Rocky Point trail is where I head when I want a glimpse of the sea. Each time I take to the trail, there’s a point that draws me like a magnet. I veer off the main path as if sleep walking and head to the old mill site.
When Europeans first settled in the area, they cut down cedar for lumber which is why most of the forest growth isn’t much more than one hundred years old. The timber was transported to one of the two mills, both of which later burned down.
Now all that remains are a few stone buildings, a brick path that’s covered at high tide, and some stumps from a building or pier that once protruded into the sea.
I love to wander over this site at low tide. Often a mud stench seeps from the flats but I don’t mind. It reminds me of my father squelching through mangroves to catch mud crabs. I inhale the distinct odour and peer at shells washed ashore.
I’m guessing this may have been a Salish midden before Europeans invaded the west coast. There’s a pile of mussel shells that I noticed on my last stroll, and I know First Nations once caught and dried salmon in the area.