For those of us who semi-hibernate, heading to warmer climates or recalling times of the year when we’re far more active can help us make it to March: that’s when life resumes.

One of my Spring-Summer-Fall pursuits is to drive down a country road to see where it goes. Frequently, it leads to a fork, which I invariably take. (Thanks, Yogi.) Sometimes, it’s a road well travelled, but I’m not sure by me. Something looks familiar, like, you know, I’ve been down this road before?

Occasionally, it’s the road less travelled (Thanks, Robert Frost) and leads to a dead end. Well, sort of.

One led to an open gate, through which I saw a lesser road into the St. Mary River valley. It took me to one of my favorite secret places.

I think we all have secret spots, where the world is right, and we feel like we belong there. And, it’s ours. On the one hand, we want everyone to know about it, because of its beauty, its serenity, its wonder, perhaps its mystery only we can solve. But then, you fear if others know, it won’t retain what makes it special. And, it certainly won’t be secret.

Maybe you’ll only share it with close friends with the proviso they not tell another soul. I’ve done that with this secret place on the St. Mary. In fact, another friend told me about the road. It’s one of the many wonders in a day trip from Lethbridge. I can’t be more specific, or it would no longer be secret. I think it’s a secret spot for others, though: I get frowns and hushes from them if I dare mention in a group I’ve been there.

It’s only secret to me because most of the time I’m there, no one else is. I can imagine the place has been overlooked, or just too far off the road for anyone else to bother with. Even the piece of fishing line hanging from the barbed wire that runs into the river isn’t enough to convince me it’s not my space, alone. Could have drifted downstream in the spring, after all.

That I am usually there without competition from others who would also be stalking the silvery trout is only one of the attractions. It’s what I imagine this part of the world would have been like long before it was settled, despite the obvious signs of settlement.

On a recent trip, I ventured a little farther downstream, around a long bend framed by 50-metre cliffs on the west bank. Fished some good runs for a while before I heard a persistent vehicle sound. Fished a bit more then headed back upstream, curious, toward the sound.

Kind of disappointing to see a couple of twenty-something anglers had driven what looked like a mini-monster truck across the river to a large, usually productive pool about 300 metres from where I re-emerged.

I shrugged, walked the other way and refused to think less of my secret spot. For others, it obviously holds a similar attraction.

I’d tell you about other secret spots another time, if you’d promise to be discreet