When you lose your lemons in the king tide…
“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”
–Henry David Thoreau
This quote from Thoreau was the inspiration for the name of this site, though I adapted a more modest variation (admittedly driven by the availability of domain names at the time). The goal with this page was an attempt at documenting the actualization of various lofty dreams and adventures that I am extremely fortunate to experience.
It can take quite some time and effort developing this foundation. But sometimes, stupid carelessness, a bit of bad luck, and the relentless force of nature just not giving a flying fuck about your pathetic emotional needs, can pull the castle from your grasp and slip away.
I struggled quite a bit writing this, as I’m extremely hard on myself when it comes to what I perceive as my failures, which happens more than I care to admit. But in the end, I do believe that Mary and I heeded the words of “The Judge” well in this case, building a solid foundation under a lot of hard work, and we were able to experience an incredible (mis)adventure to the incredible Central Coast of BC.
The plan was to drive from our home in Whistler to the northern tip of Vancouver Island, where we would walk our kayaks onto the North Coast ferry, disembarking at Bella Bella. From there we would spend a week exploring the Hakai Conservancy at the northern section, building up strength and confidence to tackle the much longer, and less aesthetic, second half of the journey back to Port Hardy where we were parked.
We gave ourselves 2 weeks to paddle the roughly 150 miles/240kms, which was quite leisurely, and accounted for around 4-5 rest and exploration days. After only a week, we were cruising back to our starting point, on a significantly faster boat provided by the Canadian Coast Guard and, most likely, your tax dollars. We had somehow managed to miss securing the boats properly, and a full moon king tide decided to change our trip plans significantly, dragging our boats out sea in the night.
I was absolutely devastated by this mistake, with months of trip planning out the window. I’m trying once again to finish up this post and move on much later, in the dark hours of the dark month of January 2023, after a number of false starts. So now, years later, I’m forcing myself to write this as an acknowledgement to myself that it’s okay to take risks and make mistakes.
Besides one notable exception, the trip was still absolutely incredible. Perfect, isolated paddling around a remote BC coastline of the Hakai offering up incredible narrow channels, pristine sandy beaches, and abundant wildlife. By far the best paddling I’ve ever experienced, and I’m so excited to return some day.
On top of that, when we bade adieu to the friendly Coast Guard in Bella Bella/Shearwater, our adventure had not yet come to its conclusion. While drinking away sorrows on the marine pub patio in Bella Bella/Shearwater, a friendly captain of a sizable yacht heard our story and took pity on us, offering us a ride back to Port Hardy in style, and much better equipped than our floating body coffins we decided to gift to the Pacific. We then spent four days cruising around the inside passage, enjoying great food, terrific company, and elite level salmon fishing in some incredible spots. Likely more than we deserved!
On returning to Port Hardy and checking our messages, we learned that somehow, local Bella Bella Canadian Iconic author, Ian Mcalister, had found our boats! This was particularly fortunate, considering they were rentals, and I’d spent a good chunk of the previous days considering how best to approach this conversation with the rental agency.
“Gone?”
“Yes, gone.”
“How?”
“Well, you didn’t explain to us properly that they float when we’re not in them as well”
The wonderful Coast Guard was even going to get help bring them on the ferry back to Port Hardy, and we simply needed to wait another 5 days until they would be delivered back to us.
Not bad.
Feeling a minor amount of consolation, we decided to head to the west coast of Vancouver island and spent a few days camping at San Josef Bay, and finished by treating our damp souls to a few nights at a BnB near Port Hardy where non other than the legend John Cleese has made regular visits to.
When I look back on it, it’s ridiculous to think about how difficult and dark this time was for me, as the weight of failure pressed down hard. Waves of self-doubt were difficult to push away. Fortunately, I had the ever cheerful and supportive Mary with me, who was absolutely incredible the entire time.
“Autobiography,” George Orwell once wrote, “is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful…since any life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.”
So with this in mind, I’ve kicked back up my Squarespace subscription, and will once again try to use this space to document my life in all it’s glory, as well as a few of its disgraceful defeats.
It’s time to lay some foundation under one castle that managed to drift away.
It has taken way too long to complete this, and I’ve definitely exhausted my ‘foundation’-related metaphors anyways, so I’m going to let the photos do the talking here for the trip. Looking back through these images, it really does elicit a deep feeling of gratitude; that I was able to experience this journey. To have looked back on this as a “failure” for so long seems misguided in hindsight, and in the subsequent years, my mental health has taken significant strides in the areas self-worth and gratitude, which felt like a downward spiral in many ways for a significant part of my adult years.
Maybe that can be a benefit of pushing things out beyond your limit, shaking you to your core, and triggering a period of growth.
Saying that, I still think 'I’ll aim to keep things safe and simple, and always tie up the damn boats…
Bella Bella
We had a wonderful day of paddling on the journey out to the coast. A full day of 18km of class calm channels like these.
Moving on to faster boats…
It was a treat to spend a few days with the crew of Son Seeker. Captain Shawn was a recovering alcoholic and gambler turned born again Christian, who was returning from a trip to Haida Gwaii. His elderly father, pushing 90, was on board, and was quite hung over on our first day, as he was still a drinker, and had gotten deep into the wine on shore serenading the waitress when we last saw him. Jim was the father’s childhood friend, and was a born wild BC industry man, with endless stories and great cheer.
They all were incredibly kind and I’m extremely grateful for their hospitality, as it was exactly what we needed as a distraction for a few days.
One brief incident occurred when we motored over to check out a famous fishing spot, the Wall, at the mouth of Rivers Inlet. As Shawn was trying to get the tender ready for fishing, he left me in charge of manning the helm, which left me quite nervous. I watched the depth sounder as we drifted in the bay start to dip down… and down.
“10 metres…”
…
“7 metres Shawn…”
…
“5 metres Shawn!”
….
“3 METRES!!!!”
Shawn: “That can’t be right! We’re miles from shore!”
At that moment, the ship stopped its forward momentum and listed to the side slightly… I knew we we had run aground. Shawn didn’t believe me at first, but went into panic mode as soon as he noticed the list.
My first thought of course was that it would be the same kind folk from the Canadian coast guard that would come rescue us, and I wasn’t sure if I could handle it when they learned who was at the helm…
Fortunately, Shawn, was able to back off, and the boat didn’t sink, so I assume no significant damage was done…
San Josef Bay on Cape Scott
And finally, reunited with our boats in Port Hardy.
Sullying Gullies
Mike, Giles, Mary, and I were lining up a mid-week powder harvesting mission in March to coincide with the tail end of a storm. Double up on the sleds into a backcountry cabin or camp out, based on what was available and… acceptable, during this socially awkward period of human history. I’m not the most enamoured person with winter camping, and so my eyes were set on getting into a backcountry hut somewhere, but COVID-era rules made the logistics of planning such an endeavour rather difficult…
I had purchased a wood stove for my canvas tent that would serve as a nice base camp option, so I loaded that up in the truck, along with a loose plan to investigate the parking area of a known spot with a few hut options, and, if things looked promising, we would try to get a proper roof over our head, knowing that if it was locked or busy we had an alternative option.
We received some last minute info on a suitable spot that was open to respectful visitors, so we set our sights there, and would see how it goes.
Loading up at the home base
Luck would have it that the parking lot was emptying out as we arrived, and so based on the info we received from the returning group, we left the tent gear at the truck, and ventured out to find a home for the week.
No mission of this kind is complete without unexpected delays and nighttime snowmobile stucks
We managed to take a wrong turn which lead to some impassable snowmobile terrain, which we struggled through until nightfall. Giles and I continued to try to explore on the sleds, while Mike and Mary started skinning. We quickly realized our obvious mistake at a slide path about a KM back down the FSR, righted our course, and arrived at the hut shortly after for beverages, an incredible new moon starry sky, and the rising excitement of exploring a new zone.
The next morning, we awoke to sunny skies and endless skiable terrain in ideal conditions, and so the stoke was high as we ventured out for our first morning explore.
Numerous gullys awaiting sullying
Steep skinning in sun baked south slopes made for an exciting ascent up to our first lap
Looking back at our 1st lap
Hut life with good buds always delivers the highest of quality - food, tunes, and LOLs
Sleepy morning Mike
Day 2 - Heading up into the alpine after a confidence inspiring warm-up day for avy conditions. Our destination ridge up top
Mountain chic look from the local Whistler gal
Deep in a sully-slash
Doctor Pines feeling the stoke
Mike looking like a proper skier these days!
Traversed up and over for the “cabin lap gully” to end the day
Puffy pants and some light reading equates to a happy dork
Squad looking good dropping into the final day of sullying. Thanks Dr. Pines for the snap!
We cruised out without any hassle, stopping to let Mike get a taste at the surprisingly difficult task of operating a 600 pound snowmobile in deep powder, which was a wonderful source of entertainment for the spectators. Surprisingly, it did nothing to quell his desire to have one sitting in his garage for the 2022 season (or more likely, parked on the side of my house).
All in all another solid trip, with the only blemish being the fact that on returning to the truck, someone had broken into the back and stolen my barely used wood stove and nice canvas hunting tent! After a trip like this, it’s hard to get upset about such things. “C’est La Vie” as the French would say.
With what we felt were an acceptable number of gullies thoroughly sullied, we returned back to reality, to start dreaming about the next trip.
Risky Business
“The two great risks are risking too much but also risking too little. That's for each person to decide. For me, not risking anything is worse than death.”
Legendary climber, photographer, and filmmaker, Jimmy Chin
I can safely state that appropriate and calculated risk taking has been one of the major catalyst for success and happiness in my lifetime. Many great experiences and professional achievements all come weighted heavily with a fear of the unknown, and the potential for failure. In countless cases over the years, through bad decisions or bad luck, those fears are realized and lead to failure. But even in many of these cases, learning and growth from these mistakes lead to a positive net change that help facilitate better decisions in the future.
I agree with Jimmy, that one of the scariest risks is not taking chances and opportunities now that lead to regret in the future. Opportunities that could have been taken were passed up, and since we only get one shot at life, those chances are forever lost.
My professional career path started with a giant risk undertaken at the incredibly naive young age of 17, when I made the decision to travel to Vancouver from Michigan to attend university at Simon Fraser University. Travelling that far away from home, from a sheltered suburban existence to a major city, considering how bad my decision making was at the time, was quite the gamble, and one I’m honestly somewhat surprised I survived.
Circa 2002: In 2021 I still haven’t figured out how to drink out of a wide mouth Nalgene without spilling all over myself
19 subsequent years of existence have seen many intense crossroads pass by. Good decisions were made, and many terrible ones too. But fortunately, the big risks have paid off, and I’m pretty stoked on the results.
Home Sweet Home
One recent major risk was taking on a massive house renovation during a global pandemic, and putting all of my life in a storage container in the driveway, and moving Winston up to the Whistler RV park for the winter as my primary living space. I guess I never really like taking the simple road…
Fortunately, it was a gamble that came with a pretty decent view from thenew digs.
Existence was a bit wee lonely at times, cooped up in 80 square feet of living, but I had good company, a healthy stream of Rusty Nails to stay warm on cold nights, and plenty to keep entertained.
At the same time, the entire planet was undergoing an unprecedented experiment in risk management strategy. Governments across the globe were attempting to find an appropriate balance of health and safety focused restrictions, while maintaining economic standards. “COVID fatigue” had set in hard by this stage, though with vaccines on the way, there seemed to be a faint light at the end of the tunnel. In harsh contrast to this hope and anticipation, moving through the Fall and into Winter brought with it the anticipated “2nd wave” of cases, and forced a corresponding wave of additional lockdowns.
Individuals and families were forced to constantly analyze their own risk tolerances, and determine what activities and movements constituted “essential”. Political messaging on this topic, especially in British Columbia, was extremely vague and wrought with holes and mixed signals. It was a “say one thing, but mean another” tactic, putting the ball in the hands of the general public to follow these loose guidelines. Strict 14-day quarantine tracking for returning international travel was mandatory and “enforced”, though of course it was clear many were violating these rules. And “essential travel” domestically was an extremely vague concept, open to the individual’s interpretation.
This was especially clear here in Whistler, which received an intense amount of scrutiny throughout the pandemic, where the guidance on winter recreation was to “stay local”, and explicitly provided examples for lower mainland residences to keep to the North Shore mountains. Yet based on the regular traffic jams on 99 North heading into North America’s largest ski resort, it was clear that many felt this statement was open to interpretation.
I found myself regularly in that position, trying to determine a fair and reasonable balance of lifestyle and mental sanity, while reducing my own exposure.
Fortunately, in a dark and lonely November, habituated in my Whistler RV park residence, optimism was elevated, resting on the accumulations of delicate white snowflakes arriving with the changing season to blanket our beautiful surroundings. Signifying a fresh start, moving forward, and, more importantly, splitboarding.
It’s the most wonderful tiiiiiime, of the year: November 25th, 2020
The season kicked off with an obligatory sled-splitboard up Brandywine Meadows, testing out some new gear. I had finally made the move to a splitboard hardboot setup, which is essentially snowboarding in modified ski boots, a rather embarrassing concept, to be told. Maybe a more pragmatic man would have switched to skiing ages ago, but in a rare contrast to my typically over-analytic brain, clinical rationalism has been overwhelmed by the soul elevating ecstatic joy that is powder snowboarding.
And so I carry on the endless journey in search of gram-saving efficiencies in single plank backcountry winter travel.
Above the clouds
Big props to Mike Holmes for upping his post-shred truck hosting game, during a unique season of limited capacity apres venues
With the Rossland Renegade back in town, plenty of opportunities for outdoor shenanigans presented themselves throughout the winter season. We managed to have an absolute banger of an early season day up Metal Dome, complete with a morning two-stroke meadow roop, and an afternoon of quality splitboarding. A full value day; one that reminds oneself why the snowmobile really is a useful money pit, albeit noisy/smelly/sensitive/expensive machine.
Unfortunately, reckless snowmobiling in early season conditions pours on a heavy dose of risk, of which I hit head on, literally, as shown in the video above. Thin coverage over rocks and trees lead to some surprises lurking under perfect fields of white magic, lulling into a false state of confidence. I found one of those lurkers which lead to a magnificent front flip with a stomped landing, coming away unscathed. Sadly, my humble steed was not so lucky, and it would take 6 weeks and a hefty repair bill before my snow machine was back in action.
Trailer Park views don’t get much better than this… Whistler-Blackcomb with Wedge Mountain standing tall behind, catching the early morning light.
Christmas was approaching, and so I gathered myself, Nootka, and a case of wine, descending from “Sky” to “Sea” in the Southern Gulf Islands to visit my parents, who had remained steadfast in their seaside retreat waiting out the storm of COVID-19. Leslie held to her tight restrictions on visitations throughout the winter months following the rise of the second wave, and so it was just the three of us enjoying some relaxing cabin time around the holidays.
Winter followed me down from the mountains, which provided unique photo opportunities on the typically temperate Mayne Island
An acceptable reward for an early morning start returning to the mainland
Part 2 of Christmas holidays were to be spent back in the Sea to Sky, where Mike and Audrey had graciously opened up their bubble and their fancy new Squamish townhome to take me in for a healthy mix of great food, chill hangs, and some quality shredding. To kick things off, Mike and I had a banger day touring over to Cowboy Ridge in the Whistler slackcountry, checking out the gorgeous new Kees and Claire Hut at Russet Lake on the way.
Mike takes ski touring extremely seriously
Pretty sweet place for a “hut”! Built to near-passive standards, this is the first of the new Spearhead huts, eventually one of three in a circuit of the definitive South Coast Mountain haute route, The Spearhead Traverse.
Mike experiencing pure bliss following a quality Cowboy lap with a celebratory blue cheese charcuterie. i.e. “Mike’s happy place”
Back down in Squamish, we spent a lovely few days nomming delicious food, playing lots of board games, and romped up the Chief. Mike and Audrey were wonderful hosts, even offering up their Christmas ham on Boxing Day to Nootka, who graciously seized an opportunity of human complacence to pull it off the counter in the kitchen, sampling its delicious glaze hidden from view behind the kitchen island, before Mike’s ears perked up and decided to reclaim it for a pea soup instead. Needless to say, Nootka was extremely grateful for the holiday offering, but Mike ‘Scrooge’ Martinsen took more of a “humbug” stance on this particular event.
In Nootka’s defence, it was a risky move, leaving a giant hunk of glaze-soaked pork resting on the edge of the kitchen counter to discuss stylistic interior design components of the living room. Nootka capitalized on a delicious opportunity to drive home the point: such critical decisions should not be made lightly, and without proper consideration for potential catastrophic consequences.
It was time to put Nootka’s sage lesson on appropriate risk assessment to practice back in the mountains. This round: a Blackcomb slackcountry mission with some new/old faces. “Definitely local Whistler residents” Ryan and Blaze came along for some self-inflicted mountain torture, on their first day out dragging a heavy snowboard around the mountains for very minimal actual snowboarding in quite some time. Former Smash Mountain resident, Dan “The Man” Okeefe joined up for the mission, our first shred together in quite some time (him and his partner, Lu, were my first tenants at the Squamish house). And the one and only Doctor Mary Pines, now a true Whistler local, rounded out the crew; the start of rekindling a close friendship many years and what feels like several lifetimes ago.
Inaugural splitboard day with the lovely Ms. Pines
The aesthetics of ski touring and the marks it leaves on the land provide a beauty of its own. The Whistler-Blackcomb backcountry sees a lot of traffic, but still facilitates rugged exploration in an incredible setting.
It was great to reconnect with new Father Dan, who I’ve been absolutely abysmal at staying in touch with over the years. He was dutifully patient during a relatively slow paced day filled with gear problems and the like. We managed to get some solid turns in, bailed on our primary objective, and was treated to an incredible sunset on our decent out back into the ski hill. Blaze was new to skinning, and as such lead to a rather comical situation on a downward sidehill traverse where he didn’t quite make the turn. His body position and Ryan’s dismayed look made for pretty excellent “caption this” photo.
On New Years Eve, Mike and I decided to check out a local classic area that neither of us had been to in the winter: Black Tusk and Garibaldi Lake. Generally disenchanted by the relatively long approach up the Rubble Creek switchback slog, it had never made it to the top of my list, but I had always wanted to explore the area and capture majestic Garibaldi Lake in the winter. It turned out that the slog up the switchbacks was not nearly as bad as anticipated, and we had a quality day heading up towards the Tusk until rapidly descending cloud cover forced us into a quick transition and a sub-optimal line choice down the slopes below.
After a long flat exit across the meadows, and a heinous ski down the Rubble Creek trail, we were back at the truck. It was a beautiful, long tour, that put my new hardboot splitboard setup to the test, which performed admirably.
10/10 would maybe sorta consider that tour again!
A rather white Black Tusk
Is it frozen? Observing the South Coast Touring fb group meme in person as the clouds rapidly descend
I had purchased a “hot tent” setup for the winter, which involves a canvas wall tent combined with a portable wood stove, which ended up being a terrific example of poor judgement of risk (more on that later. Don’t worry, it didn’t involve fire), and so I was keen to explore some potential future winter camping sites. I convinced Mary to join me on the snow pony for an investigation of upper Hope Creek up the Hurley, and managed to get some rather steep and real deep turns after skinning up the Backcountry Snowcats terrain. The weather was gorgeous, the setting remote, and the company grand.
Riding roughly 40km each way to the start of the tour, it truly is amazing what a snowmobile can provide for accessing an infinite expanse of winter playgrounds in southwest BC.
Gearing up for the splitboarding besides a potential campsite
Heading up the Backcountry Snowcats access road saved us from trailbreaking up the 70cms of fresh coastal pow deposited over the previous week
Dr. Pines, ready to shred
A few days later, lifetime MEC staffer and Trophy Hut steward Stephen Paul and I coordinated on a sled-accessed trip up the Duffey Lake to a line I had skied previously up Caspar Creek. Snow quality was beyond excellent, though the lower sections were far from filled in, leading to a lot of classic “alder bashing” that provided a taste of rising insanity during the tour.
Random Lillouett locals demonstrating an interesting technique for full family adventures
Breaking through the alder towards Mt. Duke
Some tasty lines on “The Dutchess” across the valley
Things were plodding along at the homestead, with mostly just destruction and chaos to this point. The price of lumber had skyrocketed during COVID due to a reduction in supply due to disrupted shipping, and increased demand due to everyone being bored out of their fucking minds and re-building their already perfectly adequate houses. So it turned out to be an awful time to take this on, but it was a risk I knew I was taking at the time, and I had built in a lot of contingency into the budget.
By late January, winter was truly upon us, and the enjoyment of a snow covered existence continued. Giles was getting restless waiting for a major storm to settle and lower the avalanche danger, so we used the snowmobiles to drag in some firewood and firearms to a beautiful spot along the Soo River for a fire, food, and reggae music jam.
The following day, we braved the mega deep for a roop around the flat meadows of Brandywine, taking advantage of the sled-in sled-out accommodations of the Whistler RV park. It was definitely deep, leading to plenty of face shots, very little visibility, and one absolute mega stuck when I managed to stick my snowmobile into a wall of snow leading to a 45 minute exhausting struggle moving a 600 pound snow machine six feet…
By Wednesday, the powder universe aligned in the holy trinity of sun, powder, and stable avalanche conditions. Life doesn’t get any better in my opinion, so it was an obvious choice to take a mid-week mission up my favourite zone in Squamish Valley, for a superb day of unbridled stoke and good times with a very solid and capable crew.
It’s days like this where snowmobiling as a sport in and of itself really shines, and although my love for the calm tranquility and slow pace of splitboarding can’t be topped, I have to admit that untapped sledneckery is a freakishly good time.
Mike Holmes always maintains a level of ultimate class in a backcountry setting
You’re probably having a good day with the south face of Mount Cayley as your backdrop
Turning south towards Squamish, Nch'Kay looms above
No fun at all…
A rare true Squamish local legend, Spenny, demonstrating his own style of risk assessment through blatant disregard of proper board carrying protocol on a random booter
Dylan contemplating the meaning of life at the end of an all time day, taking in a Cloudburst Mountain bathed in alpenglow
When the going gets good, it’s good to keep going.
I’ve never been a “60 days at the resort” kinda guy; more akin to the nerdy stoner from Dazed And Confused sitting in the backseat of Matthew McConaughey’s car mumbling about “quality over quantity, maaaaan”. And when things are quality, I’m quick to completely shift my life to optimize these rare moments of powder sports alignment.
“There are no friends (or clients) on a powder day” as the saying goes.
Friday presented an opportunity to charge for a Duffey Lake classic: the “Million Dollar Couloir” on the North side of Cayoosh Mountain. Mary and I had been given the shake by Mike Holmes as he was pushing for a tough objective of his own, and wanted to keep his numbers small. I should have taken the hint, as we were to get a taste of group dynamics that is emblematic of the issues of larger untested groups of backcountry travellers.
Don’t get me wrong, this was an absolutely incredible tour, with stunning views, good turns, awesome new connections, and perfect weather, but it presented an interesting challenge in decision making and risk management.
Heading through the lower clearcuts up to Cayoosh. Our objective was up and over the rocky pointy peak on lookers right
Doctor Pines leading the charge, demonstrating her supplement-fuelled superhuman powers
Up into the alpine, heading for the snowy notch between rocks to the upper right of the photo, including a rather exposed traverse above a cliff band below
Beautiful view back down towards Mount Matier and Slalok across the valley
Decision making was difficult with an unknown group, as the access to the North side of Cayoosh necessitated some exposed travel on south-facing terrain that was getting hammered by the sun, with significant wet snow avalanche activity observed. Heavy doses of hesitation and clear signs of unpreparedness for the level of technicality of the tour was clearly expressed from a few in the party, which can be a very difficult thing to properly manage. We dug a snow pit on a NE facing slope to determine whether Million Dollar, on a similar aspect, would feel safe to ski. The results provided a bit of confidence for North slopes, with the sun baked South-facing aspects providing the most concern.
Fortunately, by the time we had reached the cruxy exposed south-facing traverse above cliff band, the sun had dropped behind the veil of Cayoosh peak, and closer assessment of the slope provided the confidence needed to safely proceed, and cut a path across the exposed slope above rocky cliffs.
When we approached the final stretch of access to the couloir which necessitated a “skis off” ridgeline scramble traverse of about 100 feet above high consequence cliffs on either side to access the line, it was clear that the party had divided views about the safety of the path ahead. The access was non-technical and straightforward, without avalanche hazard, but it is understandable that someone that was not prepared for such an exposed route would be unnerved. Watching a rather uncomfortable situation unfold with the uncertain parties in an obviously uncomfortable position being pushed to do something outside their comfort zone, Mary and I decided to lead an alternate party down the North glacier to provide a more comfortable exit alternative.
It was an extremely difficult decision, as when you set an objective for the day, it is very easy to set expectations and visualize the emotions and sense of achievement that comes with living through these types of “peak experiences”. Though there was still the unknown of the conditions within the couloir itself, and being late in the day, with a larger group lacking confidence in the terrain, it felt like the right thing to do to pivot to a less committing line, and provide an option for the less confident members of the group to safely descend.
The upper North glacier ended up providing some perfectly acceptable turns, and allowed us to access Million Dollar Couloir from lower down, which we suitably dubbed $500,000 Couloir. The first of our party to drop in set off a non-consequential-though-not-insignificant avalanche , and the second proceeded to immediately loose a ski and tomahawk down the rest of the 300 foot line… Ouch.
If that sort of scene happened at the true start of the line, this tale would have likely had a very different ending.
Luck would have it that everyone was okay, two of our party managed to successfully ski the full line with style and skill, and the descent back out to the highway was a fun romp with Mary “silly skiing” on our split boards through mature forest, joking about the ridiculous scene we had just witnessed. Tricky group dynamics aside, it was a phenomenal tour, and I was really loving the connection with Mary as a splitboard partner, which at this point had progressed to a romantic relationship as well.
(“Dating Friends”: Another bit of risky business that was apparently within my tolerances")
Back at the homestead, things were plodding along. Framing was taking a seemingly infinite amount of time, and significant additional budget, as the engineering requirements, alongside insane increases in lumber costs, drove the time and money required to rebuild the structure of the house significantly.
Powder addiction in full swing, I was back out on Sunday to check out the Snowspider area with a solid crew including Giles, Sterling, Andrew Campbell, and a good buddy I had skied with before at Caspar, JS. It is quite the long journey to get out there, so we had a rather brief tour following a long snowmobile into the area, and were met with some very dicey avalanche conditions, but it was an enjoyable exploratory day regardless. Kudos to JS for carrying a whopping total of six tall cans of beer in his backpack to share with the crew to earn himself the undisputed MVP of the trip!
As the icing on the cake for this quality AND quantity week of winter mountain bliss, on Tuesday I went out for a tour of the Blackcomb backcountry with Whistler local bud Sam Munro, and climbing hardwoman Jurga, who I had met in the parking lot after the New Years Eve Black Tusk tour, and subsequently connected with on Facebook and had been indoor bouldering with over the winter.
Sam putting down some soul turns down the Trorey Glacier
Mt. Pattison across the Trorey Glacier
Beautiful late day lighting on the tour out, Black Tusk hiding in the clouds behind
Mount Fissile not letting anyone forget about her incredible steep skiing lines
Feeling quite fulfilled after a top quality 4/6 days plundering the goods of the previous storm, I was ready to take a break and hide as a major arctic inflow event was descending from the North. After testing Winston’s insulation for a few nights in -25, I was thankful to take residence in the gracious hosts of Andrew and Giles for a few nights to thaw out in slightly balmier sea level Squamish.
Giles was keen to get back out for a mission, and Loretta wanted to come up from the city for a proper Sea to Sky adventure, so we tried to come up with a suitable mission. With Sterling and Mary joining, we proceeded to put together a plan that involved a comical ratio of snowmobiles:humans, with a much more spacious and comfortable end goal of the Meagre Creek hot springs, which does not see much for traffic these days following a major rock slide down Mount Meagre back in 2010.
We had the beta that the ride in was manageable, and so Sterling and Giles hopped on Harv, I squeezed Mary and Loretta on my overburdened steed, and we bumped and smashed up 40kms of variable condition forest service road, to find ourselves in paradise. It was truly an incredible set and setting to have to ourselves, enjoying the day dipping between the hot pools and the ice cold waters of Meagre Creek, laughing and enjoying quality food and drink.
Oh, hey there ;-)
Following the tranquil bliss of Meagre Hot Springs, I returned to the noisy chaos of Vancouver to catch up on work. I did get to meet up with Meta for Iggy’s birthday, and brought along some party hats and a treat-filled piñata to celebrate at the park. Always such a treat to see Meta for some silliness.
Too bad our dogs don’t particularly get along, but Iggy is decent at tolerating Nootka these days, who still just runs around like a complete idiot constantly.
Back on the skin track, Mary and I lined up a mid-week Whistler slackcountry slog to Cowboy Ridge. After an initial scare with a non-working avy beacon which managed to resolve itself with fresh batteries and a quick clean of the terminals, we marched onwards and upwards in search of fresh turns. Cowboy Ridge has yet to do anything but deliver every time I’ve been out there, and today was no exception. It’s far enough away from the resort that you get a sense of remoteness, and fresh lines tend to stick around for days after a storm. But still a totally reasonable day trip on skins from the resort, even if you skip the singing pass trail exit and return to the resort for your ski out.
Looking back towards Cowboy Ridge
Good times with good company
Feast time
To celebrate everyone’s favourite Kootenay-raised armchair philosopher/shred master extraordinaire, Giles Crisfield, and the day of his birth, we planned a group tour up the Duffey to check out one of my earlier introductions to Duffey Lake skiing up on Vantage Ridge. Almost exactly 10 years ago, in my earlier years on a splitboard exploring the Coast Mountains, I made the pilgrimage to the now oft overrun “Keith’s Hut”, and skied the classic Cheques in the Mail run. It was pretty hilarious watching an early Youtube edit I had posted, as a comparison to how things look a decade later.
Sketchy bridge crossing to start the day
I was flailing a lot of sunglasses at this point in time, so I was down to a more ‘exotic’ pair for this tour
Full squad feeling the good vibrations up on Vantage Ridge
Birthday boy and Mike showing some love before dropping into Cheques in the Mail. Matier and Joffre supervising behind.
Looking back to Joffre back on the ski out.
March 3rd, 2021
The twists and turns of the house renovation were starting to take its toll, and the stress and chaos of it all was become a serious burden. I’m generally fairly accustomed to a rather chaotic nomad life, but the lack of a grounded space to maintain my crap, seemingly endless driving, and the constant flux of quick decision making required to execute a project of this scale, not to mention maintaining client work, was feeling like risky business indeed.
COVID continued to exacerbate things as well, with a constant fear of an unknown future and difficulties in planning, and staying connected with one-on-one social check-ins when needed was extremely tough.
Fortune would have it that, after listing my Vancouver townhouse for sale in the Fall with no bites, the market went absolutely bananas in the Winter/Spring, and I received an off-market offer for more than my previous asking price, which I gladly accepted. With the market starting to froth, it was definitely a risk, accepting this offer instead of waiting until my tenants were out in the Spring and listing on the open market, and in hindsight, I probably walked away from a good chunk of change there.
But psychologically, it was absolutely the right thing to do, alleviating stress, and removing another big item from an already savage to-do list moving into the Spring.
As in another “big business” moment this winter, standing 200 meters from the entrance to the Million Dollar Couloir, sometimes the best choice is to play it safe and do what feels right emotionally, not always pushing it to the limit. Risk taking always comes with a chance for failure, and serious consideration is extremely important: in our careers, our adventures, and our attentiveness to holiday leftovers.
And a $500,000 couloir is still an awful lot of couloir.
I Know What You Did(n’t Do) Last Summer
Oh, 2020... You’ve been a strange one.
We’ve witnessed the world writhe in a confused response to a global pandemic that has shaken our geopolitics and economies, and upended many aspects of societal life. We watched in horror as the global crisis of the modern era was tossed on the doormat of, without question, the worst politician one could ever imagine, leading the free world as the President of the United States.
It’s actually completely insane how much stuff happened this crazy year, with so much simply “lost in the noise” as our daily lives were inundated with the latest COVID case numbers and Trump’s fucking Twitter feed. For posterity, a few key crazy moments representative of this insane trip around the sun:
Pretty much all of Australia was on fire
Iran “accidentally” shoots down a full passenger flight, killing all 176 on board
Trump impeached in the Democratic controlled House. Acquited in the Republican senate
Kobe Bryant dies in a helicopter crash, along with his family
The UK officially withdrew from the EU
Whatever the hell Tiger King was (I never watched it)
The Tokyo Summer Olympics were cancelled
Pretty much everything else cool was cancelled (festivals, etc.)
Murder Hornets?
George Floyd killed by police, inciting mass protests and a major catalyst for the subsequent rising Black Lives Matter movement
Sports starts up without audiences. We watched playoff hockey in August
Massive warehouse explosion of ammonium nitrate in Beirut, killing 190+
Biden chosen as Democtratic nominee, Kamala Harris as VP
Wildfires in California, Oregon, and Washington, leading to extremely smokey skies in Vancouver.
Ruth-Bader Ginsberg dies, leaving a second Supreme Court vacancy to be filled by a conservative
Days after the first presidential debate, where Trump mocked Biden for “wearing a mask all the time”, contracts COVID-19 along with all his internal circle
Trump defeated after days of waiting for election to be called, but refuses to concede, claiming widespread voter fraud
Things remained pretty bleak, and with most of the usual outlets removed or restricted, like festivals, live music, arts and culture, social gatherings, and a constantly wavering definition of what activities were deemed “essential”, life sure was confusing and stressful.
I believe there was also a lot of positive growth this year. A global crisis and lockdown forced many to rethink the way they live their lives, diving inward, and better appreciating many of the aspects of life that are commonly taken for granted. Businesses were forced to look at how they employ people, and a dramatic shift to “work-from-home” took place. It expedited many technologies that have been slow to adopt, like widespread use (for better or worse) of videoconferencing, digital performances, online workshops and workouts, and a more nimble and progressive medical system, including the incredibly fast movement of R+D that has supposedly brought us a variety of COVID-19 vaccines distributed for global use as I write this. Small businesses have been tested and strained, but many have pushed hard to adapt to the current landscape with better online presence, mobile restaurant orders, and new forms of arts and culture.
It will be interesting to see how many of these trends remain once things move back to normal. Generally speaking, it is mostly just a drag, and a social extrovert’s hellscape, and so personally I absolutely cannot wait for this all to be over.
March 23rd, 2020
Living full time in Squamish since I returned from Ecuador, I settled into a routine of home life, walks, and biking, and following my initial 14-day full quarantine on my return, the occasional “social” weekend adhering to the rules and acceptable practices of the day, dictated by our endearing health minister, Dr. Bonnie Henry.
I honestly don’t have much “insight” into the world fumbling through a global pandemic. To me, it is a part of living in an extremely fragile ecosystem that truly is a miracle to exist in the first place. Much more could have been done to prepare, and I really hope this is a strong warning shot for the world, and its divided political landscape. My favourite political cartoon (I can’t find the original author…) on the topic came early in the Spring.
Even now, as the US reports this week that COVID-19 surpassed heart disease as its leading cause of death, it is likely that the global impact of COVID-19 may be relatively minor compared to some of the great problems we as a species will face over the coming century. I’m generally an optimist, especially when it comes to technology and our ability to solve difficult problems. But the process towards progress is a painfully slow one, obstructed by pointless hurdles of useless bureaucracy, political misguidance through powerful lobbying, and an incredible amount of misinformation provided to, and digested by, the often extremely gullible public.
The stock market has powered up and onwards through this latest pandemic-caused recession, but that does not come close to telling the whole tale, and is completely dominated by the new world order of the large tech companies. Small businesses have been devastated. All levels of government have dove deep into their pockets in a flood of bailouts and social assistance. The ramifications of such a spend will likely be felt for many years. Currently (October) the Liberals have just announced an additional $100billion spend in business and social assistance, on top of the already record high $381 billion for this years debt. The debt-to-GDP ratios has jumped from around 30% to over 50% this year.
This is the cost of letting preventable, or at the very least, reducible, crises run unanticipated in a reactive manner. Proactive steps need to be taken to reduce the impact of these catastrophes, and climate change looms above all else as our greatest challenge.
I only hope that science starts to take the front stage in our nation’s policy decision making. Without this, we’re destined to repeat the major global shutdowns and financial burdens that such events incur repeatedly over the coming decades.
A Good Place to Call Home
I had only this past year made the long term decision to make Squamish my home base, and the Spring and Summer of 2020 was a perfect time to explore new reaches of this incredible town and get comfortable. Fortune would have it that, due to a shifting work landscape, a number of old friends would make the move to Squamish over the summer, and things have really shaped up for an incredible community of great people here.
All in all, I managed to have a pretty terrific summer. Besides a week kayaking in Desolation Sound, and a few trips to Mayne and Tofino, local Squamish life kept me well entertained. I even tried a bit of pandemic dating, to mixed success, with a couple of amazing women (at separate times), but for reasons that are sometimes difficult to understand, the connection just wasn’t enough for me to feel enough of a spark to continue. It’s frustrating, and comes with a ton of guilt, but the only thing I can do is keep trusting myself and learn from my experiences. I’m not sure I’ve really been ready to find someone, as I continue to grow and develop. Making the decision to call Squamish my long term home, re-building the house, and settling down into more of a grounded state will be a major step forward, as for the last decade since my relationship with Kailey ended, around when I purchased the Squamish house with Ryan, my life has been a chaotic flux of nomad-ish lifestyles, coupled with a heavy dose of uncertainty about my long term plan.
Important Pandemic Supplies. - April 3rd, 2020
April 4th - Pandemic buddies don’t get much better than this guy
One of many pandemic solo date nights
After collecting Winston from his winter home at a storage facility in Pemberton, I snuck in a camping trip at the Squamish Valley Campground with Jessica, who I met pre-Ecuador on a fun date in the city. At the time, there was a very strong “just stay home” sentiment, but felt justified being a Squamish local, and it was “just camping”. A chat with the proprietor on the way in confirmed that he was just very keen to keep business going, but passing a row of aggressive “GO HOME” and “VISITORS NOT WELCOME” signs through the Squamish Nation Territory en route was rather unsettling.
April 12th - Squamish Valley Campground
“Zoom” had become the new world’s social everything, and a previously unheard of “digital meeting place” company became the centre for all family and friend interactions. With the level of isolation in place at the time, it did serve a purpose, and initially felt good to “scratch that itch”, but it quickly became tedious and fizzled out as a regular social occurrence.
April 18th - The Derper Crew attempts to party digitally
My parents had made the move to hole up on Mayne Island for the pandemic, with my Dad making an escape from the US in late March to meet my Mum who had come out earlier to help support Leslie. We chatted about visitations, and it seemed like both sides were confident in me coming over to stay with them for an extended visit in late April.
There is truly something in the air in BC’s Gulf Islands, and it’s not just the clouds of dope smoke billowing off Salt Spring, though they do have a similar effect. Time slows as soon as you step off the ferry, and a calm state takes hold. It’s a very easy place to forget about the outside world. I had a lovely week there before coming back to the mainland to plan a surprise 4th birthday for Eliot, including Mum and Dad organizing a “fishing adventure” out of the back of my truck in their driveway that the recipient seemed to enjoy the least out of everyone involved.
Nootka-Nephew relationship building took place throughout the summer, with a few successes and many more failures.
While never outright banned, ski touring, rock climbing, and other high risk activities were generally frowned upon, though mountain biking generally got a pass with a slight scaling back of the typical gnar level to reduce the chance of a trip to the hospital. The anticipated strain on the hospital systems from COVID, and the risk to SAR during incident response, promoted a reduction in these higher risk activities. I never took the splitboard back out after I returned from Ecuador, as it seemed like the right thing to do was just call the season and not stress about decision making.
As the nature of transmission of the virus was better understood, rock climbing started to open up again, as evidence showed that surface transmission was difficult with proper sanitization precautions. Rufio and I got out to an obscure crag, the Longhouse, in early May, which was a humbling experience in burly crack climbing, in a beautiful isolated setting.
Much of the rest of the summer was filled up with local biking with my trusty trail companion, who was also benefiting from the pandemic in a wave of pet adoptions sweeping the transitioning work-from-home masses. Joe and Beth adopted Louis, who has some trouble meeting other dogs, but Nootka and him managed to patch things up fairly quickly and created a fairly equal force of relentless energy for playtime.
Another couple to eventually join the pandemic pet adoption wave, Ryan and Blaze, remained my core “bubble” throughout these strange socially restricted times, and came up to Squamish for a weekend visit to SUP, rent mountain bikes, and party to the digital Lightning in a Bottle festival event taking place that weekend. These visits were critical in keeping my extroverted hyper-social ass sane and distracted.
A lot of new route development has been taking place on the Apron on the Chief, and Rufio and I got on the shiny new white streak “Born Again" 10b, which included a tricky 5.9 corner I lead that I found to have tricky gear placement, and a delicate 10b friction slab traverse to intersect with the adjacent uber-classic, “Diedre”.
Oh the Sea to Sky Gondola… Every time I go up, I have a blast and think to myself that I should head up more often. And it seems like shortly after each time some bastard disgruntled local cuts the cable and brings it all crashing down.
Will be very curious to see if they take it out a third time….
I first tried mountain biking with Kailey on the North Shore’s Mt. Fromme area circa 2009-2010. I was on a hardtail with V-Brakes attempting to get down arguably the most difficult trail system in the world. Needless to say, I got my ass kicked…
Fortunately I have an unhealthy addiction to trying new things, even if I completely suck at them initially. When we bought the Squamish house in 2011, I picked up my first full suspension bike, a very much cross country early-2000s Rocky Mountaineer ETSX, with 130mm travel front and back, and a 70 degree head tube angle. For those unfamiliar with mountain bikes and their relevant geometry specs, this was a bike better suited for long days on gradual climbs and descents in the Rockies, and not the ultra-technical steeps of Southwest BC.
Mountain biking was, and still is, absolutely terrifying! But, like many adrenaline soaked pursuits, also incredibly addicting, with a slow but constant progression where riding the same trails repeatedly only gets more fun and playful as you progress. It provides an incredible cardio workout of whatever length of time you and your legs have available, mixed in with wild heart pumping moments on the descents. The incredible network of trails from North Vancouver to Pemberton, and beyond, provide a lifetime’s worth of local entertainment, and there are also tons of opportunities for further travel as biking explodes in popularity around the world.
This summer, I was finally starting to feel my skills and confidence getting to the level where I felt reasonably solid on all but the gnarliest gnar of the corridor, helped along by my new trusty steed: A suitably aggressive 160/150cm 64 degree HT angle 2020 Norco Sight, my third Sight in the last 5 years.
I checked out some classics on Cypress in West Vancouver, including the wild and massive “Sagar”, descending all the way from the ski hill, down to the Upper Levels highway.
I returned to Mayne for some more downtime with the ‘rents, enjoyed some stiff disc golf competition, and had some great paddling weather.
I had started my relationship with Caroline at this point, who was in Tofino for a spearfishing/freediving course where I joined her, and enjoyed some quality beach time at Mackenzie’s, surfing and chilling with a freshly groomed Nootka. When she returned to the mainland I drove to Sombrio Beach to meet up with the Lyster bros for an extremely wet Canada Day campout. We managed to have a grand time despite the rain, and enjoyed a trippy Sombrio exploration when the weather broke on the final day.
Nootka was an absolute legend in Tofino, befriending everyone on the beach, and then was an absolute nightmare at Sombrio, where a constant stream of Juan de Fuca trail hikers passed by, keeping him on edge. And for whatever reason, he absolutely hated “Night Dave”… (That’s Dave, at night)
When the conditions are right, Pemberton is hard to beat when it comes to mountain biking. The views from the Mackenzie area across to Mt. Currie are just incredible, and the trails are long and incredibly fun. We braved a mid-July mission in peak bug season and stinking heat, but managed to have a great time ripping quality dirt with a stoked crew.
Probably my favourite climbing achievement of the summer was getting on “The Reacharound 5.9”, which is an incredible corner climb I had been really wanting to lead for some time. It’s a fantastic route, looking hard and steep, but having the right holds in all the right places, and the 5.9 range of “traditional” lead free climbing (placing your own gear in cracks as protection as you climb) is more than challenging enough for me to feel at my limit, and, as the cool kids say, “get gripped”. I’m really hoping that next summer I’m able to focus on finding more. climbing partners and work up my trad skills and confidence, which has been a long, slow, and at times, terrifying progression.
Our big planned adventure for the summer was a week of kayaking in Desolation Sound. This is one of the very popular classics of the West Coast, and deservedly so. The protected waters of the Sound provide pleasantly warm conditions for swimming, and rocky headlands and islets, along with towering snowcapped mountains of the Coast Range, provide a beautiful backdrop for paddling and relaxing. It is busy, it is a bit crowded with sail and motorboats, and I would say I prefer the rugged and wild west coast of Vancouver Island, but it was an awesome trip with a few of my favourite humans: The Lyster bros. and their partner’s, Blaze and Maria.
After a days journey on two ferries up to Powell River, Dave, Maria, and I squeezed into a small motel room, and took care of our final packing. Ryan and Blaze were in Qualicum at their folk’s place, and taking the Comox-Powell River ferry in the morning to meet us early the following day. Loaded up on coffee and baked goods at Base Camp Coffee, we headed up to Okeover Arm to collect our boats and stage for the trip.
After looking at a variety of possible itineraries, based on the popularity of the area and one specific camp standing out as the jewel of the Sound, the Curme Islands, we made the call to prioritize setting up basecamp on Curme and day tripping from there. We set out late, as one usually does when trying to fit x a large amount of food, camping gear, and beer into the awkward sized hatches of the boat, leaving Okeover Inlet around 11:30. We were racing to beat the strong tides that were turning only an hour later, which when rising would send a torrent of water rushing back up the inlet, driving us back to our starting point.
Despite trying to move quick, we ended up on the wrong side of slack tide well within the inlet, and had to fight some serious currents to break out of Okeover and out into Desolation Sound. This made for some exciting paddling, whipping in and out of the wild and churning waters, flying along with the tide in some spots, and other moments of paddling at full tilt just to make progress at a crawling pace through the narrows. After reaching the Sound, we now had a long crossing to Mink Island, which we would skirt around to reach the Curme Islands on the opposite side. Consisting on not much more than that mornings breakfast, beer, and bagged Rose that Blaze had decided was a suitable kayaking beverage, we probably could have used a proper stop for lunch, but we were concerned about the finite number of campsites at Curme, and decided to push on.
Always helpful, Dave-O offers Maria an asset for the crossing to Mink
Mink Island
We arrived at the Curme Islands late in the day, and things were looking bleak for available sites, which are restricted to a set number of wooden pads scattered around the rocky islets. We split up and I wandered around South Curme to find all spots taken, and I was beginning to get concerned that we were going to have to add another 3kms and another open crossing to our day to get to the less aesthetic overflow sites across on the mainland…
Fortunately, luck was on our side, and we managed to secure three of the last remaining pads on the main central island all together, which provided a beautiful setting for base camp, easy access to our boats, and directly above the central protected channel that made for the most idyllic swimming spot I’ve ever seen in the Pacific Ocean’s Northwest coast.
Now, I’m not one to shy away from a punishing adventure filled with a barrage of “Type 2” or even “Type 3” moments. I enjoy pushing myself, moving far and fast in an effort to get off the beaten path and explore the unknown. But I will say, I absolutely love a good chill. Maxing and relaxing with a tasty beverage in hand, a gorgeous mountain backdrop, and very little in the realm of schedules, objectives, or stress? Sign me the fuck up! That falls in line with what I consider to be a great time, and in 2020, the year of a global pandemic and associated lockdown, and Donald Trump’s final year of presidency, I was very much into making this trip a time for prioritizing keeping things nice and slow. I managed to get through the entire 2nd book of Liu Cixin’s Three Body Problem SciFi series in the six days of this trip, and if that doesn’t constitute a major objective, I don’t know what does!
After talking to the rangers who came through our camp, and getting the local beta on the area, it really seemed like just parking at Curme for the week and day tripping was the way to go, and that is precisely what we did for the next 5 nights, planning a final night at the mouth of Okeover Inlet for the final night.
So break out the Rose again and let’s celebrate, as we had found our home, and it was paradise!
The problem with this approach is that it does not lend itself well to storytelling, as it’s difficult to turn a lazy existence of reading and day drinking on a beautiful island into too grand of a tale. But usually the great stories in outdoor adventure are always when things go horrifically wrong, which does provide a tale to be told, but are typically pretty miserable to experience at the time.
So I was quite happy to avoid misadventure and focus on relaxation, along with some awesome day trips and activities exploring the Curme Islands and the Sound.
Unwin Lake took the prize for the most misguidedly named geographic feature of the trip. It was great, and provided a perfect opportunity to wash off the salt water that had accumulated into a layer on our skin.
Unwin Lake
I even spent the better part of a whole day watching this idiot try to take down (unsuccessfully) an entire starfish. I bet he’s still there right now trying to choke one of these things down…
In the dark and isolated year of 2020, where personal connections were very much a rarity, this trip was exactly what the doctor ordered. I thrive on these types of deep experiences with terrific humans, from outdoor adventures to festivals, and to have much of that put on hold was extremely difficult. Experiencing soaring high peaks and crushing deep valleys when it comes to mental health, this year those swings were significantly amplified, with a lack of experiential medicine to pull out of a rut. Relationship stress, loneliness, existential questions, and the general unknown of the future really weighed down hard on me this summer.
One amazing thing about a trip like this is when you’re with a group that is so cohesive and solid, it is a wonderful experience to simply be together in an outstanding location. Focus is shifted entirely on the beauty that exists in the world, and not darkened by a barrage of news headlines, mask requirements, or economic shutdowns. When good spirits are lifted high, this makes for great company, and great company we had on this trip. We ate like kings, laughed over old stories through the 18 years I’ve known the Lyster brothers, played games, got silly, and just generally had a solid time with precisely zero conflict.
Paddling doesn’t get much better than this, saving the best for last on our final easy day back to the trucks
Sea worn travellers at a much needed pub lunch in Powell River
August in Squamish is a pretty fantastic time and place. Even in the peak of summer, the temps are usually reasonable, recreation abounds, and the alpine is clear for some dry ground higher elevation activities. Caroline and I took Nootka up to Brandywine Meadows, which was my first time up there in the summer, after spending many days up there in the midst of the gong show that is the epicentre of Sea to Sky snowmobile culture in the winter months.
Throughout the pandemic it was really nice to regularly connect with Meta, who had to experience the fast deterioration of her mother Helen’s health following a diagnosis of ALS. Just months after diagnosis, she was unable to function in a way that felt like “living”, and eventually chose the path of euthanasia, passing in the summer. With the travel restrictions from the pandemic, this represented an unbelievably hard time, as family could not easily visit and share experiences as you would hope take place. I love Meta dearly, as well as her incredible father, Rodney, and her brothers, and so it meant so much to be able to meet up for dog walks and dive into a bit of silliness together, and stay connected through this extremely difficult time.
As mentioned, the pandemic new world order allowed for a migration of workers out of the city as work transitioned more to remote based. Sterling and Caroline made the move to Squamish, along with their beautiful girl, Wynn. We connected briefly when I was over in Uke for some surfing, and had an awesome beach day at Flo.
Late September biking outside Penticton
Dog-Child relationship counselling session
The first act of the 2020/21 reno: taking out the rhodo where the new front entrance is to reside
Thanksgiving was spent back at Mayne Island with the fam jam
I should probably dedicate an entire post to music creation, and my love for the process. It’s incredible how healing of an experience it can be, pouring out emotion into making music that resonates with life at that moment in time. I had ended my relationship with Caroline at this point, and the blues were coursing through my veins. I was really struggling to understand myself and my thought patterns, and what I looking for in a relationship at the time. So I was playing with blues riffs and feeling the moody words from Kerouac’s Dharma Bums that I had jotted down years ago as lyric inspiration:
“Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all. For all this creation, created to fall”
Mike White’s 40th birthday was coming up, and it was time for him to live out what was apparently a long standing dream of his: to make a giant “fuck” sign out of fireworks and light it on fire. Go figure, but if you know Whitey, it actually makes a ton of sense. I dragged the backcountry hot tub out for this one as it was forecasted to be pretty cold, and we had a great Elaho valley shindig with great friends in a pandemic-safe fashion.
As mentioned earlier, Ryan and Blaze took their Mexican el doge, Dobby, home in the Fall, and Nootka instantly had a new friend to engage in epic sessions of “bite face”.
October 2021: Classic Meta 😂 ❤️
The renegade from Rossland himself, the fabulous Giles, had decided to move back to Squamish, which was another terrific addition to the local roster. Lots of good times to be had blending the highest of rhythm and culture with good old fashioned Kootenay-branded red neckery.
Clear signs of the approach of winter
Moody autumn Squamish days
It’s getting close to winter, so time to start hemorrhaging time and money into the snow ponys!
With the big house reno underway, it was time to move Winston up to the Whistler RV park for the winter, which I planned to make my main basecamp for the season. It’s definitely a gamble this year with the pandemic complicating social interactions… Through the Fall, the case numbers increased significantly and the restrictions were raised to restrict social interactions with only your direct household.
As a household-less person, this was going to prove difficult, though strict allowances were made for solo living people.
I’m always craving an adventure, and a separation from the ordinary, and living in a snowmobile in/out RV park in the middle of winter with my dog seemed like it would be a memorable experience to break up the chaos of watching my house get rebuilt, and the world shift and spin through the churning tides. And the powder addict in me was getting pretty stoked on a winter season closer to the goods.
With Biden/Harris moving into the White House in January, alongside the incredible development and manufacturing of a varied of COVID-19 vaccines, things were looking up heading into 2021. Who knows what the future brings, but for now I’m just thankful that a certain tiny hand orange-faced douchebag will soon drift into insignificance in the world. I’m hopefully that the many promising trends in science and technology will drive forward our species and planet into a sustainable existence.
Thinking forward to next summer, with widespread vaccination rollouts and a return to normalcy, along with moving back into a fresh new home in Squamish with an incredible local community, things feel very optimistic currently. This winter will be a lonely, cold, and difficult one, but as long as I get enough pow shots to the face, I think I’ll manage to get through it just fine.
Splitboarding is the answer, after all.
Bye-bye 2020, you were one fucked up wild ride! You got this 2021, the bar is set pretty damn low!
Pandemic in Paradise: Galapagos Edition
The Galapagos Islands are absolutely insane.
I can't stress this enough: absolutely put it very high up on your bucket list.
There are two common considerations about travel to the Galapagos that can unnecessarily put you off:
Getting there is very difficult/expensive
Once there, you have very limited options with flexible budgets for tours and activities
These were both initial considerations of my own, and #2 really had me on the fence, when I started to read about how the cruises worked as a scuba diver, and how expensive the day tours and dive trips are.
Firstly, flights from Guayaquil, Ecuador’s largest city, to either San Cristobal or Baltra Island, the two main points of entry, can be as low as $200 CAD round trip. Flights to Ecuador are reasonably priced from North America as well. For a trip like this, I would definitely recommend spending some time on the mainland first, and then a week at least in the Galapagos. If you pick your flights well, you can get to the Galapagos from North America under $1000 CAD round trip.
As for tours, they are definitely expensive, and there is no way around that. A three tank scuba day trip will be $160-200 USD range. Snorkelling and wildlife tours are $100-130 USD. Cruises can represent good ‘value', because you are packing a lot in, and include food and accommodation, but they are definitely not cheap. Where I was pleasantly surprised was in how much there was to see and do without paying for a tour. I did one day of diving, and one wildlife/snorkelling tour during my 7 days, and would have gone for one more at the end in search of penguins if the park hadn’t shut down, along with all tours, although that wasn’t really necessary.
Accommodation was totally reasonable: decent AC rooms with ensuite for $30. Food was excellent, and varied significantly in price based on quality, and there was always the “menu del dia” (Menu of the Day), served both at lunch and dinner, that included soup, rice, meat, dessert, and juice for $4-6. Not dirtbag backpacker cheap, but held up well for value considering the locale.
There was plenty to do walking or by bicycle from the three main tourist hubs of San Cristobal, Puerto Villamil, and Puerto Ayora, and the wildlife really is so abundant that simply wandering around between nearly empty beaches lead to plenty of cool experiences with giant tortoises, marine iguana, or native birds. The town’s waterfronts are covered with giant Sea Lions flopping and belching their way around to a constant crowd of entertained spectators.
Anyways, like I said, the Galapagos are insane, and I highly recommend a visit to anyone and everyone. And invite me, as I would go back in an instant and stay for longer, and actually bringing my surfboard next time, which I had left in Guayaquil (and happens to still be there…).
Beautiful pathways connect the various sites adjacent to San Cristobal town
I hopped off the plane in San Cristobal to one of the cleanest, well organized towns you will find in any country, let alone a place like Ecuador. You can tell how much financial support goes into maintenance, as the entire area is essentially a national park. I quickly found a hotel and set off to explore the area on one of the main trails starting from the townsite.
Along the trail just outside San Cristobal town
The above video sums up the Galapagos experience. Roughly 2 hours after I landed, following a 30 minute hike outside of town, I found myself on a deserted beach; a sea lion playing in the waves, as a marine iguana casually strolls by. It’s hard to put into words, but it was a completely surreal experience.
I booked my first tour for the following day to travel by boat to a small island off San Cristobal that has a large colony of local legends, the Blue-Footed Boobies, Great Frigatebirds, along with some snorkelling. The wildlife truly is unperturbed by human presence, and makes for some ridiculously effortless wildlife photography.
San Cristobal town itself had many great restaurants and a beautiful waterfront promenade filled with a ridiculous number of sea lions. After dinner, grab a few Club beers, or a bottle of cheap rum and some coke, and hang out by the water and watch the insanity of hundreds of belching giant sea mammals grunt, flop, and roll around the boardwalk. I met another Canadian in town and we managed to entertain ourselves thoroughly with this practice every night.
The next day I had booked a scuba dive to the legendary Kicker Rock. I was trying not to get my hopes up, but was told this was a common place to see Bull Sharks, turtles, and even Hammerheads.
Boy was I not disappointed…
Here is a video that includes footage from this dive, along with other snorkelling shots during my Galapagos adventures.
It was time to head off and explore the other islands, and my plan was to spend most, if not all, of the rest of my stay on Isabella Island, which has the smallest of the three main tourist hubs, while being on the largest island. I was able to land a discounted flight between islands to avoid the full day of bumpy boat travel that was the alternative, and so by breakfast the following day, I was walking down the beach of Puerto Villamil, typically just called “Isabella”.
This place was absolute paradise. Essentially just a few dirt roads with one main strip along a kilometres-long pristine sandy beach, the area was again filled with tame and fascinating wildlife, set on the backdrop of what often felt like a nearly deserted volcanic island.
I was in love.
Unfortunately, as is quite often the case, the relationship was “complicated”, as the world was falling apart around me. Things were starting to be noticeably different in Ecuador. The entire country shut down all bars, though restaurants remained open. Messages from friends and family back home were starting to sound a lot more concerned about my current situation. On my second day on Isabella, March 15th, I received a message from Air Canada to say that my flight home on the 19th had been cancelled. From what I was reading, that was likely one in a larger wave of cancellations that would very quickly include all Air Canada flights out of Ecuador back home.
I was officially stranded.
Posting on Facebook about my dilemma, I was made aware of a very similar account, albeit fictional, described in a book by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (Slaughterhouse Five, Cats Cradle). The book tells the story of a small group on a Galapagos cruise who is shipwrecked during a global financial crisis and subsequent global pandemic.
From Wikipedia:
Galápagos is the story of a small band of mismatched humans who are shipwrecked on the fictional island of Santa Rosalia in the Galápagos Islands after a global financial crisis cripples the world's economy. Shortly thereafter, a disease renders all humans on Earth infertile, with the exception of the people on Santa Rosalia, making them the last specimens of humankind. Over the next million years, their descendants, the only fertile humans left on the planet, eventually evolve into a furry species resembling sea lions: though possibly still able to walk upright (it is not explicitly mentioned, but it is stated that they occasionally catch land animals), they have a snout with teeth adapted for catching fish, a streamlined skull and flipper-like hands with rudimentaryfingers (described as "nubbins").
Needless to say, I was intrigued to see how things played out, and whether I was the child of some Vonnegut prophecy for which the future of mankind depended.
The deranged look of a man preparing himself to repopulate the Earth
My flight off the Galapagos on the 18th was still available, and so my plan was to catch that flight back to Guayaquil, and hope for the best there. In the many hours spent on my phone sorting through alternative flights home, I was not seeing many options. So I did my best to enjoy myself while I was there.
Rampant Isabella Bike Thieves
Lookout view back to the town of Puerto Villamil
The tours had shut down, and the National Park was slowly closing their sites, but there was still some amazing walks and bike rides, great snorkelling right in town, and the beach was a place you could just sit and do a pretty good job of completely ignoring the problems of the outside world, at least for a while.
Initially, it felt like if I were to get stuck somewhere in the world, this was the place to be.
Each day, more services were closed, to the point where restaurants were starting to do pre-ordered take-out meals only. The grocery stores were starting to run out of supplies, all tourist sites were now closed, and so options for activities was now significantly limited.
It was time to try to leave.
Unfortunately, travel to the closest airport started off with a two hour boat ride to the town of Puerto Ayora on Isla Santa Cruz. From Puerto Ayora, a one hour bus or taxi takes you to the North end of the island, where a 20 minute water taxi ran across to ANOTHER island where the airport actually resided. A final 20 minute bus ride dropped you off at Baltra Island Airport. Not exactly an easy spot to pop by to see if you can catch a flight on standby.
The first step was the two hour chaotic rollercoaster of a water taxi to Santa Cruz Island, so I booked my ticket and set off for the dock. I met a Belgian guy, Joris, on the boat, who was staying at a good hostel in town, so I followed him back and we discussed an exit strategy, as he was in a similar situation. Further attempts to call the airline and visit their office in Puerto Ayora were unsuccessful, so I was ready to abandon the early exit and wait an extra day for my scheduled flight on the 18th. We grabbed dinner and had a traditional Galapagos post-dinner “drink rum and watch sea lions belch at each other” with a Canadian guy Joris had met previously. Fairly stressed we called it early and went back to our rooms to crash and try not to look at the same list of useless cancelled flights repeatedly.
Just as I was drifting off, Joris came and banged on my hostel room door. He had just received a message from a local guide he had met previously that said the local government had decided to shut down the airport at the end of the following day for a 14-30 day quarantine period, and so the last flights off the island would be on March 17th. Joris had just booked one of the last flights available, and when I checked, the Avianca website showed a single seat left for $400 USD, which I resentfully purchased.
It ended up being the right move, as we were able to successfully depart the Galapagos back to the mainland, as more shutdowns occurred for more services. Most flights were cancelled on the 18th, and our Canadian friend ended up stuck for over a week, including multiple long failed trips to the airport to catch standby flights.
When we arrived, Joris and I managed to find a decent hostel in Guayaquil which would be our new home for the next five days, as we watched the departure list out of Guayaquil International show a depressing wall of red “cancelado”. The mayor of Guayaquil was apparently a bit of a renegade, and although the national government and flight control were giving the go ahead for inbound and outbound international flights, the locals apparently felt otherwise. The mayor even went so far as to fill the airport runway with the local police department’s fleet to keep an inbound Spanish flight from landing.
Photo from the cockpit of the inbound Spanish flight
Of course, everyone else in the hostel was in the same boat, which lead to quite an interesting dynamic. There was drama, there was binge drinking, and there was chess. Moments of fun and relaxation in between mostly stress. Guayaquil was on a curfew outside of 10am-2pm, which was a pretty tight window. Our neighbourhood was pretty rough, with most businesses boarded up, and a high crime rate, so to minimize outside contact, we collected shopping lists and teamed up to cook together in groups.
It’s interesting to see how a group of completely unrelated humans can bond together in these types of situations. In all, everyone handled things super well, and it ended up being a great experience in and of itself. We scheduled group activities, workshops, music jams, etc., and generally kept ourselves entertained.
In the end, my constant monitoring of the airport’s departures list paid off. The only flight to successfully leave Guayaquil International that week was a relief flight sent down empty from Miami. They were running another the following day, and so I jumped on grabbing a seat, under the assumption that I could likely find a flight from Miami to Vancouver fairly easily. This ended up being the right call, as the only Canadian repatriation flights that ended up flying from Ecuador departed from Quito, which would have been very difficult to travel to, based on the lockdown and travel restrictions domestically.
So I hopped in an Uber and made my way to the airport, where I followed a heavily armed personal escort to my gate.
My Saviour
Miami was making international news at the time, as it was the hub for many young idiot spring breakers unabashedly flaunting COVID restrictions. The contrast between the military lockdown and control in Ecuador, to the “business as usual” attitude in Florida was extremely apparent as soon as I departed the plane. There were few, if any, signs that a global crisis was underway. No interrogation of symptoms at US Customs or elsewhere. No masks, no sanitizing stations or signage. Just plenty of ignorant revellers, content in their belief that this “flu” was just like any other, and no cause for alarm or unnecessary precautions.
The remainder of the trip home was wonderfully uneventful. There were no long processing lines, Canadian customs was a breeze, though they did at least have some COVID-related symptom questions, and instructions on the mandatory 14-day quarantine I was about to settle into.
March 22nd - Reunited back home!
Mike Martinsen, who had borrowed my truck and helped out with Nootka while I was away, was extremely helpful throughout this process. His concern about the deteriorating global state was apparent, and aligned with what was to come relatively early on. He met me at the airport with my truck, partner Audrey behind in their vehicle, and tossed me the keys and gave me a wave as we went our separate ways. Nootka expressed his extreme excitement on my return from the backseat of the truck, which my gracious Mother had filled with plenty of provisions to last well into my subsequent home staycation.
I had made it home, but it was definitely a strange homecoming. Instead of hugs and catching up over beers with friends and family, I was to settle down at home for 14 days of isolation, with a persistent stream of Zoom video calls as my only social outlet.
Relieved to have made it home, and that the world wasn’t dependant on me to mate with various Galapagos fauna in an effort to repopulate the Earth, I ordered a couple batches of beer brewing ingredients, busted out the Xbox, and settled into a simple life at home, watching the world spiral through a TP-deprived crisis state. Canada had reported 1,400 cases and 20 deaths on March 22nd, 2020. The US had 26,000 cases and 300 deaths, and was well on its way to prove itself as the “World Leader” in stupidity and inaction, lead by the stupidest and most inactive person in existence.
It was a bad time to have not much else to do than read the news…
Pandemic in Paradise
With tea in hand, gear drying on haphazard lines strung above the sleeping quarter’s wood stove, and my shaken body starting to thaw, I immediately felt immense relaxation and comfort within the cozy hacienda walls of the Secret Garden Cotopaxi. I was unsurprised to hear many stories from the mixed volunteer staff and travellers that this was a place to get stuck well beyond your planned stay, and return to repeatedly. The hacienda-turned-hostel still felt very much like a family home, if your family was a 30-strong cultural smorgasbord entirely focused on hiking, drinking, and smoking joints. Unlike a typical hostel, there was no shared kitchen, instead collecting all guests and staff together for shared “family style” meals. High Andean mountain trekking of varying levels of difficulty was the main attraction of the area, and so the common meals facilitated opportunities for sharing experiences and advice about the many options available for guided explorations of the region.
The owner/proprietor was a spiritual Ecuadorian man offering traditional needle tattooing to guests in the evenings, accompanied by the perpetual passing of fine South American ganja. Crackling fires in each of the buildings, a river-fed wood fire hot tub, and a giant hammock deck provided plenty of relaxation for weary bodies after a long and often wet day hiking and climbing. Llamas wandered the grounds outside, and dogs curled up next to travellers enjoying a constant stream of belly scratches.
I didn’t have an interest in spending the time or resources on any sort of significant mountaineering objectives, which is common in this area. I have my personal thoughts about guided mountaineering, which cascade down from the objectively broken system of high altitude tourism (read: Everest). Admittedly, there is a deep level of hypocrisy to my line of thinking, as I have absolutely no idea where the line should be drawn on this topic. Regardless, I believe the highest points of our beautiful planet are special places, and I would love to see them remain that way. With the totality of technology that blankets the Earth today, romantically I dream of places that are thin of air, yet thick of old world adventure, mystique, and challenge. Where the skill of the adventurer should match the obstacles of accessibility.
And I’ll be sure to ponder this further while I’m ecstatically riding my snowmobile across a kilometres-wide ice cap glacier, gleefully hopping out of a helicopter to access a remote backcountry skiing lodge, or aiding up a bolt ladder to climb a rock face well beyond my skill. But for some completely arbitrary reason, a high mountain summit represents something different to me, and I hold it in a different regard.
Hey, we all need to define our own realities, right?
Back to the topic at hand of Ecuadorian mountaineering, I possessed no judgement towards anyone that had the objective to summit Cotopaxi, or the even bigger objective of the other Ecuadorian classic, Chimborazo. I’m fortunate to spend a significant amount of my life in the mountains at home, and the drive just isn’t there to spend my vacation on a 12 hour midnight slog on a guided summit push through altitude sickness. I was just stoked to be in the presence of such a majestic monument of our planet.
I did have my own objective that definitively highlights the hypocrisy of my preceding words: to get higher than I have ever been.
An alternative to summiting is to join a tour to travel by pickup truck from the hostel at 3500m to mid-mountain on Cotopaxi at 4500m, and hike up to the toe of a glacier on the mountaineer’s route at 5000m. A true “adventure” it was not, but it was a superb day in a surreal landscape, and an opportunity to meet some friends that I would connect with again later on my trip.
Entrance to the National Park
The driver of the second truck carrying guests on the tour got rowdy and made a failed attempt to pass us…
Amazing to think this landscape is roughly 50km off the equator
A lone Ecuadorian Andean Wolf
Looking up at the summit and the “Refugio”
The squad posing at the 5000m top-out of the trail
Returning back to the hostel, the weather was uncharacteristically clear and dry, which lead to a super fun afternoon into evening of incredible views, good food, mediocre yet plentiful wine, equally plentiful ganja, lots of laughs and typical hostel games and shenanigans, all wrapped up with a late night spring-fed hot tub soak. By the time I was ready to call it for the night, the sky across the valley was illuminated with an incredible star scape, and I was able to muster the energy to get the camera out to capture some Milky Way shots, and an overnight timelapse that captured the Cotopaxi climbers snaking their way up to what would have been an absolutely incredible sunrise at the peak.
The date was Feb. 29th, 2020, the day of the first recorded death from the novel Coronavirus in the US.
The next morning, I woke to more clear skies, which was apparently a rarity this time of year, and fortunate as I was about to hop back on two wheels and venture off with only a very rough idea of the path ahead. I wanted to get to the “Quilotoa Loop” as my next destination, but I was unsure about the best path to get there, which roads were suitable, the weather, and how far I could reasonably travel in a day. All things that would be very helpful to have confidence in when embarking on a solo motorcycle trip in a place like the remote high Andes, but fortunately, the world does still have room for certain levels of adventure, even today. There was no wifi or cell service at the hostel, so I didn’t have the ability to do much planning before my next leg, but I knew roughly where I wanted to end up, and felt ready for a trip into the unknown.
Felt cute, might delete later
I had decided to try for the more rugged entrance to Quilotoa, and a highly recommended hostel in Inislivi, “LuluLlama Mountain Lodge”. Unfortunately, the weather and the surprisingly terrible road conditions decided otherwise. After an hour heading south on the pan-American Highway and a warm lunch of rice and chicken soup, I headed back off the pavement into a familiar scene of progressively terrible weather. The road was significantly worse than anything previously encountered, with deep 2-3 foot tire ruts and significant erosion permeating the steep and winding mountain “road”. The rain had started to fall as well, and besides the odd person walking their herd of sheep, I didn’t see much in the way of outside help if things went sideways.
So it was time to turn around and come up with a different plan.
Feeling like a little more Internet-aided organization was in order, I decided to head to the nearest city, Latacunga, which had a pleasant historical district and some good value restored hotels in which to regroup.
Rockstar Parking
A beautiful restored colonial villa made for nice accommodations at $30/night including breakfast.
Tiramisu gelato soothes all wounds after getting shut down on your day’s primary objective
Rejuvenated through ice cream and pizza, the next day I felt ready to tackle the more straightforward (read: paved) road to Quilotoa. What it may have lacked in sketchy adventure, it more than made up for in terms of quality motorcycle riding: nearly empty, beautiful winding pavement through some of the best scenery you could ask for.
And barely any rain!
I stopped for lunch at the “crown jewel” and namesake of the region, Lake Quilotoa, and quickly decided that, although it was a beautiful spot, the town itself and local accommodation left something to be desired, and so I decided to keep moving to the idyllic-sounding peaceful mountain town of Chugchilan.
Lunch above Lake Quilotoa
Stunning Lake Quilotoa
I had read about a nice ecolodge in the town of Chugchilan, just another 45 minutes down more beautiful winding mountain road, called the Black Sheep Inn, so I pushed on to check the place out. It exceeded all expectations.
It turned out to be fortuitous timing to arrive at Ecuadorian ‘Rivendell’, as I could feel my health deteriorating as the day went on. I arrived with a light fever, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. At first I assumed it was the altitude, but it seemed to persist for quite some time even though I should have acclimatized by then. By the time I walked back to my room after dinner, I was extremely dizzy, and spent all night with a brutal fever and very intense stomach pains. I have no idea what caused this stomach virus, as I had been extremely careful on that trip about what I was consuming, but in these places, it’s not that hard to come down with something.
What I did know at the time was that my plan to complete the Quilotoa Circuit and head to the party/adventure town of Banos was put on hold. I was very accepting of this new reality, as the surrounding area looked absolutely sublime, and the hosts at the Black Sheep lodge were amazing. The volunteer hosts were a French family of three, travelling up the America's in an old Westfalia with their three year old daughter. They had been on the road for over a year already, and had no plans to stop. Communal breakfasts and dinners were shared with the other guests, which was only one other couple one of the nights, and as much as seven another night.
I ended up spending the rest of my moto week, three nights total, at the Black Sheep, venturing out for day trips from there exploring the surrounding countryside when I was feeling solid. There were some beautiful hikes, and some great riding exploring off-the-beaten path mountain roads. The nighttime fever, dizziness, and intense stomach pain continued through my stay, but besides feeling like absolute death at times, it was a great place and experience.
I ended my Ecuadorian Andes adventure with one final long, windy, and soggy ride back to Quito, which proved to be fairly tame and uneventful, besides the fact that my phone’s camera decided that it had had enough of being rattled around mounted to a motorcycle on questionable roads, and, I assume, ran off with a local alpaca to start a life together in the Quilotoa hills, as I never saw it (function) again after that.
I dropped off my bike, collected my surfboard, and sat down to try to figure out my next move to get myself to the coast. My good buddy and surf travel extraordinaire from Vancouver, Pete Raab, had recommended a town called Ayampe on the coast as a more chill variation to the extremely popular party surf destination of Montanita, just an hour north along the coastal highway. I found a seat on a flight to the nearest major city of Manta for later that day, as otherwise I was looking at a very long and convoluted series of bus travel, and a few hours later, I was stepping off the plane and shoving a rather large surfboard into a very small Uber, in search of a place to stay for the night, catching a bus to Ayampe the following morning.
Ayampe lived up to the hype as an idyllic surf town, and it would have been easy to stay there for an extended time, as long as nightly partying wasn’t your thing. An endless clean sandy beach, constant hammering surf swell, and just enough small cafes and restaurants to keep you fed, hydrated, and on occasion, entertained.
As I walked up to my jungle-enveloped hotel, Finca Punta, far above the beach at the edge of town, it was immediately clear that an ayahuasca ceremony was taking place in the beautiful gardens. As an outsider, it was definitely very interesting to observe this scene walking up after a long few days of travel. It took a moment to comprehend what was going on through the haze of incense, as spiritual travellers explored their inner minds through the stillness of meditation, or more erratic interpretive dance and movement. I didn’t linger to observe, and continued on to check in to the hostel, which turned out to be a similar test of mental strength and perseverance, due to an awkward and significant language barrier with the sporadically available staff.
This experience was definitely something I considered for this trip to, along with Peru, the cultural epicentre of the sacred medicine of ayahuasca, as someone who holds a lot of significance in the exploration of ones own mind through psychedelics. I have experienced countless deep, profound experiences through LSD and psilocybin, and have had numerous incredible breakthrough journeys with DMT, which is the main psychedelic found in ayahuasca. For a few reasons, the idea of “psychedelic tourism” can sometimes leave a bad taste in my mouth when I consider it, and so it hasn’t been something I’ve been actively looking to pursue in the past. Just like high altitude mountaineering, I 100% support the practice when done safely and respectfully, and harbour no judgement towards any person who has taken this experience. But the concept just hasn’t resonated with me to the point where I have wanted to actively seek it out.
Truth be told, I was not in a mental state to take on such an intense experience, regardless of my opinion on the matter. By that point, the stress and loneliness of solo travelling, coupled with my body still feeling pretty wrecked from night after night of sleepless fever dreams, had put me in a bit of a dark place. It had been a pretty intense winter, collecting the pieces after my relationship with Faith ended, working through some pretty deep soul searching to understand myself better, and where I wanted to be. The livelier Montanita may have been a better spot for me at the time, as the distractions and easy social connections would have kept my mind preoccupied, but sometimes it is best to meet these things head on, and work towards a better understanding of your state through mindfulness practice, and the simple beauty that is surfing.
Also, I had been keeping in touch with my French friends I met at Secret Garden Cotopaxi, who happened to be arriving in Ayampe the next day, so I was stoked on having some friendly faces around. This lead to some solid good times, as the town did happen to have a bit of a sporadic scene, and we got to see some great live music, including an insane house party where the entire town showed up, including a massive fire, live funk band, and terrible trance DJ playing through until sunrise. Was definitely pissed off at my phone’s camera running off with that damn alpaca that night, as I wasn’t about to carry my nice Fuji around with me, and the party was quite the spectacle.
Always good to be back on the West Coast
One key final decision about my trip itinerary remained: The Galapagos.
Although it was one of the main deciding factors in choosing Ecuador as a destination, confusingly I had been on the fence about it ever since, based on various reports I had heard before my trip. But everyone that I met travelling enthusiastically told me that I would be a complete idiot to miss it if I could make it happen. So after a few days of deliberating on various options, I came to my senses, yelled “YOLO!!”, and booked a flight from Guayaquil International Airport to the capital of Galapagos Province, San Cristobal.
The date was March 9th, 2020, the day of the first reported COVID-19 death in Canada. On that day, Bonnie Henry’s message to BC was to avoid travel on cruise ships, and that there was a good chance that cruise ship season would be impacted that year. Italy was at the peak of their crisis in handling the caseload and extremely high mortality rate, and the stock market was in the midst of its massive slide. In hindsight, the signs were there that things were going to get ugly. But the WHO had not declared a pandemic at this point, and the general consensus from many experts was that the spread could be contained through minimizing travel from hotspots.
So off I went to one of the more isolated island chains on Earth, to frolic with the tortoises, iguanas, blue-footed boobies, and hammerhead sharks, as the entire world plunged deeper into a global crisis.
On March 11th, the day of my flight, the WHO declared the COVID-19 outbreak as a pandemic.
Pandemic in Paradise: Home-Quito-Cotopaxi
While the definitive global crisis of the modern era spread across the globe, I ventured off on a solo adventure around Ecuador. In my typical fashion, I had only decided on the trip a few weeks prior, after looking at my upcoming work schedule, and felt the need to scratch that traveller's itch.
Why Ecuador, you ask?
The initial choice was Sri Lanka, although that was quickly moved to the back burner when 24 hour travel itineraries with layovers in China looked to be the typical path to the Teardrop of India. Even in early February, the idea of transiting through China seemed like a poor choice for a vacation plan based on the International news headlines of the day.
So, like many times before, my attention drew back to Latin America. Costa Rica was the first consideration, as the Envision Festival was taking place in late February, with surfing opportunities abound. Last minute accommodation options for Envision looked to be limited to sweltering general admission camping at that point, and I was really craving something a little more adventurous than another trip to Central America, and a tropical "transformational festival" that likely felt a bit like a sweatier California (saying that, I absolutely would love to check out Envision Festival some day).
A quick bit of research on popular surf destinations in Latin America lead me to Montanita, Ecuador, a small Pacific town with a reputation for consistent waves, and even more consistent partying. I'm not one to put much of a focus on the latter when travelling, but it seemed like it had strong potential, and after considering the inclusion of the Galapagos, plus the incredible Ecuadorian high Andes, Amazonian rainforest, the compact size of the country, and ease of transport, it quickly became my top pick.
I found inexpensive flights on Air Canada through Toronto direct to Quito, though unfortunately the return ticket would provide no use in my escape during the impending shutdown of… well… the entire world.
More on that later.
The remainder of February was a good chance to catch up on work, and spend some quality time around Squamish with Noots before taking off.
Feb 17th: Trail Running around Brohm Lake to the Tantalus Lookout, and potentially the last time I would see good friends like Mike and Audrey in the flesh for a long time.
Feb 22nd: I bought us season passes at the Sea to Sky Gondola
Feb 22nd: Lighthouse Park with Noots en route to a Canucks game with Ryan, where we absolutely destroyed the Bruins and drank their sweet sweet Boston tears
Feb 23rd: Nootka and Ignatius made great strides in patching up past grievances and acting like good friendly cousins
I'm including these here, as it is really is strange in this moment to see how strikingly different my life and the world is today compared to when these events took place. I can no longer freely see friends like Mike and Audrey, and will be completely cut off from lovely wee Meta and her darling Ignatius for quite some time, as she protects herself and battles yet another incredibly difficult obstacle as a high risk of infection with Cystic Fibrosis. Attending a professional sports event with 20,000 fans surrounding you is likely to be a completely foreign concept for some time. Even Lighthouse Park in West Vancouver is closed, along with many other public places.
Feb 26th, 2020: Endless beautiful views in Toronto
Flying to Quito, Ecuador through Toronto was relatively uneventful; a nice contrast to the return journey. The plan was to spend a day and night exploring Quito, then pick up a motorcycle rental and spend a week exploring the high Andes mountains and villages. After that, I didn’t really have anything set. I had brought my surfboard, with the intention on spending a significant amount of time on the coast, and the Galapagos Islands were still in the mix, though I hadn’t committed and bought a flight at that point.
Quito is the political and cultural capital of Ecuador, and at an elevation of 2850m, is the second highest capital city in the world after fellow Andean locale, La Paz, Bolivia. Built on the side of a volcano, its beautiful "old town" historic centre is designated a world heritage site, and located just 25km from the equator.
I spent the day wandering around "Old Town", checking out the sites and sounds. The city exceeded all expectations, and I was immediately enamoured by the place. The architecture was rich in diversity, the food was excellent, the people friendly. It is relatively small and easy to get around, especially with the modern convenience of Uber and ubiquitous cell phone coverage.
I was immediately reminded of my atrocious Spanish by every taxi/Uber I sat in, which remained a frustration for the remainder of the trip. I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll likely say it again: I need to take a damned Spanish class!
On a recommendation from a few locals, I ventured up to the top of the town to Cafe Mosaico for the nicest cheeseburger and onion rings romantic dinner for one I’ll likely ever enjoy. I met up with some fun locals I had chatted with earlier at an Irish Pub for some local pints and games of pool, ending up at a nightclub for the full local city experience. A full value day made for a solid start to the trip, and I managed to escape at a reasonable time for a solid sleep, ready to kick off the moto adventure the next morning.
After breakfast at the surprisingly comfortable Hostal Masaya, I headed over to the moto rental shop (Ecuador Freedom) and picked up the bike to head off on a seven day tour around the Ecuadorian high Andes. The Suzuki DR650 dual sport is the big brother to the DRZ400 I previously owned back in Squamish, so everything felt relatively familiar. It ended up being the perfect bike for the trip, as I spent a lot of time off-road, though running up and down the arterial Pan-American freeway for sections at 100-120KPH meant the bigger bike was much more comfortable.
Ended up rather overdressed compared to the typical local rider, but I was happy to have the extra gear for the many sections of sketchy road ahead.
Within minutes I was reminded of why I love traveling by motorcycle. The immersion within an environment is so complete. The sights, sounds, and smells constantly surround you; a sensory bombardment that is at the same time chaotic and tranquil. Besides short legs on the Pan-American divided freeway, cruising at 120kph, the riding pace is relatively slow both off and on the pavement, providing a pace suitable for picking out small details that could otherwise be missed.
I find that many of my favourite aspects of travelling abroad are the subtle things that seem just so culturally distinct, reminding you of how narrow your experience is when considering the other 7.5 billion people spread across the globe. Countless vendors walking up the rows of stopped vehicles at traffic lights selling school supplies/children’s toys/candy/chips and even ice cream from bins up and down a major divided highway. Livestock herded to and from market with surprisingly deft control through traffic. A group of children in a long row, laughing and playing leapfrog as they walk home from school on a narrow, winding mountain road. Roadside food vendors grilling chicken legs alongside corn-on-the-cob with questionable sanitization and “food safe” practices. Dogs. Everywhere.
For the first day of riding, my destination was a hacienda-turned hostel, Secret Garden Cotopaxi, that looked absolutely incredible, up in the highland plains surrounding Cotopaxi National Park. Escape from the city was relatively painless, as Quito is a relatively small and well organized city. Within minutes I was on a divided highway with reasonably light traffic heading south on the Pan-American Highway, chasing the rains that generally picked up in the mid-afternoon. Besides waiting in a long toll booth line unnecessarily (this one was free for motos), Google Maps took me to my exit off the highway without a hitch, and I was soon out in the countryside, winding around on a mix of surfaces from Roman cobblestone to loose gravel to dirt, abandoning pavement much earlier than anticipated.
“No worries” I thought. '“The skies are clear, the bike sturdy, and this road is definitely easily rideable…”
“As long as it doesn’t start to pouring rain, everything should be cruisy”
Looks a lot like rain…
Famous last words… As I got closer to my destination, the clouds rolled in, and things started to look ominous. Thunderclaps echoed across the plains. The roads continued to degrade. “When did I loose cell service?” I wonder.
As soon as the skies opened up, and the heavy mountain rain started to fall, Google kindly led me through a gate with signs to a cattle farm, and one that said “Secret Garden Cotopaxi” which appeared to be the right direction. Another 15 minutes of soaked riding through varying depths of sketchy mud still had me confident in my path, as the road seemed to be leading directly to the location of the hostel. I arrived at the farm, which appeared to be about 200 metres from my destination where, looking confused, a farmer and his dogs came out to greet me, and with the language barrier such that only broken English/Spanish and wild hand gestures were effective, I determined that Google was honest about the location of the hostel, but not about the road on which I should ride to access it. I would have to return to the gate and come back around on an alternate road.
There was no connection to finish the final couple hundred meters connecting the farm to the hostel, with a cattle fence blocking the path, and the farmer was not interested in helping me build a jump.
Turns out the “Secret Garden Cotopaxi” sign from earlier had an opposing arrow I had somehow missed while blindly trusting my California-based digital navigator.
As the thunder continued to increase in volume and frequency, and my body temperature starting to drop, I started torquing on the throttle more on the return ride, which only lead to my rear tire slipping out in the mud, and chucking me off the front over the bars into a face-first baseball slide into “mud” base. Picking myself back up, I was relieved to see that both myself and the bike seemed unscathed. I was ready to get the hell out of there and into a warm hostel and a cup of tea, so I didn’t waste any time before righting the bike, finding the correct road to the Secret Garden (at the time I felt the name was well earned), and cower on my bike under torrential rain and thunder to the safety of the hostel.
I wanted a bit of an adventure, and day one delivered the good.
Fortunately, I had just arrived at a truly incredible destination, complete with toasty wood stoves, natural spring-fed hot tub, wonderful large communal dinners, a classic social hostel atmosphere filled with great people, and quality trekking and climbing around the many peaks of the surrounding area, including Cotopaxi itself.
Pandemic in Paradise - Prologue
The world feels like a drastically different place today, compared to the day of my last post on January 26th, 2020.
On that day, a novel Coronavirus, later called Covid-19, was an interesting but distant news story. A total of 56 million people in cities across the Hubei province of China had been placed under lockdown, and Hong Kong shut the doors to its local Disneyland. The global death toll was 56, with a total of 2,000 cases confirmed, with the first cases being reported outside of China in the US, Taiwan, Thailand, Japan, and South Korea.
Three days earlier, on January 23rd, the WHO declared that the outbreak “did not yet constitute a public emergency of international concern”, and there was “no evidence of the virus spreading between humans outside of China”.
Well… shit.
At that time, it was insignificant enough that it wasn’t worth a mention in any of my writing, though I remember being profoundly fascinated but the fact that China was able to impose such draconian measures of control over their population when they completely locked down the city of Wuhan, population 11 million. Today, less than two months later on March 25th, 2020, with four hours notice, India announced a complete ban on leaving home for all 1.3 billion residents of the country over the next 21 days.
Canada maintains a more trustful approach, shuttering high risk businesses, recommending social distancing, though fines and the criminalization of defying imposed quarantine rules are becoming commonplace.
The total case count, likely significantly underreported, currently sits at 462,781 with 3,290 in Canada. Globally, there have been 20,896 deaths, a similar number to that caused by influenza in a recent typical year.
Due to the warranted closure of many businesses, the collapse of global tourism and air travel, and a poorly timed price war between the Saudis and Russia in oil market, there have been massive impacts to the economy. Current projections in the US show a spike to 20-30% unemployment. Ski hills are closed, festivals cancelled, restaurants, bars, music, climbing gyms, parks, and professional sports are now shuttered for the foreseeable future. It is impossible to predict the cascading effects this crisis will impose on the world.
But, for me, by far the most devastating news has been progressing this past week. The overall community has been pressuring people to avoid trips into the backcountry, to reduce any potential strain over health workers overburdened by demands, and lacking PPE to protect themselves from the spread of the virus. The Canadian Avalanche Association will stop reporting on conditions in an effort to discourage backcountry travel. And later this week, there is a major storm rolling in with low temps, and I'm locked away for weeks dealing with a constant stream of stressful news, shifting global paradigms, American spring break morons, Chief-hiking ladder dipshits, choppy video calls, and fucking Trump tested negative from what could have potentially made this whole situation more palatable.
Seems like perfect fucking time to check out and go splitboarding.
I say this (mostly) in jest, and agree with the "just stay home" position being recommended across the board. I have Nootka here at the house, and targeting some more isolated spots to walk with him. I am extremely lucky to be in the position I'm in: business in my field will likely see a corresponding bump, as organizations expand their remote workforce options, along with the security implications involved, and I have a comfy house with a derpy dog on the edge of beautiful forest.
A veritable Covid paradise.
Speaking of paradise, and moving away from a topic that has been, and will continue to be, beaten to death quite some time, I have been busy since my last post. I returned from a fantastic adventure around Ecuador, culminating in an exciting pandemic-level escape back home. Earlier in February, snow conditions lined up for some incredible days of sled and shred, including a memorable mid-week hut trip with a tight crew to mountain paradise.
Feb. 2nd, 2020: The calm before the storm
Back-to-back solid days at Brandywine was a great reminder that it truly is an epic place for sled lap snowboarding.
At that time, we had no intention of practicing any sort of social distancing.
A sub-peak of Mount Fee
Cayley
My boy Mike Martinson was in between jobs, so we were planning to get out on a mid-week Duffey area hut trip at some point during the break. We decided to jump on the opportunity that week to do a strike for one of the smaller cabins, and chatting with Mike H. and Dylan F., we made plans to head out Wednesday midday to Pemberton. The trip started with some light drama when ole Master Falls went incommunicado as we were ready to leave, as he do. Holmes isn’t the patient type when it comes to anything keeping him from snowboarding, so he left him and started the drive to Pemberton solo. After Dylan finally emerged from radio silence, a few terse words were exchanged, yet in the end all was forgiven, the Canadian economy got a boost from a third pickup truck’s worth of gas now required, and we regrouped at Blackbird Bakery in Pemberton for provisions and Chai Tea.
All loaded up, with high levels of stoke from Mikey on a snowmobile adventure to pow town, getting his first solo rip on a sled since he was a wee lad in flatland Ontario
The ride in was relatively uneventful, and we even managed to break trail right to the hut. Dylan was bored of everything going so smoothly, so he smashed his sled and his brake fluid reservoir into a tree about 50 metres from the hut just to add that little bit of extra spice we know and love with snowmobile-related activities. We had no plans to use the two-stroke billy goats once we got to the cabin, so Dylan’s lack of brakes were immediately forgotten, to be dealt with on the return journey four days hence.
We arrived late in the day, so all that was on the agenda was to set up shop and enjoy cabin life.
Minimal recent snowfall, erratic freezing levels, high winds, overcast skies, and light flurries in the forecast, left us unsure about the quality of goods we were about to be delivered. But that’s the game we signed up for, and we were ready for whatever we got.
You’re not living right if you don’t find yourself lost in profound existential thought staring deeply into your splitboard binding from time to time
”For Love of Sport” became the catchphrase of the day. Conditions were what I would describe as “sub-optimal” skinning up and riding down the west facing wind-scoured aspect we started our day on. Hammering winds while constantly sliding down the slope on icy traverses made much of the skinning experience rather unpleasant, but this group was not averse to a little type 2 backcountry suffering, and we carried on with a twisted level of humour and good times were had regardless.
“Beats a day at the office” is another useful phrase to mumble to yourself as you are temporarily blinded by blowing ice crystals, failing to maintain purchase on an icy sidehill traverse.
Holmes, rocking a makeshift broomstick ski pole after his 11th collapsible BD pole exploded in his hand that morning. His stoke level obvious.
Dylan considering that if he just maintained radio silence, he’d be warm and comfortable at home
Fortunately, our second lap on an east aspect fully delivered. Visibility was shiite, the wind was hammering, but snow quality was great and we were treated to a long string of face shots right back to the cabin, where after a few beers and noticing that it was still only mid-afternoon, we realized we probably should have kept splitboarding.
But cabin life is a good life, and we did have some important tasks to do…
Woodmaster Falls gets to work crafting Holmes some replacement poles. With a nice special “touch” at the end.
After seeing what choosing the correct aspect would deliver, we were pretty amped for the next day, especially with clearing skies in the forecast.
The sun cryptically illuminated a potential objective for the next day.
We decided to get up on top of one of the local peaks, hoping we would get lucky with the variable cloud cover.
Skinning got rather steep
Sadly, we did not get the clearing at the right time, but always feels good to top out on peak.
After a few hundred meters of survival mode descent, things opened up and the snow was banger!
Once back down to the lake, we yo-yoed a few more laps of fantastic gully farming to finish up a big day. Peaks and pow!
From blower overhead to the Grateful Dead
Another quality brodown evening in the cabin testing the insulation and HVAC capabilities, complete with night 3-of-3 of boil-a-bag Indian and excessive peanut butter consumption, and a few highly competitive rounds of Monopoly Deal. The next day was departure day, but with the cabin cleaned and all packed up and ready to go in the morning, we ventured off for our objective spotted the previous day.
Things started off with a steep skin in mature forest to gain an upper ridge.
Gaining the ridge, we were treated with clearer skies and beautiful views
Paradise
Beautiful section of trail breaking
That slope was steeper than it looks in this photo… I think…?
The upper south facing slope leading directly back to the cabin was quite literally wind fucked, and the east facing skiing that we skinned up looked to be all time, so we changed plans and ripped back down the way we came. It would only be a short skin back to the cabin from the valley bottom, and we had plenty of time. And besides a short section of gully survival mode at the bottom, the run was sensational.
For someone who enjoys both adventurous outdoor pursuits, and posting about it on the Interwebs, I am absolutely atrocious at maintaining a GoPro with a charged battery. So I have precisely zero minutes of footage from this trip… I’m including this awful cell phone video for posterity, as evidence that yes indeed, the snowboarding was top quality.
The exit was as uneventful as the entrance, even with Dylan in the lead with negligible braking abilities. These smooth operations don’t exactly make for great storytelling, but it sure is nice to avoid the all-to-common clusterfucks that often accompany these missions. I assume Martinson has been saving up funds for a snowmobile of his own ever since this expedition, as he seemed to enjoy himself immensely harnessing the small town redneck Ontario days of his youth, gaining a somewhat skewed view of how wonderfully efficient they can be for these types of missions.
And, as of the day of this post, there’s a chance that was the last snowboarding for the 2019/2020 season. Whistler has closed for the season, along with Cypress Mountain, both of which I had 2 day passes that went completely unused. Backcountry travel has become somewhat of a faux pas, now that healthcare workers are at their breaking point, and search and rescue personnel are not equipped with proper PPE to protect from viral transmission.
Fortunately, before the shit really hit the fan, I was to embark on an adventure to a warmer type of paradise: three weeks travelling in Ecuador that nearly became a fair bit longer…
#hutlife
As an IT Consultant living in the modern world, with a number of computer-based hobbies (photo editing, music production, and now “blogger”…), it can be difficult to disconnect. A constant stream of emails, meetings, Facebook/Slack/Hangouts/Signal/Teams and SMS messages, as well as the odd panic phone call from a client in distress, inundate day-to-day life. Throw in mortgage payments, hydro bills, home repairs, tax management for myself and my company - Atwell Systems Inc, GST payments, strata fees, investment management, client invoicing and follow-ups, and the odd sick puppy, and this whole adulting thing gets a bit fucking ridiculous.
Sure, I manage to get out a lot, but the anxiety-inducing torrent of news, communications, and social media doesn’t stop when I walk out the door. Generally, this level of nomadic connectivity allows for a very desirable work-life balance with my career and lifestyle, but holy shit does it ever feel good to take an extended break every now and again.
Hiking into the wilderness and camping provides an excellent escape; an intimate connection with the world around you. But anyone that speaks fondly of mid-winter camping is either an insane masochist, or blatantly lying to you.
Enter the backcountry cabin.
Trophy Hut - Wells Gray Provincial Park
Providing at-your-doorstep access to incredible skiing at high elevation, and a cozy warm abode to dry yourself and gear, the only messages received are generally of the esoteric, spiritual kind. British Columbia is somewhat of a haven for these huts, often built on crown land as a memorial to past adventurers that would likely be extremely proud to carry such a namesake. Most are secretive and off the map, built by a collection of motivated friends with their own resources and time. Others are managed by various outdoor community groups, such as the Alpine Club of Canada, UBC Varcity Outdoor Club, or the BC Mountaineering Club. Finally, moving up the socio-economic chain, commercial ventures are developed and maintained by private families and organizations, and range from basic and affordable, to five star experiences for the truly elite.
Needless to say, I was stoked to get the message from Audrey and Mike that they were planning on celebrating Audrey's 30th birthday at the Alpine Club of Canada's Wendy Thompson Hut, in the Duffey Lake area near Pemberton, BC. What better way to celebrate with good friends than hauling back-breaking amounts of beer, whisky, boxed wine, jars of peanut butter, frozen tuna, portable speakers, camera equipment, and Monopoly Deal, deep into the backcountry for a few nights of debauchery and laughter surrounded by a backyard winter playground.
Giles C., Smash Mountain alumni, was even making an appearance, down from Rossland for the experience. Chef extraordinaire, philosopher, bass music head, slingshot slayer of overly aggressive grouse, gorilla-legged mountain speed demon, and ruthless conqueror of the Scoville scale; the only thing that makes him sweat is if someone happens to be talking about rock climbing near him. He's a great friend, and fellow splitboarder, so it was an absolute treat having the man in attendance. We met in Vancouver on Friday evening, and headed up the Sea to Sky, spending the evening in Squamish getting organized, wasting no time diving into light philosophical discussions such as the concept of free will (spoiler alert: it doesn’t exist).
We had a plan to try to get North of Whistler Saturday night to reduce travel on the following cabin approach day, and the snow conditions were all time with high avy danger on the coast, so we loaded up the sled to double into a new zone up the Soo Valley with a buddy, Sam. We had a nice little adventure up the beautiful valley to a warming hut, but struck out on the ski line choice below the hut, and ended up with a piss poor ratio of actual snowboarding to survival wallowing through creek gullies and flat clearcuts in chest deep snow. Hey, you can't win them all, and good times were still had all around. Sometimes on a high avalanche risk day, playing it safe is the right choice at the expense of good snowboarding.
January 18th, 2020 - Soo Valley warming hut
Things started out pretty decent…
But quickly turned into this…
After a night in Whistler posted up with the ridiculously gracious hosts at Sam's place, we headed up the road to Pemberton and Mt. Currie Coffee to organize and caffienate. Our tactic turned out to be a wise one, as the remaining six people from our party coming up from Vancouver were stuck in Whistler traffic chaos, and were significantly delayed, so we packed our bags and sipped an extra Americano, and hopped back in the truck to wind our way up the Duffey Lake Highway, roughly a 3 hour drive from Vancouver, and the epicentre of ski touring in the Coast Mountains.
January 19th, 2020 - Marinating sashimi-grade ahi tuna steaks outside a coffee shop is exactly the culinary experience I have come to expect from this man
The hike into the Marriott Basin, home of the Wendy Thompson Hut, is roughly 7km long and 550m elevation gain. Much of the approach is quite flat, with two steep sections in the middle and end of the tour. Not a particularly demanding day, but with a number of inefficient choices weighing down the pack, my lower back was happy to see the cabin after a little under 3 hours. Giles had recently completed a heinous 15.5 hour approach to a cabin in Jasper National Park, and my mind was constantly questioning the abilities, and level of mental stability, required to complete such an endeavour.
We got comfy, cranked the wood stove, and settled in to wait for the rest of the crew. There were a number of beginners, and even a couple on suffer slippers (i.e. snowshoes), so we were expecting the procession to make a fashionably late entrance.
Charcuterie prepped and served for our late arrivals
The weary crew arrived after dark with smiles on their faces, and libations and celebrations began.
Giles forgot the sprouts in Sam’s fridge in Whistler, so the seared tuna burgers were completely ruined.
Spirits were high the next morning, as the squad prepared for a day of reasonably organized pow hunting. In order to maximize efficiencies on these trips, multi-tasking is key. Staying loose and limber along with proper hygiene in the backcountry are extremely important, as well as “looking hella dope” throughout, and I encourage the viewers at home to take careful notes of Halfdan and Audrey’s high level of skill in achieving all three with this instructional video:
With the squad looking so fresh and so clean, it was time to hit the skin track.
The crew - ready to “get pitted”
We dug out a pit to analyze the snow pack. Tests came back as expected, with a persistent deep layer down 90-100cms that was only reactive under significant force. As a general rule: if you’re hurting your hand on the shovel during a compression test with no results, chances are the stability is pretty good. Shout out to Halfdan for sacrificing himself demonstrating this point.
And so we shred…
Some of the crew took the “get pitted” mantra quite literally.
Good times were had on the warm-up, so it was time to head back up for another. We were fortunate to be met with gradually clearing skies, and the true beauty of the Marriott Basin began to present itself.
We decided to take our chances with the “sucker hole” of visibility and clearing skies, and venture up into the alpine, to look around, and as the best approach to access some lines across the basin to finish the day.
Credit to Giles with the assist for a solid Photoshop cleanup on this one. Skimo bro in training, Mike M, showing how it’s done with the ski-on skin removal.
We wrapped up with an apres beer outside, taking in the last of the day’s light, followed by an excellent curry prepared by Mike, and some brutally cutthroat Monopoly Deal.
The following day included some more - you guessed it - backcountry skiing. To steal a line from the birthday girl used two nights earlier during an in-depth review of the tuna burgers: it was “fucked good”.
Another bonus of our Kootenay-based renaissance man, Giles, joining the trip, was there was another f-stop addict out there snapping pics, which is somewhat of a rarity for whatever reason with my typical crew. Here’s a few of his shots of yours truly from weekend:
Following a completely acceptable morning shred, we gathered back at the hut, packed and cleaned up, readying for departure. After an obligatory group photo in front of the hut, we split into smaller groups and flailed our way back to the highway through a somewhat ridiculously varied mix of conditions. As far as splitboard exits go, it wasn’t the worst, though it definitely wasn’t the best, and we did opt for an initial skin up to get one more short shot of quality skiing, bypassing the long flat section by the lake and meadows.
The Jan. 2020 Wendy Thompson “Get Pitted” Squad
Back at highway after a reasonably success split-ski out on the flat road using the “single skin technique”
After a celebratory beverage at the truck, it was time to descend down to Pemberton, where we assumed civilization was still waiting for us, along with all the associated creature comforts. Netflix, Skip the Dishes, 5g cellular networks, 24 hour news cycles, conference calls, Internet banking, and Trumps’ shit stained Twitter feed were all about to crash back into our lives.
“I think we have enough Cliff Bars left to survive a few more nights if we just turned around…
How much coffee do we have left? Shit, only that much?
Fuck.
Well, back to modern society then.”
I’m well adapted at this point to survive the modern era’s bombardment of media and technology, but I’m just not capable of living without my morning JJ Bean Fair Trade Organic Dark Roast.
As we roll into Pemberton, my cell phone explodes in a chaotic fireworks display of alarms, advertisements, notifications, communications, proclamations, and spam. My primary client had managed to forget that I had notified them of my trip through multiple streams of prior communications, and a cascading tone of desperation through seven well-crafted voicemails told the story of a disrupted “guest wifi” that needed immediate resolution.
Those poor guests. Their level of suffering sounded unimaginable. Cellular data being consumed at an alarming rate, likely primarily by desperate onsite auditors trying to reduce workplace boredom commonly associated with auditing, by using their personal devices to view the streaming TV series du jour.
Truly a crisis of biblical proportions.
Kidding aside, that is the crisis-filled, anxiety-ridden life we live today. We don’t have to outrun a predatory lion while on a hunt to feed our families, or worry about marauding bands of tribespeople from the next valley over. Evolutionarily speaking, we’re still the same “fight or flight” Mesolithic homo sapiens, we’ve just found new stuff to fight, and different methods of escape.
The fight against bad wifi rages on, but fortunately the flight to peace, solitude, and face shots is often just a short journey away.
Local Shreds Do Good
There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.
Back in Squamish following the Revelstoke mission, conditions on the Coast were starting to look a bit less grim, with a series of major storms and reasonable freezing levels filling in our local hills.
Game on!
I have a… confusing relationship with snowmobiles. They are expensive, dirty, unreliable, exhausting, noisy, high maintenance, and annoying to store, with a short season of use. They are also completely mind blowing in their functionality to access winter terrain in the Coast Mountains. Long logging road approaches through milder temps at low elevation mean that splitboarding from the truck involves a lot of type 2 fun at the start and end of your day. Backcountry skiing has become so popular that the “adventure” aspect of touring looses a bit of its allure when you are travelling to the finite list of popular areas that provide good skiing with reasonable approaches.
Snowmobiles are capable of transporting large amounts of gear for overnight trips, or for hauling camera equipment and warm food into the backcountry. I have experienced incredible adventures, and been in some spectacular locations, thanks to the utility of the snow pony. Although generally not recommended due to a lack of options for rescue if things turn south, late day exits under alpenglow-soaked peaks and breathtaking alpine sunsets represent some of the more powerful experiences I’ve had in the mountains.
The concept of a snowmobile can seem at odds with the idea of natural preservation and an environmentally conscious backcountry traveller, but a lifetime of operating a snowmobile likely pales in comparison to the carbon footprint of long-distance flight travel. Major ski resorts cause massive ecological impacts on the local environment. Heli and cat skiing operations consume significant resources to bring powder addicts to their snow-covered Valhalla. Deforestation, big agriculture, and a huge mess of other issues all contribute to our dire environmental state. As much as I agree and support individuals doing their part in reducing their impact, we are at the mercy of our governments, including massive developing nations such as China and India, to put forth and enforce suitable regulations for industry, likely at the cost of growth.
Politically, I feel quite hopeless even here in Canada, objectively one of the most progressive countries on the planet. Our first-past-the-post voting system is antiquated, and I find myself begrudgingly voting on a purely strategic basis (The ABCs of Canadian voting: “Anything But Conservative”), instead of objectively looking at my local candidates, and voting for policy decisions that matter most to me: ones that impact our natural world. Sure I benefit from a 1% reduction in the small business corporate tax rate, and eliminating MSP payments. Legal dope is pretty cool. But the biggest mistakes us humans are making right now, more specifically in developed Western nations, is our lack of conservation efforts to protect our natural resources, and the devasting consequences of climate change. Although I’m generally a free-ish market capitalist, and have little confidence in the efficiency of government bureaucratic processes, this is one area where adequate regulation is absolutely necessary.
Snow machines provide a powerful and efficient way to explore our beautiful planet and local winter environs. I believe that myself, and the other backcountry enthusiasts I travel with, become more of an environmentalist with each passing moment spent in the wilderness. A culture of protecting these areas from commercial interests, maintaining one of the very few remaining accessible large scale wilderness areas, runs deep in our blood.
I just wish Elon would stop tweeting insider trading and smoking dope with Joe Rogan, and hurry up and build a half-decent battery powered snowmobile… Come on dude, you revolutionized both the space and auto industry, and even built a fucking flame thrower. You should be able to design a god damned electric snowmobile whilst taking your morning dump. I don’t even care if you make it look like that friggin’ Cybertruck.
Wow, this took a serious tangent… I guess sometimes I need to get creative in convincing myself of the value of snowmobile ownership…
January 9th, 2020 - My happy place: Upper Squamish Valley
The Squamish Valley is a magical place. Turn left off Hwy 99 just north of Squamish, and you are presented with access to a wilderness area that is hard to wrap your head around, especially when you consider it is only an hour's drive from the major cosmopolitan centre and 3 million denizens of Vancouver. It is a recreational paradise, with branching forest service roads of varying levels of drivability following the major river drainages that lead to nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Looking north, there are few traces of civilization up the entire Coast Mountain Range extending up to the Alaskan border and beyond.
No services, no cell coverage, no cafes or gas stations or even permanent residences once you hit gravel at the hydro station and wind beside the upper reaches of the Squamish and Elaho rivers.
Every time I turn off the highway and make my way towards the Squamish/Paradise Valley split, I am filled with an excited buzz, reminiscing on past adventures, or ridiculous festival memories at the Squamish Valley Campground events from the past.
Hills dont get much more “gnar” on the Coast than Mt. Cayley
We got in late, snow conditions were low, and it was sunny and beautiful, so we enjoyed a cold one under the imposing face of Cayley, was briefly entertained by Dylan “part Gore Tex model, part rambling mountain hobo” Falls (see below), and turned back home for the ride out.
Back in Squamish, we managed to accumulate a bit of snow, at least at higher elevations around the house. Nootka was also going through some serious withdrawal from the white fluffy stuff after Revelstoke, and I was more than happy to oblige him. He sure is one goofy idiot, and man do I ever love him… You’re mostly here to see photos of a derpy Goldendoodle, right?
Earlier in the week, I had noticed that the Alpine Club of Canada had started a new Squamish chapter. I had utilized a number of ACC training sessions and courses over the years, which represent incredible value if you’re fine with instruction from amateurs sharing their own personal knowledge, as opposed to mountain schools taught by ACMG certified guides. And as it so happened, they were holding an Introduction to Backcountry Skiing and Snowboarding that very weekend, and had posted in their Facebook group asking for an experienced splitboarder who would be interested in volunteering. I foolishly signed up before reading the itinerary, specifically the 6am Starbucks meetup time, though I managed to caffeinate myself appropriately, and ended up having a great day.
As mentioned, backcountry snowboarding is my passion, and I love sharing that with others. It was a great experience seeing everyone’s stoke level, I learned a few things myself, and made a number of great new local connections. The Red Heather meadows above Squamish is a just about the perfect spot for an introduction to this wild and wacky pursuit; with a ridiculously easy approach and exit, cozy warming hut in the lower meadows, and safe ski slopes that tend to be just too short and low angle to be worthwhile skiing. But I guess that’s just motivation to get back out and experience the full value experience of the steeps and deeps.
Feeling the karmic snow Gods appeased through time served with the uncomfortably early start supporting the blister-saturated ACC hoard the day before, it was time to collect my pow-dues. The following two days were stacked with superb snowboarding in completely adequate amounts of coastal cold smoke. The snow machines commendably demonstrated their prowess in the efficiencies of moving powder addicts towards their primary goal and purpose. My snow pony even had the decency to wait until she was back in the driveway before the throttle cable snapped, immediately transitioning from an incredibly efficient purpose-built backcountry machine, to a completely useless driveway filler with low-interest monthly payments.
C’est La Vie.
Sunday was forecast to be overcast and low visibility, with high avy danger, so we gambled on a trip back out to that same wonderful world below Mt. Cayley up the magical land of the Squamish Valley, to shuttle lap the famed “Burke’s Bumps”, named as such for legendary local skier Sarah Burke, who sadly passed away in 2012 from injuries sustained in a halfpipe crash. She was a pioneer in freeskiing, helping bring the Superpipe event into the Olympics, and an absolute bad ass. This skiing zone - also absolutely bad ass.
Consisting of a logging road winding up a series of cutblocks, when the snowline is deep and low enough, it makes for an incredible mix of lower angle to quite steep pillow skiing heaven, as the snow accumulates on the fallen trees and stumps leftover from the clear cut.
Say what you want about the logging industry, but they sure make one hell of a ski run.
January 12th, 2020 - “Burkes Bumps” in full effect
As always, the trip up Squamish Valley is a part of the adventure. We managed to recruit Team Dad, with new father Andrew C. and soon-to-be new father Sterling P. coming along for the journey. Sterling and Caroline’s due date was two weeks post, so a strict bi-hourly satellite message was a hard requirement for the day to ensure a hasty retreat was possible, to avoid the unfortunate situation of our whole crew’s demise as Caro systematically murders us all for being privy to Sterls missing the birth of his first born.
Team Dad - I assume Andrew teaching Sterls how to properly craft a makeshift diaper out of Gore Tex scraps
Fil demonstrating new and exciting ways to instantly coat $1200 worth of outerwear in road grime.
Dylan milking the moderate amount of new snow on the Squamish Valley Main FSR
Fil doing his best to wash off that road grime
Andrew C. demonstrating the Dad’s can still pop
The Squamish Valley Ski Lift open for business
It was a superbly excellent day, but apparently my sleep deprived offering to the Alpine Club had not fully paid out yet, and the next day I was treated to another perfectly acceptable sled-shred at an atypically deserted Metal Dome area off the Brandywine Snowmobile Club area. I’ll choose to forget the fact that it was -20 and the hand warmers on Sterling’s sled, which I had to borrow due to the aforementioned re-purposing of my snowmobile, apparently felt it was too cold to show up to work, on a day they were needed most. Besides some painfully cold moments, the day was filled with lap after lap of “best run of the season” moments, down a perfectly consistent grade of steep tree and open glade shots.
My hands were in no mood for camera time, and the crew was moving at a pace of top-to-bottom party shredding, that no further documentation was needed. Days like this I wish I was more consistent with the Go Pro… I did manage to snap a quick video though in the trees:
January 13th, 2020 - Metal Dome
My confusing relationship with snowmobiles takes on a new found clarity following days like these. I love the quiet solitude of splitboarding. The slow pace climbing through the mountains, the clean fresh air surrounded by snow covered Douglas Fir and Cedars, moving with a cadence lost deep in thought. But it’s hard to put into perspective the level of pure ecstatic joy that comes with lap after lap of sublime backcountry snowboarding. And for that, snow machines have the ability to bring that to you in such a way that is hard to downplay or ignore.
The local areas around Squamish, the town I call home, are special places to me, filled with past memories and future objectives.
Guess it’s time to fix that damn throttle cable.
In Search of White Gold
There really is nothing quite like a day travelling through snowy mountains with your snowboard.
There really is nothing quite like a day travelling through snowy mountains with your snowboard.
March 2017 - Full shaka stoke On the Pemberton Ice Cap
I will fiercely argue this point with any rock climber, mountain biker, kayaker, surfer, Buddhist monk, raver, NFL quarterback, rock star, porn star, or Gang Starr. I have not had the experience of holding my own child in my hands, but to be honest, I’m quite suspicious of that experience as well. My snowboard has never shit itself, kept me up at night crying, nor will I ever have to worry about an older greasy drug dealing snowboard trying to date it.
But I have to admit that I cannot definitively say to a parent that they were wrong about little Thomas, and that they foolishly wasted decades of their life better spent snowboarding. Though for now, I’ll keep assuming I’ve made the right choices so far.
Skiers have a decent case, but sorry gang, snowboarding is just more fun. You can remind me I said that when you happily ski past me wallowing in the snow, stuck in the flats. At least I’ll have all that extra time to sweat and think about what to write about in my fucking blog…
December 20th, 2019 - Squamish - A late start to the season had things looking very green in the valley
Same day, higher elevation
The 2019-2020 Winter Season started out with the worst run in recent memory. The positive spin was that the dry clear weather made for great Autumn mountain biking, and I was so busy with work clients that I didn’t have the chance to get stressed. But by the time we were into late December, I was starting to get a bit squirrely. An short mission up Brohm Ridge, provided a good opportunity for early season gear adjustments. We were blessed with just enough of a break in the clouds to get a fun little sled roop in very deep and heavy coastal snow, beneath the imposing massif of Garibaldi-Atwell, overseers of Squamish and the upper reaches of Howe Sound.
Dylan looking for the next front coming in to fill in the early season conditions. Mount Garibaldi lurks behind.
Fortunately, only a few days later, we managed to catch that beautiful alignment of sunny skies and fresh snow. The pack was still very low, but with the help of our trusty snow ponies, we were able to get up into Tricouni Meadows to quickly farm a number of 200m runs in the morning before the warming sun baked our south facing treasure.
Garibali-Atwell - Lords of Squamish. Brohm Ridge from a few days prior snaking down off the front side.
Following a break for Christmas, and some time spent in Squamish waiting for conditions to improve as the Coast just kept getting more wet, I decided to take a proactive approach to setting up a base camp in a more northerly and cooler clime. Picking a clear day on the roads, Nootka and I dragged Winston the Argosy up to Pemberton for the season, and met Brian T. from Calgary, who had continued down to the wet coast from Revelstoke just to drag my sorry ass back to that very same interior town days later when conditions on the just were not lining up.
Winston feeling quite small under the gaze of the Pemberton’s resident bad boy - Mt. Currie
Greasy Snoot, attempting to warm up in Winston on a chilly evening.
After a cold night in Winston, and a late morning recovery sleep, we made an attempt to get a half day ski tour in at Hanging Lake, just south of Whistler. The conditions looked very sub-optimal, with wet snow and minimal coverage at the base, so we opted for a short hike around Alexander Falls, also in the Callaghan area.
You know you’re an obsessive dog parent when you have 15 good photos of your pup on a walk to a waterfall, but none of the waterfall itself.
With the coastal forecast continuing to look grim, and what looked like an entire province worth of white fluffy stuff condensing around Revelstoke, we decided the best course of action was to head inland. Brian’s patience with my next-level faffing during this week is deserving of a medal. In my defence, I was single parenting a 1 year old hyper-social Goldendoodle, and my life was rather in a state of turmoil. After a heavily medicated 9:30pm crash on New Years Eve fighting a cold, I welcomed in the next decade with a series of fever dreams and an early alarm wake-up, swinging through North Vancouver to collect Mike M. for the journey eastward.
The masses hiking the recently opened sub-peak at Revelstoke Mountain Resort
As the avalanche danger was sitting quite high, my single parent status with the pup, and the fact that I had never visited the ski hill, we opted for a day at Revelstoke Mountain Resort. We found some pow stashes in the trees, good times were had slashing up groomers and jumping off things, and I appreciated the fact that lift tickets were a “reasonable” $109 instead of Whistlers $185, alongside comparably minuscule lift lines.
It snows a fair bit in Revelstoke. We got to see that first hand. Taking things slow with the significant avy risk, we spent a day shovelling out the house of our gracious hosts, Lucas and Robyn. I took Noots cross country skiing, where a minor altercation with one of the staff with respect to Nootka’s manners on an off-leash trail escalated to us making a somewhat early departure. Didn’t think I was still cool enough to get kicked out of places like a Nordic Centre…
The next day we ventured out in search of our real objective of the trip: steep and deep backcountry skiing and snowboarding. The ski out was a bit grim, but boy was it ever good up high. A true bucket list tick for me, touring among ancient massive cedars in majestic primary forest. The large spacing between these sentinels of time creates a cathedral-like open atmosphere when moving up the skin track. I’ll likely say this many times here, but there is a magic to the mountains in winter, covered in clean white lines, deathly quiet.
Days like this really help relax about a winter season that can be consumed by an obsession to get out and charge every possible moment you can. Friends, work, partners, responsibilities, personal hygiene, all take a back seat when the Mad Pow Disease strikes. I’m working hard on my “modified Buddhist” approach, where I try to push away the desire to constantly search for the next rush, the next hit, the next adventure, and be present in the moment. Paradoxically, happiness is something I’ve really struggled with over the years, primarily due to the angst-ridden existential crisis that is my brain. Avoid focus on the past and future, instead being content with what you have now.
But this addiction runs deep. It’s snowing again, and like I said, there really is nothing else like quite like it.
"Better Late Than Never"
These words are ringing in my head quite a lot these days.
I’ve had the intention of putting together an adventure travel/photo blog for years now, but the simplicity of traditional social media, and likely just a lack of time and focus, has continually pushed it down the priority list. Entering a new decade, midway through my 30s, and sitting at a major crossroad, it seems the timing is apt to take on a new challenge/project.
….
“Better Late Than Never”
These words are ringing in my head quite a lot these days.
I’ve had the intention of putting together an adventure travel/photo blog for years now, but the simplicity of traditional social media, and likely just a lack of time and focus, has continually pushed it down the priority list. Entering a new decade, midway through my 30s, and sitting at a major crossroad, it seems the timing is apt to take on a new challenge/project.
My intention is to collect and formalize my rather chaotic journey into a format that is my own; free from the structure, advertisements, and ethical dilemmas of social media, with an aesthetic look and storytelling format that I think better represents life as an adventure to be shared. The Gallery will hold a collection of my favourite images captured over the years, and I will likely aim to separate into different categories eventually once I dive under the hood of this whole Squarespace template business. Content from over the years is scattered and incomplete between social media or local backups, and so I would like to build out a more proper timeline of events in an Archive to bring everything together.
I have no intention of monetizing this. Like most primates, I hate ads. I also hate the idea of outside pressure to generate content. If someone is interested in any photos, please let me know, and I am happy to share them at full resolution.
And with this being January 2020, the year of “clarity”, and finding myself at another significant crossroad in life, writing has a strong grounding effect, providing thoughts, ideas, and reflections a solid platform to drift down upon, instead of spinning endlessly in the mind. I’ll try my best to keep it light, and keep crap like that last sentence to a minimum.
Christmas Day 2019 - The Beginning
Let’s start at the beginning, which is generally a good idea for any story, unless you’re Tarantino writing Pulp Fiction. Plenty of time for mountains and oceans and sunsets and all that later. Christmas 2019 was spent with my folks and grandparents on tranquil little Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada. So with respect to my personal story, this really is “the beginning”.
Don “The Hustle” Russell, my grandfather on my mother’s side, is a retired geophysics professor and former department chair from UBC, with a lifelong passion for Computing Science. One of his early mentors convinced him that computing was likely to remain a small niche field in academia and beyond, though tectonic plates were likely to be around for some time, and so professionally he remained in geophysics, though he’s been what I would consider a top shelf “computer geek” for decades before I even knew “Command and Conquer: Red Alert” existed. Over Christmas, we noticed he is still using old assembly-level punch cards used in 1960-70s era computers as scrap note paper.
He also apparently shares my love for downhill skiing, which I asked him about when I saw his sweater, but apparently he only skied once as a teenager, and barely lived to tell about it. Total poser.
Virginia “The Muscle” Russell, famed children’s book author, makes one helluva minced tart. She has in fact written multiple published children’s books, including a wonderful story of a boy, loosely based on yours truly, who discovers an ancient First Nations artifact in the same old giant cedar that sits on the same old Mayne Island property I enjoyed this Christmas. He then embarks on mystery-soaked adventures, learning more about our local First Nations people. A fantastic opportunity for children to learn more about the ways of the ancestral peoples of the beautiful unceded lands we’re lucky to call home.
”Voices on the Bay” is the book. I don’t think she was operating as “The Muscle” back in the early 90s, so you’d likely find it under “R”, for Russell. Quality stuff, and I’m beyond impressed and inspired by her initiative and creativity to spin up a story that helps preserve a fading culture.
Linda “The Friendly Foghorn” Jones (that one is actually real) put in a fair bit of work getting me to where I am today. She’s put up with a lot, and after 35 long years, I still stress her out on a daily basis. Thanks Mom.
Christmas Day, 2019. The Gulf Islands: reason #12,498 that BC is a magical place to live.
I left Mayne on the 25th to collect my grease-snooted floof-monster, Nootka (@nootkathefloof), as Faith took off for Indonesia that evening. After some hard goodbyes, I carried on to Squamish to figure out my life, and get organized. For a variety of reasons, admittedly I had been putting off and neglecting keeping Smash Mountain organized of late (or ever?), so it felt really solid to post up there for a few days, organize, and decompress.
12/27/2019 - The Greasy Snoot In full affect
Well, this seems like as good place as any to wrap up. Shit, I actually did it. I started a fucking blog. I think I can get into this. But that did take a full evening, and an hour past when I told myself I would stop and try to sleep… I didn’t exactly have a ton of spare time before, and I seem to be getting more busy every year… Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea.
But I guess it’s better late than never…
Build a cabin in the air. That is where it should be.