An Encounter With the Past

I was hit hard in the gut yesterday. I was having a great day, you know the type of day where the sun is shining bright and the future looks ever-so-inviting. I was on my bike, heading to a union bargaining committee meeting with management, something I absolutely love doing.

There I was, stopped at a light, listening to Peter Gabriel, and I heard a honk over the din of Gabriel's scratchy voice. I've never been a big fan of his, partly due to this aural feature of his music, but on this day I had synched a version of 'City of Angels' onto my ipod, which incidentally I had heard on Radio Paradise the week before. If you haven't tuned into RP yet, I strongly recommend it.

But back to my story. I'm waiting at the light and at a particularly melancholic moment in the song I hear a honk, which I invariably think is aimed at me. I look to the left and straight back and nothing. I look to the right and a cute-looking woman drives by, rolling her right turn on the red. What I do care? I smile large. I peer over to the next car to pull up beside me, something I have trained myself to do over the years, whether stationary or in motion at 120km/h.

A large smile beams at me and my heart races a touch. "Hi, how are you?" I can read her lips over the lilting soundtrack on my ears. My heart races still more. I take my headphones off, I can feel myself melting into the pavement, but I resist it. I will not sink to that level.

"Good, enjoying the sun." I hear myself, confident, and it doesn't seem possible.

She retorts, very enthusiastically: "Man, I can't believe it, I was just thinking about you!" The way she draws out 'just', as if she was singing a folk song, has always been endearing. I think it may one of her favourite words.

"Oh yeah." I wasn't, but I thought that might not be the right thing to say. "Cool." It probably isn't, but it seemed like my turn to say something else, and 'cool' and 'interesting' are my two favourite things to say that mean pretty much nothing but sound ok.

"It's really nice to see you." She's still beaming, as if the sun is shining too bright in her eyes. She sounds sincere. "It's nice to see you too." And then for what feels like an eternity we both stare into each others' eyes, in a way I've rarely done with anyone, as if we're playing some infantile game of "who will blink first" with nothing at stake.

I look away. I feel happy to see her, but I wonder, almost cryptically, what does she want from me?

The conversation continues in this way, with her smiling larger than I have perhaps ever seen her smile and my mind wandering to her intentions, for the minute it takes the light to change. In that uncomfortable moment, there's a slight pause, before I say, rather matter-of-factly, "Well, it was nice seeing you. Have a good day." And I mean it. I don't want to pursue anything more.

Then I go about my day and I think back to that brief moment, the type of moment I used to obsess over (what will i say? what will she say? how will i feel?) and I feel a deep sense of satisfaction. I was nice and friendly to someone who treated me more or less like shit. I'm relieved. And feel stronger than I did before. I thought I'd fail the test, but I passed with flying colours. I wouldn't change a thing.

Visitor Overview

For regular visitors to Courir dans le vent rose, you may know that I track visitors to my blog. I haven't given an update since last December, so here's the latest news about visitors from the period that covers June 1st-September 10th, 2008 according to Google Analytics.

992 Visits
279 Absolute Unique Visitors
1,559 Pageviews
1.57 Average Pageviews
00:03:10 Time on Site per Visit
26.31% New Visits

My top content pages over that period as measured by percentage of page views were as follows:

1. Home page--> 77.4%
2. Rainbow Lake Trail Whistler--> 2.76%
3. Howe Sound Crest Trail--> 1.22%
4. Edisto Beach State Park--> 0.96%
5. Short Stories label--> 0.96%

My top traffic sources (referrals) as measured by percentage of page views were as follows:

1. Direct to blog--> 38.41%
2. Google--> 18.41%
3. Facebook--> 15.83%
4. maecallan.blogspot.com--> 15.52%
5. blogger.com--> 2.62%

My top search engine keywords as measured by percentage of page views were as follows:

1. Edisto Beach Campground--> 9.68%
2. Howe Sound Crest Trail--> 3.76%
3. Kilmainham Gaol--> 3.23%
4. leventrose--> 2.15%


Thanks to everyone who visited!

Canadian Elections

Those who know me could attest to the fact that I don't talk much about electoral politics. I don't see the state-based political system as a central space to engage in struggle over the meaning of living an ethical and just life. In fact, I think the electoral system, with its roots in liberal ideologies, has many built-in inequalities deeply structuring it. Because of this political analysis, one I'm admittedly not developing in this post, I'm a lukewarm voter at best. I've voted NDP a couple of times when I thought they might win, and Green once when my friend was running for them. Whatever the case, I don't believe that any of the parties would change much in society. And this isn't some narcissistic, relativist argument. I just think that anything other than a devolution/revolution, a mixed-bag of socialist and anarchist political theories if you will, can fundamentally change societies in a way I can support wholeheartedly.

As an example of the futility of the current system, I take none other than the current debate about the televised leadership debate. Elizabeth May, the leader of the Green Party, was up in arms yesterday when she found out that the television consortium that decides who gets to sit in on the debates has decided not to include the Greens alongside the usual suspects: Conservatives, Liberals, NDP and Bloc. This decision came after the NDP, Conservatives and Bloc threatened to boycott the debate if the Greens were given a spot on the broadcasts.

Before this sad episode, I was thinking about voting for NDP candidate Paul Dewar, an NDPer who has a real chance of winning in my riding. The same NDP that continuously harkens about bringing in change, about being more equitable, about getting rid of the old parties, can't face up to some healthy challenge from the Greens. Not that the Greens are clean in the entire affair either: they made some deal with the Liberals where their leaders agreed to not run against each other, which apparently led to the Liberals supporting May's appearance in the debates. Whatever. The whole thing is political theatre at its worst. Whenever I follow the news about such items, I feel like I'm in a time machine 2,000 years in the future watching an episode of "The Lost Years: 1700-2100 AD," and it's so funny I want to cry. But then I remind myself that some of the talking heads on the podiums with the beautiful photo-ops in the background not only really believe they might be able to change certain things for those most in need, but many of them will actually have the ability to make decisions that affect the lives of millions of people, often, as is the case with liberal, capitalist societies, to the detriment of the majority of folks out there.

So I'll keep following the stories about how Stephen Harper is more masculine than Stéphane Dion, and how Jack Layton would make a better Prime Minister than Elizabeth May, but not without wondering who the fuck cares? What about the fact that we live in a society where the huge majority of people have accepted that a grossly disproportionate amount of indigenous people live in dire poverty? I could list off any number of issues that will not be discussed in any real, sustained manner during these elections, but I won't bother right now. Instead, I'll suggest that those who care about the issues that aren't going to be discussed address these issues in their own ways, amongst their own communities, and let those around them know that they are doing so. And if you want, tell them that you're disengaging from the elections, not because you don't believe in freedom or justice or the fuzzy principles of democracy, tell them it's precisely because you do care. About people, animals, birds, fish, trees, water, and all those other beings and things that animate our world.

No leaders' debates. No political attack ads. No commercials selling you a constructed image. No polite, parliamentary debate about what the definition of torture is. Or whether there are too many immigrants. Or welfare Moms. Or criminals in communities of colour. There are too many inequalities that go unmentioned every day. Because of this, I'm not voting, and this time I'm telling people why.

How to Fight Loneliness?

It's that creeping feeling deep in your gut, you could almost mistake it for anxiety or excitement, polar opposites of each other yes, but just a clever biological mirror image, similar to what Lacan called an imago. But this is oh so subtly different that it is difficult to grasp. Loneliness. Perhaps my worst fear, but with age and a little help from my friends, it passes almost unnoticed.

At the moment I'm feeling a little bout of it coming down the pipes. Bubbling deep in my abdomen, rising up in a chest-tightening grip. Deep breaths and calm mind; deep breaths and calm mind might just be my mantra for the evening.

I arrived back from my marvelous 18-day vacation, during which time I spent a significant amount of time with no less than six of my closest friends, and I suppose even more depending on how I calculate such intimately qualitative data. In any case, most of this time was spent on intensive back-country hikes in the Coast Mountains of BC and the Rocky Mountains in Alberta, where it was basically my friends, me and a few of our distant animal, bird and/or plant cousins. Caribou, ground squirrels, lichens, mosses, alpine wildflowers, hawks, eagles, elk, deer, Dall's sheep, rainbow trout, cutthroat trout, mosquitoes, midges, damselflies, etc, etc, you get the picture.

Even on the occasions where I went off on my own for the day, something I am more than prone to do, after all, taking in the bush on my own is a privilege I seldom enjoy these days, I knew someone was just around the proverbial corner, though it was more likely a 4km hike through alpine meadows, down steep precipices and back up mud-encrusted trails. It was that feeling of presence, knowing that someone was there in more than a metaphysical way, but in the sense of an ass warming a bench in a hut or boiling some tea or putting up a tent under the setting sun up ahead. Presence. At this moment, back at home in my large house by myself, I miss that presence. Though I remain confident that I can find it within me, I miss it, and right now feeling lonely is like a fine, serrated knife stabbing my heart. I've lost something dear to me that I should've savoured longer, like those Okanagan peaches I've been lusting over since I arrived in BC. But if there's something I've learned lately, 'shoulds' are a recipe for longing for a past that never was and never could be.

I enjoyed myself when I was away. And now I'm back and I miss my friends and I'm alone and it hurts. They're far away and even if I was surrounded by some of my favourite local people right now, and there are many of them, I'd feel dreadfully alone, because the ones I miss are not going to appear. I'll ride the feeling out on my own and be happy I did when it passes. Otherwise, loneliness turns into fear that it never will.

Tonquin Valley

Last week several of my friends and I headed to the Tonquin Valley in Jasper National Park for a five-day hiking trip in the backcountry. Our last multi-day foray into the wilderness was two years ago in Killarney Provincial Park in Ontario, a far cry from the spectacular Rocky Mountains. While Killarney had its own particular charm, partly due to its proximity to my place of birth, the Tonquin Valley is without a doubt in a league of its own.

On our first night we stayed at the Edith Cavell hostel underneath the mammoth Edith Cavell peak. This gave us a small taste of things to come. The hostel was well-maintained and the price was right. A great option for anyone needing a place to stay before heading out to the Tonquin.

The Tonquin Valley trailhead begins at the parking lot just outside the hostel, an ideal location to start a day-long hike. On our second day we set out on the trail to our final destination, the Wates-Gibson Memorial Hut, operated by the Alpine Club of Canada. The trail wanders along the Astoria River until it veers south towards Chrome Lake and the Eremite Valley. It is a moderate-difficult trail, nearly 18kms to the hut. I'd say pack as light as possible and expect rain, lots of it. The trail is often wet and muddy in most spots.

Once we arrived at the hut, we made a quick dinner and went to bed early to prepare for our next four days of day hikes through the Tonquin and Eremite Valleys. The most stunning landscape around the area was the marvelous Amethyst Lake, surrounded by the Ramparts to the west, Clitheroe Mountain to the east and the impressive Raptor Meadows on the lakeshore.



The other major highlight was our last day hike up to the Fraser Glacier, home to BC's Fraser River. Climbing up to the Continental Divide in the driving wind and stinging snow was well worth the privilege of playing underneath the glacier at nearly 2,500 metres.



The one major disappointment of our trip was that I didn't get to see the elusive grizzly bear. We did spot a large caribou, a moose and some elk on our trip, along with a number of circling birds of prey. I'd recommend the Tonquin Valley to anyone who wants relatively easy access to glaciers with little human traffic and good chances to view the endangered woodland caribou. Stay at the ACC hut if you have the money, the valley is rainy and cold almost all the time, though the three Parks Canada campgrounds around Amethyst Lake are nice and comfortable, and the warden cabin is just above the lake on the main trail in case of emergencies.

Vancouver

I've had a love affair with Vancouver for ten years now, in fact, our diamond anniversary is in two months. I've traveled there seven of those years on at least fifteen different occasions, for reasons as diverse as love, work, and play. There's no city I feel quite the same bond with, something I chalk up to the distance. Yes, my heart does grow fonder.

This past trip I stayed with a friend in Kitsilano near Blenheim & Third. Lavender was wafting on the sea breeze and blackberries grew like massive weeds throughout the neighbourhood. There are several small parks around here -- the type of parks that drive me crazy in other cities because they serve solely as doggy outhouses -- but in Vancouver, they are lined with benches that look out over the ocean towards downtown to the east and West Vancouver and the mountains to the north.



It's true that the city is getting a serious facelift for the 2010 Olympics and cranes are almost as prominent on the landscape as those famous Coast Mountains. While I was chatting with friends who work in the social services sector both on the coast and in the interior, they spoke of how some service providers in the city have been giving people in the Downtown Eastside one-way tickets to the interior, in this case, Vernon, in order to 'clean-up' the city. Besides this gross Olympic-ification, the battle over Insite -- the needle exchange facility -- and the uber-gentrification of the eastside are longstanding battles that are simmering nearly out of control. The Olympics seem to have provided politicians and developers with all the right excuses to bulldoze the residents of the eastside out of existence.



Despite these extravagant transgressions, I'll no doubt be returning to Vancouver, my heart in hand.

Similkameen Valley

There's a place nestled deep in BC's southern interior that is dear to me, a magical place where I once lived and worked, the type of place everyone must live in at least once in their life. The Similkameen Valley, and particularly the small towns of Cawston and Keremeos, are gems full of ranchers, organic farmers, wine makers, artists, and an array of eccentric characters who never cease to amaze me. But, beyond the people, the valley, unique for its dry, desert-like climate, is an ecological wonder. The wild sage along Highway 3 south of Cawston is mystifying, though it's faced with being replaced by row after row of vineyards. I don't drink wine, but if I did I might just stop after seeing so many grapes replace hectares of my beloved sagebrush.



If you have a chance, visit this valley. Veer off the highway anywhere past Keremeos going towards Osoyoos, and visit any number of organic farms. The Similkameen has the largest concentration of organic farms in North America according to my reliable sources, and they're happy to welcome visitors. I went down to Mariposa Farms off Sumac Road near the Washington State border at Nighthawk and picked my own peaches, plums and apricots earlier today, and it was heavenly. And did I mention cheap too. I even bought some low-impact, organic wine from Forbidden Fruit Winery, another valley star. Grab some fruit, and maybe some wine, all organic and fresh, and sit under the searing sun down by the Similkameen River near Kobau Park in Cawston or even in downtown Keremeos. The views of the mountains combined with the fruit juice dripping from your chin are well worth the ride.

Howe Sound Crest Trail

My good friends Eloginy, James and I braved the unusually hot coastal weather last week and climbed the Howe Sound Crest Trail. Starting at Cypress Mountain, we set out along the trail in probably the three hottest and driest days the BC coast has ever seen. Low to mid-30s for three straight days, it was glorious.

The 27.6 km trail was very well marked throughout the Coast Mountain range, leading us up and down a number of summits, through mountain meadows, down rock slides, and around amethyst-coloured lakes. If you've gone 10m without seeing one of the orange markers-- whether trail tape hanging from a tree, trail diamonds nailed to trees or paint on a rock-- you've probably gone too far.

The toughest section of the trail was by far the approach to The Lions. Famous for their daunting presence over the East Vancouver landscape, The Lions are two towering rock monuments that act as beacons throughout most of the trail. From our campsite on St-Marks' summit, we wound our way up Unnecessary Mountain, and back down and then up towards the Lions. Once you find yourself at the bottom of the West Lion, satisfied with the stunning view, don't rest on your laurels. Coming down from here, there are several technical sections, including going across a slide at the southern end of the base of the West Lion and then making your way up over the Lion cub, a smaller peak between the East and West Lion. We found a site to camp two summits over from the Cub, after crossing a steep traverse with a rope and chain, giving us a sense of being in some low-budget S&M melodrama--> Ropes & Chains: The Lions Roar.



One important thing to consider is that there are few water supplies up in this section of the trail. We were lucky to find some piles of snow in the higher up sections, a bit late for mid-August, but given the hot weather, it was possible to find snow melt. However, by the end of this second day, we had one litre left in our bottles when we set up camp on top of the summit, with 2 hours to go before the next water source.



The best part of the trail was the very rewarding traverse of Brunswick Mountain. After walking by the newly-rebuilt Magnesia Meadow emergency hut, the trail veers west towards Howe Sound, and then north as it hugs the middle section of Brunswick. The wildflower meadows were marvelous walking through here. Purples, oranges, yellows, reds, I counted at least 5 different flowers growing directly below the Brunswick summit-- the smell was intoxicating.

The highlight of the trip in my book was the descent from the ridge between Brunswick and Hand Mountains to the chain of lakes running behind the Brunswick summit. When I reached the first of three lakes, I dropped my 50 lb pack, stripped off my sweaty clothes, and dove into the glacial water. And then I finally unleashed my fly rod and caught some pretty mountain trout.



Later that night we made it to Deeks Lake, where we camped for the third night before descending to HWY 99 at the newly- built Porteau Rd. exit. It's a tough spot to catch a ride, so I'd suggest walking the 2 kms to the Porteau Cove PP rest stop to find a ride or to park a car.

Overall, I'd say this trail is well worth tackling, but only if you have mountain experience and are a competent map reader. Some of the sections are awe-inspiring, but could also bring on some serious fears, considering the steep drops and sheer skill required to complete the trail. And don't forget to fill your water bottles as often as possible.

Québec's 400th

I returned from the 400 year celebrations in Québec City recently, holding onto my sanity ever so tenuously. I had traveled into the belly of the nationalist beast and been bombarded for almost two weeks with the quatercentenary celebrations. Museum exhibits, art exhibits, street festivals, films, concerts, rallies, monuments, books and other displays of Québec's long and distinguished history. It was all the eye could see. Stretches of tourists, myself included, taking in the story about Champlain's fateful landing 400 years ago. I had been expecting more debate, more controversy, at least from the so-called Québec sovereigntists, but there was only a whisper among a deafening current of pride and exhilaration.

Luckily I found a few people who wanted to highlight the madness of commemorating the origins of French colonialism. Pace the photo at the top of this entry, courtesy of the anti-colonial contingent at the march I attended with some friends July 3rd.

On Love and Associated Feelings

I met this girl 10 days ago. I was out on a Wednesday afternoon, wandering the city in search of a restful place to work, my usual mid-week modus operandi. I set myself up in this cute little café-like establishment in a neighbourhood I had never been to, despite my years of living in its relative vicinity.

She walked in wearing a smart little black sun dress and unkept short-cropped hair. Something about her jumped out at me, knocking out all of my pretensions of getting work done in the said café. Instead, I lay fixated on her being, this invisible aura that lovingly embraced her. As soon as I caught her eye she smiled a smile so pure and joyous that my stomach's visceral reaction said much more than my words ever could. I knew it right then and there: if she wanted it, she had my love. And after three decades of feeling, I can honestly say that I've never felt quite like that before. I watched her drift effortlessly between customers and friends, her smile beaming radiant life into the café, moving those around her to as-yet uncharted ground. I was at once inspired and deeply intrigued. I left the café several hours later, after having only a very brief conversation with her about some inane pseudo-political point of contention, and felt the "maybe I'll see her again" kind of regret I had grown accustomed to.

Instead, I found a message in my inbox from the girl-in-the-black-sundress telling me she wanted to see me again. I felt lucky. And moved. And nervous. Frighteningly so.

Now we've seen each other a few times in the 10 days since we met, and I miss her. She left 2 hours ago to her son and her other responsibilities, and I don't even really know her, but I miss her. I want her and whatever she brings along with her right next to me, I want to feel her, to be in her presence. Last night was this magical thing. Every time we kissed along the river trail we walked down, I nearly had to brace myself from falling, the feeling of love just transcended any real sense of space I may have had. I was floating. She said she felt drugged, I'd say I felt caressed. In fact, when we kissed, these long passionate kisses that I must say everyone needs to experience at least on a weekly basis, my body quivered. Down my spine, up my arms, to the top of my head all the way down to my toes. It was exhilarating. I wanted to sit with that feeling, just digest it fully. Let it sink in. I told the feeling it was welcome in my body at any time. I wanted it to stay for a while.

There is this one precious moment from that night that I feel most deeply. And no, it has nothing to do with discarding items of clothing. We were lying on the couch cuddling and she looked up at me: "You know, you've brought life to my life." And though what she said was sweet, it was the look in her eye, the way a small little tear welled up before disappearing, the sincerity of her emotions, that moved me. Above all, it was the light in her eyes- she shone brighter than even the first day I met her- that embraced something so deep inside me that I'm unable to fully articulate it. I won't even try, I'm just going to let it wash through my body and thank this beautiful person for receiving my love so fully. Whatever else happens, bringing such joy to someone's life is a blessing. And I'm quite sure my eyes shine in much the same way as hers.