We had a lot of snow the first few winters after I moved into one of the cabins on Willett Rd. I distinctly remember having trouble getting up the long driveway in one storm, in a rear-wheel drive 1970s Volvo with All-season tires. Someone called out to me, "Don't be afraid, Ian. Just give 'er!

That was Paul, in a nutshell. Fearless. We weren't real close, but you were always a good neighbor, Paul, and rest assured I remember our early adventures: hunting for rocks in the hills above Kalamalka Lake and up by the dykes past Beaver Lake; New Year's Eve bonfires behind the cabins; crossing Wood Lake in a windstorm in a small boat with a too-small outboard that sounded like it might cut out at any moment, my late Black Lab cross (Lady) by my feet in the bow. You never gave up trying to dissuade me (unsuccessfully)  from being such a hermit, and I thank you for that.

Farewell, neighbor. May you yet find that elusive gold in an unexplored location.