a spin.

From elderly to young, from sturdy trishaw to tiny bicycle: Polkadot Helmet Missy & I pause halfway through Charleson Park…

to watch a City maintenance man wait for his colleagues before attempting to yoick that heavy fence section out of the way.

More walking, more discoveries. Including the Charleson Park sign that reminds us the pretty pond behind it is a seasonal pond, and it is meant to dry up in summer, and that’s okay. (Got it?)

And then I’m right under the Granville Street bridge, looking yet again at boats bobbing in the water, and yet again I am not focused on the boats.

I’m looking beyond, at that bright blue horizontal line of signage that placards the False Creek Fishermen’s Wharf, with its moorings and facilities for independent commercial fishers, and a wharf where the public can buy their catch.

More precisely, I’m focused on the pale blue rectangle, there on the left, just off all that bright blue.

That’s the old shipping container that now houses Go Fish — the fish purchased right there on the wharf, served up with chips and other delights, both trad & less so. They take no reservations, offer no indoors seating, and there is always a line-up.

Later, with my grilled wild salmon & salad, I plonk myself in one of those green bucket chairs, and enjoy my fish. And the view. And a bit of a rest.

And then… I walk back east.

The high route, this time, not the Seawall. It climbs me into the upper elevations of Charleson Park, all forest and dappled bark-chip trails…

and nary a chunk of riprap in sight.

That’s fine. I’ve had my moment.