A Kicking Horse ~ Mid-Day and Night

      Inevitably when camping you forget something inconsequential, extra shirts, soap, cutlery, your favorite vegetable, but rarely the routes you planned on navigating through and novels that escape the folds of the mountain that contain you, we did both.
      No compass was necessary on our first intrepid route, Hal loathed Hamilton Lake, the first 800 meters enroute to Emerald Peak. Winds tinged the surface rippling wisps of feathery waves as we  contoured its edges. Turquoise waters enticed me, tempted me oh! so eagerly, as my fingers dance notes just below the surface with a stark cold compelling retreat, that glacial waters and my body repel one another. Angling upwards towards the ridge we thought brought us to the summit, the description that we had rehearsed to memory warned us about false apexes. Larger and larger boulders grounded our anticipation till huge rocks forced us to perform body contortions to maneuver through a final chimney. Alas! Hal could eat his Spanish chorizo, peanut butter rolls, and a hidden beer in his pack.
      One of our loves from childhood onwards is attending the nightly Parks talks at the Amphitheatre. Tonight show was Practising Biologist ~ we became the guinea pigs, as we wandered from station to station solving the Parks problems from bears eating grain on the railroad ~ their highest mortality, to looking for signs of animal presence ~ there were 13 of them, can you guess? Listening to bats cry, matching skulls to animals on a chart, and finally viewing animals prints and figuring out what movement they were doing at the time. Thoroughly engaged, we fell asleep as each night with a podcast. A man named Peter Bergman ~ aka and unknown soul - arrived in Sligo, Ireland, stayed at the local hotel and within 4 days dispersed of all his belonging out of view of CCTB and was found dead on the Ross Strand in 2009 and he didn't drown, to date his identity and death are a mystery.

Day 2 started a little slower....the temperatures were high, thus the 4 liters of water towing my back down was necessary..... a new accommodation (burden) I've had to adapt to in the last year. Figuring that we wanted to do a challenging hike tomorrow we thought...foolishly that Mount Field would  be easy day. Never doubt that 1365 meter gain with route finding challenges one. Heavy clouds brought comfort to my dwindling water supply after the first 900 meters. Scree varies from pebbles to large stones, when the former brings us to feebles fools when every step forward, slides 2 back, our vernacular changes from the brilliant spectacle in front of us to grunting hounds. Up top we stayed only a short time for fear of being showered with lightning bolts and downclimbing slippery hard scree.

The next day we did 2 short hikes with still amounted to 6 hours, so much for sitting around drinking beer, eating Hal's favorites ~ Hawking's, my licorice, and our grub.....no no we had to grasp the opportunity to seek out Wapta Falls and Emerald Basin.

My concern is heat... menopause...I create my own chinooks, mother nature just messes with me further.

Stary stary nights.....

Stary stary nights how sweet it is when the rain subsides and we can gaze skyward through our mesh imagination and lust into our galaxy. Leaving Smither's, and Larry and Kaaren, was difficult enough bouncing energy into our solar system, their enthusiasm contagiously mystic, ethereal,  and without boundaries can't replaced in the electric city. The heat was on climbing Kathleen Glacier and Mt. Hudson sucking in 3 liters of sustenance while encouraging 3 Bolivian women: an overly energetic pregnant daughter, an exhausted mother and a grandmother dressed in flowing fuscia and mustard colored pants, and her black bowler hat up the mountain and down.

Connection that's what this entire trip has been, inside our minds walking up mountains and melding with family and friends. Discipline - focusing on "His" goals for me not mine, trying to get out of routine while breathing in God's creation, I realized that Kaaren's and Larry's life might seem idyllic is truly so much more up my alley, as I've had some destitute sleeps since returning to the city yearning to put up the tent in the backyard and return to the womb. Five weeks sleeping on the "grind" as they say in northern Ireland is enough time to return to our ancestry. Beds, homes, and expansive places might console others not this cozy cuddly girl. My soul rejuvenates with natural light, creative spaces, and electric friends.

Wilcox campground was Hals' stomping ground with the boys and yet we created our own memories that he melded to the old ones. Beauty Creek tantalized us from the moment we spotted her off the highway. Her bounty teal color adorned the rocks, rushing, gushing and riveting at our side for 3 hours up to her source. Keeping a secret till the end she never gave away her true beginning like a man luring you into his depths, we finally succumbs returning exhausted, and dusty vowing to return and find her jewels.

Nigel pass gentle in nature yet after 30 kilometers of bleak water and unimaginative provisions brought us close to breaking at her majestic surrounding mountains, rivers and swamp lands. It took everything we had to leave her returning to our camp only to have our magical nightly show blow our minds trillion stars at a time shooting, gliding, dazzling our eyes
from one side of the sky to the other without light pollution from the city whilst mountain goats moved past our tent unaware we could see them.

Get our into the wilds and be free.

Waterways on a Beluga whales

 

Belugas whales are rare to see up close, Hal's lips, not so much, he woke up swollen from lips to chin, with no dentistry work, fights, or red tide. Days of rash, not from hash, blotchy chest from dipping in frigid waters brought some concern, but hey were on holidays and Stuff happens. Viral hives is the technical terms of swelling, bleeding from scratching the blithering out of your body and mind, thinking perhaps you have shingles from the pain yet reducing with each pill popping pleasure of Reactine. Flashbacks of Europe and the U.S. trips where a mere towel from a hotel set off flames a devil made while tearing strip of his arms, and they call this holidaying. Forget the bronzed body and  wicked stories they are passé, waking to new spots to analyze is hype, hip, and on way out.

B.C. is burning up literally as each lake we pass isn't an excuse to jump in, its mandatory for survival. Temperatures are reaching peak heights of 25-35 in the interior and our hiking is now restricted to 8-2 for safety. Water has the power to crush hamstrings as my brother in law found out, bring back childhood memories at the cabin with the sun sinking into the horizon as scents of bricolles smother in the background under the grill. Mirroring the surrounding mountains, clouds and docks sparkles in the fading light as a gentle breeze brings ripples lapping onto our toes. Jumping fish snatch flies, resting for once on the water instead of the last morsel of skin that hasn't been attacked.

Reaching Smither's we nestled into the Soby clan for the evening meal of news of the bus tour, Cheechum, Craig and the kids movrd out in a school bus from Calgary. Their home situated in Telkaw adjacent to Kaaren and Larry's has brought joy and jubilation.  Children, 12 and 8 have brought an eternal youthful buoyancy to their lives. Rosy cheeks speaking about their capacity, resiliency, purpose in a grounded environment. Passionate conversations of politics, spirituality, and a heap of podcasts sets hearts pumping, as Fernie beer cools down temptations to change the exact position each of are in. My heart is aching to leave Calgary, as a watch someone else walk a path my soul yearns to move in soon. Silence is only disturbed here by zipping of bees to pollen, wasps to their next prey, mosquitos to shade, wood peckers to ants higher up the tree, and the sound of our heart pounding as we detach conscious from heat taking apart nails out of wood for three hours. It feels good to contribute a tiny bit to their 45 year venture of living off the land, sans l'eau and electricity. Hal keeps whispering that he couldn't live like this he needs his comforts while my head processes how to build frames, gather firewood and water for the winter, and get on call for part time jobs in a couple of years to strive in our oasis. Calgary for now, yet my dream of living here has founded roots that exceeds the necessity plants need for water, for if we can grow grapes, hops then our passion will be rejuvenated.

Blessings from Smither's
Godspeed

Valdez - Land of the Rich, richer and getting seriously drunk on oil

Kirk Franklin couldn't have said it better, as we walked along the shoreline in the depth of the tropical forest at 98% humidity it was "negro spiritual hot". Sweat was being ingested instead of exiting our bodies. Yodeling like a banshee due to the large "berry filled scant" along our route every few hundred meters, Hal voice was course within 6 mile when we finally reached the ocean. Having arrived the evening prior under ominous clouds we decided to hike what we could under the midnight sun. Local trails around town were strewn with bears, eagles, salmon running upstream, and a few sailors spewing their local dialect of @#$%^.

This photo was taken in the winter as they don't get that much snow directly in town and what the summer doesn't cover is the extensive oil fields and plantations that don't dot the scenery, they are the scenery. The beauty is abound in the vast lush hills that surround this town yet the odor is one of if it doesn't move - kill it. Numerous fishing, and big game hunting outfitters line the sidewalk, the gentle spiritual sense of Haines, is not here.

The Maxine and Jesse Whitney Museum was fabulous, but that too took its tool on the indigenous people that lived in these areas. She came here with her husband in the late 40's and quickly fell in love with the artifacts that the locals were making, and began a large enterprise selling them in the lower 48. The museum has a vast collection of their clothing, tools, living conditions, and animals they hunted, using all parts of it, unlike the white man that almost ran numerous breeds into extinction with the opening of the Alaskan Highway. The nighttime talks at our campsite by locals Natives have been very informative.

Nightly podcasts are keeping us abreast as to the plight of the "immigrants' in the United States, those coming in from Poland, Czech Republics, Philippines, are all stating that even after 2 generations many are not welcome or considered American by many white males. Jobs exist for immigrants but many white men don't want any other nation to take them. High unemployment and 11 million illegal immigrants are causing havoc on their system, yet they are tax paying citizens, so why not have them legitimized?
Here in Valdez, money flows like water yet not much thought according to the locals has been placed into creating a creative space for their kids, a safe place. We saw a myriad of kids high, drunk, and dabbling stupidity, covering all demographics and people. The outdoors doesn't seem to entertain them unless they are on a boat, on a plane, or heli skiing, all expensive and doesn't give them a sense of connection to the land. The only people on any trail we saw were foreigners from Europe or Canadian!

Unable to track down any relatives, we are going to head to the wharf for some fish, as I have been fascinated by the catch, cleaning, and filleting of Sockeye. We've tasted some local fair and it is excellent, if only we'd brought a fishing line. Jonathan Livingston had it made, these birds wait patiently for the remnants to be discarded and then feast.

Godspeed to all as we head to Glennallen tomorrow.

Polynesia Hues

Polynesian music wafts through the visitor center as a large figure gently slides his fingers over the local map inquiring while guiding us through his life. Low clouds hovered seeping into Hal's mood while inclement weather has always brought forth my ability to stay rooted, absorb others and desperately reach into another realm of calmness. Haines highway from Haines Junction, Canada pulled the car over a myriad of times to photograph its grandeur. Massive mountains reached skyward leaving a stark contrast of black granite, glaciers blues, and a plethora of greens only Ireland could compete with. Vast valleys took our spirits one direction then another towering our greatest expectations, Haines seemed so minute when we finally arrived, we both yearned to drive back sooner than later.
Drizzling rain added to the towns ambiance walking up and down roads searching for Church Mass times, brewery's, gift shops, state park camp grounds. The Brewery had all the appeal one could ask with cedar shakes, bluegrass in the backgrounds and local teaching us about how to appreciate their finest hops. The terrace looked up to a glacier framed in fireweed, apricot tiger lilies, and lettuce.
Gifts shops enticed us with a pathway of cherry treess, as the owner informed us "This is a zone 5", to Hal's amazement, raspberry bushes, thimble berries, and bluebells ordained his lawn and inside a litany of literature was discussed mainly early explorers. Satiated in the wordsmith we exchanged authors, titles, and mused in his presenc assimilating his ideals of how he trained as a mechanical engineer 43 years ago, never wanting to destroy nature, turned to sculpting and having visiting Haines at the age of 24, has never left.
Along the ocean front the river from Chilkoot lake to the ocean reels were spinning, fish were being lured, caught, filleted right on the shore lines, with two brown bears challenged a warden on a bridge.
After paying for our campsite fees the "host" informed us that bears frequent the site often. Hal's eyes widened with fear, as the owner now with our funds in hand, seems rather nonchalant in his 5th wheel, as our minds deliberated recent news about  mauling's. That night in the local bar our attention was diverted while listening to the fishermen speak of their "daily salmon catch" as it was high season for hauling in 10-30 thousand fish per day.
Light beer with a double tequila chaser was on tap that night, we stuck to the craft beer, and watched in awe as a party of 25 came in just having sprinkled their mother's ashes over the ocean ordering, "local farts", a concoction of Kalula, Bailey's and Crown Royal, my tongue tasted the sweetness and cringed, yet I could think of many a friend licking their lips on that one, for this gang was ordering doubles and triples.
Hiking on the ocean trails and up Mt. Ripinsky in clouds perspiring out toxins and ingesting a depth of oxygen that was intoxicating.
A short jaunt out to another state park brought us into contact with Rich and his wife that entertained us with his version of what the @#$%^ is wrong with American's and especially Alaskan's that voted Republican and the trouble with youth these days, American Natives, the economy, and local ecology. Hal and l listened attentively as he was well versed, highly entertaining, opinionated, and comedic in one breath. He thought as many Canadian's do, What the heck have we just done to our political system? along with we deserve it! He has lived in Alaska for a decade and loved it, now retired volunteerism is big on his list and trying to downsize to a modest house that doesn't exist in America, "The trouble with American's is we want everything to be big, bigger, biggest....If the entire world was as contemptuous as us, we'd be #$%^.
This trip has truly allowed us to breath in literature as we are now on our 6-7 novel each, and listen to locals, they love it, we enjoy it, in between hiking and listening to our podcasts that Hal downloaded prior to our trip on his Ipod, we've learned about our Natives plight living in distant communities, the troubles in Myanmar, Australian refuges, debates over economies, Immigrants in the States - Germany and Canada, to name a few, daily doses keep our dreams hoping.
Tomorrow we are back to Kathleen Lake in the afternoon to pack up for a three day backpacking trip to the Slims Valley in Kluane.
Hope all are well learning, growing, and loving this magnificent country, planet we are blessed to visit. Godspeed to all.

Rock On !

After multiple conversations in my mind and watching Hal become increasingly nervous, anxious, we aborted The Donjek and sought other hikes. My heart sank as I so...wanted to show him the mist amazing terrain, yet it was easy to give up when the man you love means the world to you, and being in their presence exceeds any vista.
Kimberly Meadows, a gentle 3 day backpack up over a pass and into some meadows, it all was too idealic. 4 kilometres up a trail the route finding started, dodging the ragging river coming down, yodelling to ward off beasts, while grasping branches on the edge to avert plunging into the frigid waters, and thrashing through alders carrened by puffy flowers sap residue that clung to our hair, what more could we ask for.  My mind began to wander within hours if we'd got ourselves into a pickle. Hal's leg began acting up at about 2 pm, 5 hours in, just when we found a mere 30% angle to hang the tent off. Grass surrounded us with massive moraine, glaciers and not a soul in sight to claim we'd made it.
The skies of the midnight sun wasn't a problem for me to sleep through, Hal resembled Zoro wearing an eye mask each night, as I flinches each morning waking up to a stranger.
Day 2 over the pass and down to the passive meadows, right?
Over the pass, a massive moraine brought snow to glide down for 300 meters then the warden cautioned us to keep right, knarly rock, high brush and those blasted alders kept us company for 6 hours. Our lake we so sought had dried up as had the creek on the topi map, a mere mistake the warden forgot to mention, which meant back tracking on a lower contour only to be sought by tundra, tuffs of earth that might cushion your foot if it didn't fall over, our aging hips were screaming. In the back of my mind I kept  hearing Jim Gaffigan, a comedian, rolling on about how his parents loved him and thus never took him camping and we were doing this on our own accord. The vast open corridor was magestic from our camp sight just above the glaciers creek and we celebrated our achievement with an extra ration of hash, silver lining always exist, you just have to look really hard at times. While waiting for a heard of caribou to move through we swated flies watching the colors of the skies change and discussed Irish literature and how to inject it into our next year curriculum.
Day 3 God blessed us with a lovely hidden glacier route up the far right flank and within an hour we were at the pass. I leapt up Mt. Descoli part way as we knew hours of fun lied ahead in the river. Just when we thought we'd out  smarted ourselves the high waters of the afternoon caught us stranded bushwalking, something I'd vowed not doing after living in Interior BC for half a decade and being part of the search and rescue crew that did it all to often. Lest to say we got out, never enjoyed a shower so much in Haines Junction and ventured down the road to Kathleen Lake.
The evening interpretive talks on Inland Salmon, and Grizzlies, 2 nights in a row were brilliant, the warden was extremely well versed for 26 years old, serving tea and intellect were a welcome exchange. We'd decided to hike up the King Thrown, having read the sign stating 1300 gain, it felt refreshing without our heavy loads, albeit, the 500 down hard scree took a toll on our aging knees, today is a rest day as we plan more hiking down in Haines, Alaska. Best of all to you.

Wild West Wrangles an Eastern Heart

July 16th

Father Joseph from South America gave a resounding message about God's pruning. Gospel was stacotic as he pushed words into being that a congregation seems unable to swallow.
"As a child, he bellowed, I hated being repremanded." His words had hardly left his mouth when a flood of all my follies rushed like a raging river into my mind brimming over the edges, tilting my head to keep them from overflowing into the next seat and loving those that hadn't given up guiding me.
"Do we really know ourselves, he said, or do we enter life, marriage and all relations  yearning never to be chastised. Wow! Another ephiphany.
God was loving sending others to assist us and like stubborn storms we refused to subside, and stampped our feet in defiance. His gospel filled my soul yearning to rest at his feet in his protection, his care, kindness and generosity for the day.

The laundromat was the perfect place to put prayer into practise, as our untouchable decided to have a play date with someone else's, laughter erupted in place of fear, anger, and true embarrassment. Clothing a life of their own tumbling into new beings that spring forth from design, concepts, material, sizes, countries, I'll paid labourers into my hands and for what to ward off inclement weather when all I truly yearn is to be one with nature, to wear her clothes.

Beer, Hal's second friend, depth, tasteful, bubbly, and forever looking for new opportunities to exist. Winterlong - hosted an Alberta crew of barmaids, brew master and clients. Alberta barley swept tastes of prairie into each sip savouring long hues of earthly tones over and over reaching perfection on one's nose. A francophone contingency converged on the fringe of the brewery children drawing, while women folk sipped flavours their men gulped life into their kin. A game of cribbage brought laughter as rules were made up en -route to accommodate victory for moi. Vogue 30 somethings were now becoming beer connosouirs that our generation could have only hoped for. Along with the IPA they slurped, and sucked oysters centuously while making love in their minds.

Libraries are my sanctuary as Hal receives more notes from old students that want to meet up for a pint, they are everywhere, just yesterday in the middle of WHitehorse, he met up with parents of 3 children he had taught. They invited us to dine in their 5th wheels and we could hardly believe the lap of luxury I'd been missing miling around on the ground in our tent. I also saw a story rich in content of a family death, an inheritance, sentiments, not yearing someone else's hardships. Sleep came easy as our pod cast left us deserted on an island of ideas about morality, to what extreme the human mind would go to hang onto it, or alleviate the disappointment of knowing it was easily abated.

Godspeed from Whitehorse.