The Honesty of Winter

A journey into the wilderness is the freest, cheapest, most non-privileged of pleasures. Anyone with two legs and the price of a pair of army surplus combat boots may enter
~~ Ed Abbey ~~

There is no doubt that it is good to be home - in Alaska. But it took a while to settle into the rhythm of winter - the sequestered life during the 5th coldest January on record and the uptick in energy as the light and relative warmth bathed interior Alaska in February.

The hard-packed trails of the Yukon Quest dog race now lure us into the wilderness, offering tantalizing thoughts of just staying on the trail among the grey jays, moose, and northern lights - away from the the myriad of busy human things that capture our attention each day. In retrospect that may have been safer than driving home.

While Abbey has long provided inspiration, I have to admit I moved beyond his army surplus combat boots for Alaskan adventures - a FatBack bike booted with big "Fat Larry" and "Endomorph" tyres to keep it floating across the snow.

I think I've always felt safer out there in the wilderness, but will need to resort back to those combat boots for a while after Ben slid into oncoming traffic - writing off a bike and two cars. As Abbey would have said "the road was the problem."

The Same Cold

In Minnesota the serious cold arrived
like no cold I'd previously experienced,
an in-your-face honesty to it, a clarity
that always took me by surprise.
On blizzard nights with wires down
or in the dead-battery dawn
the cold made good neighbors of us all,
made us moral because we might need
something moral in return, no hitchhiker
left on the road, not even some frozen
strange-looking stranger turned away
from our door. After a spell of it,
I remember, zero would feel warm—
people out for walks, jackets open,
ice fishermen in the glory
of their shacks moved to Nordic song.
The cold took over our lives,
lived in every conversation, as compelling
as local dirt or local sport.
If bitten by it, stranded somewhere,
a person would want
to lie right down in it and sleep.
Come February, some of us needed
to scream, hurt ourselves, divorce.
Once, on Route 23, thirty below,
my Maverick seized up, and a man
with a blanket and a candy bar, a man
for all weather, stopped and drove me home.
It was no big thing to him, the savior.
Just two men, he said, in the same cold

~~ Stephen Dunn ~~

The Outer Coast

The Ocean

"I am in love with Ocean

lifting her thousands of white hats

in the chop of the storm,

or lying smooth and blue, the

loveliest bed in the world.

In the personal life, there is

always grief more than enough,

a heart-load for each of us

on the dusty road. I suppose

there is a reason for this, so I will be

patient, acquiescent. But I will live

nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting

equally in all the blast and welcome

of her sorrowless, salt self. "

~~Mary Oliver~~

There's ocean all around the city of Vancouver, but you have to go west to Vancouver Island to get to the place where there is only ocean. An early morning ferry from Horseshoe Bay does part of the trick - although I recommend avoiding the acrid concoctions of Karma Organic Coffee. The next step is a three hour drive through some of the most beautiful scenery I've experienced on the roads of the northwest coast. Along the way is Cathedral Grove, they say it is a postage stamp of the old growth that once was.

On the other side of the island is Tofino and the Pacific Rim National Park. Here is Chesterman's beach, open ocean, and everything in between.

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

"The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveler hastens toward the town,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;

The little waves, with their soft, white hands

Efface the footprints in the sands,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls

Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;

The day returns, but nevermore

Returns the traveler to the shore.

And the tide rises, the tide falls."

~~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~~

Prayer

Om!

That (Brahman) is infinite,

and this (universe) is infinite.

The infinite proceeds from the infinite.

(Then) taking the infinitude of the infinite (universe),

It remains as the infinite (Brahman) alone.

Om! Peace! Peace! Peace!

~~Shanti Mantra~~

The Cosmic Dance

(Dance of Krishna, Dance of Kali)

Two measures are there of the cosmic dance.

Always we hear the tread of Kali’s feet
Measuring in rhythms of pain and grief and chance
Life’s game of hazard terrible and sweet,

The ordeal of the veiled Initiate,
The hero soul at play with Death’s embrace,
Wrestler in the dread gymnasium of Fate -
And sacrifice a lonely path to Grace.

Man’s sorrows made a key to the Mysteries,
Truth’s narrow road out of Time’s wastes of dream,
The soul’s seven doors from Matter’s tomb to rise,
Are the common motives of her tragic theme.

But when shall Krishna’s dance through Nature move,
His mask of sweetness, laughter, rapture, love?

~~Sri Aurobindo~~

Prayer (from the Prophet)

Then a priestess said, Speak to us of Prayer.

And he answered, saying:

You pray in your distress and in your need;

would that you might pray also in the fullness

of your joy and in your days of abundance.

For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether?

And if it is your comfort to pour your darkness into space,

it is for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart.

And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer,

she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping,

until you shall come laughing.

~~Kahlil Gibran~~

Contesting Basho

“Winter solitude

in a world of one color

the sound of wind.”

~~Matsuo Basho~~

In an Inupiaq village on the north coast of Alaska you are always reminded of family. I sit in a living room in Wainwright, surrounded on two sides by a collage of watching eyes - nearly a 100 years of family, both deceased and alive. An old black and white print of a grandfather and grandmother in traditional parka and kuspuk. The faded color photo of a husband looking fine in his button-down shirt. Glossy pictures of daughters at graduation, sons graduating into the marines, Semper Fidalis , and a multitude of smiling granddaughters and sons.

In the open kitchen, 3 green thermoses, 2 coffee makers, and 2 kettles are testament to a life spent in the cold - or perhaps just a strong desire to drink coffee and tea. The former perhaps most plausible in light of the parka bundled on the floor that dwarfs the chair I am on, or the calf-high Cabella's snow boots that look like they were made for giants. This is the land of winter's cold and the warmth of family.

This is also the land of no trees, although the village is blessed with one of the biggest chain saws I've seen. Only eight of these in the world - "not a precision instrument" the operator said as he trenched down hoping to miss, and sometimes missing the village's waterlines.

Today, sunrise was at 12:25pm and it set again 2 hours later at 2:26pm. The moon was up all day. Outside of town, I walked past the snow fences that guard the village from drifts that could engulf houses - but in their resting moments act as screens for the light and colors of dawn -

and dusk-

Amidst the white - gold

Between the flurries - laughter

luminous winter

This was a brief two weeks of life in the far North of Alaska, among the short days, long blizzards, and warmth of a people blessed with the art of sharing.

A Riddle - On Snow

"From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin.

No lady alive can show such a skin.

I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,

But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.

Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear,

Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare.

Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,

The foulest impressions I easily take.

My parent and I produce one another,

The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother."

~~James Parton~~

Life, Death, and Renewal

Pacific Salmon

"River-born fugitives, red muscled under sheathing silver,

alive with lights of ocean's changing colours,

the range of deeps and distances through wild salt years

has gathered the sea's plenty into your

perfection.

Fullness is the long return from dark depths

rendering toll of itself to the searching nets

surging on to

strife on brilliant gravel shallows

that opened long ago behind the failing ice.

In violence over the gravel,

under the burn of fall,

fullness spends itself,

thrusting forth new life to nurse in the stream's flow.

The old life, used utterly,

yields itself among the river rocks of home."

~Roderick Haig-Brown~

Last weekend we saw part of the biggest run of sockeye salmon in a century. They had toiled out of the ocean where we sail on weekends, upstream for endless miles, through the coastal rainforest, into the mountains, lakes, and flats, to their natal spawning grounds on the Adams River, where they flirted for a moment, spawned, and died.

For me, after a night in the caboose that was reborn as a hostel, I returned home to see the signs that another summer was drawing to a close. Termination dust had appeared above Vancouver, and leaves glistened yellow, red, and everything in between. Now a week later, most of the leaves have fallen, and with a chill in the air, the biking trails are slick and the armwarmers are on.

Autumn Song

"Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,

The sunset hangs on a cloud;

A golden storm of glittering sheaves,

Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,

The wild wind blows in a cloud.

Hark to a voice that is calling

To my heart in the voice of the wind:

My heart is weary and sad and alone,

For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,

And why should I stay behind?"

~Sarojini Naidu~

It is now time for Diwali - a festival of light as darkness encroaches. This is Lakshmi's festival - the Hindu goddess of light, beauty, good fortune and wealth. A time to be thankful for what we have, and have experienced as our journey's continue.

A perfect morning at Hakai

"Morning Poem"

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging ---

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

~ Mary Oliver ~

This is where my journey west ultimately led - to West Beach on Calvert Island on the central British Columbia coast, within the Great Bear Rainforest, and where north America plunges down into the Pacific. This is the region where the Heiltsuk, Wuikinuxv, Nuxalk, and Kitasoo First Nations live. This is where, with friends and colleagues, I can now stare out from the lush green of the land into the uninterrupted abyss of the ocean. It is where we all smile and marvel, but above all are inspired by the patterns, rhythms, and fabric of a place. A place that is continuing a timeless transition of reinvention.

This is what I wanted.

"The Morning Walk"

There are a lot of words meaning thanks.

Some you can only whisper.

Others you can only sing.

The pewee whistles instead.

The snake turns in circles.

the beaver slaps his tail

on the surface of the pond.

The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.

Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.

A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler.

Or put arms around old oak tree,

Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few

touching, kissing words.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Pondering Reality

Wrapping up the road trip, I found myself pondering a quote that Eggers had used in Zeitoun - a quote from the Qur'an. It sat with me as I rolled out of Wyoming and into Montana and Idaho, and then on through the grain fields of eastern Washington state. It sits with me now, so I write it down as I start this new West Coast life.

"In the name of God,

The Merciful, The Compassionate,

The Reality!

What is The Reality?

What would cause you to recognize

what The Reality is?

The Grand

The Faithful

The Yellowstone

A previous reality

The end

The Road is Life - Kerouac

Whenever I fly from the east to the west coast, there's the undeniable feeling of freedom and space when I arrive. I had pondered if I'd feel this same difference on the slower transition provided by a drive...or if at the slower pace the transition would be imperceptable. Maybe it was the chaos of Chicago traffic that meant by the end of that particular day anything would have been different.

That evening while leaving the tranquil cafes of downtown La Crosse I found my answer...


Immediately after crossing the Mississipi River, Highway 90 wends it's way up onto Minnesota. After a little over 1000 miles of driving, the sky suddenly felt that much higher, the air a little thinner, the green fields and trees a little greener, traffic quieter (and there were certainly no more of the incessant tolls), and the driving easier. I was happy...

...or as Kerouac would say:

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

I drove on, the Air Conditioning crisp on my face, marvelling at the sheer abundance of corn lining the voluptuous contours and curves of Minnesota - occasionally dotted with a red barn or elongated aluminium silo. I passed the mighty Missouri river, but kept driving into a sky that just got bigger until I was finally stopped by tornado warnings and a storm that forced me into a motel for the night.

The next day Badlands came out of nowhere - this was now quintesentially the west as the flat of the prairie transitioned to relief of Badlands and the Black Hills of the Dakotas. The darkness at night brought out the stars and planets - Venus, Mars, and Saturn.

The first overlook

Warnings...

Lots of flowers this year

Wallace Stegner may best sum up the West:

“ There was never a country that in its good moments was more beautiful. Even in drought or dust storm or blizzard it is the reverse of monotonous, once you have submitted to it with all the senses. You don’t get out of the wind, but learn to lean and squint against it. You don’t escape sky and sun, but wear them in your eyeballs and on your back. You become acutely aware of yourself. The world is very large, the sky even larger, and you are very small. But also the world is flat, empty, nearly abstract, and in its flatness, you are a challenging upright thing, as sudden as an exclamation mark, as enigmatic as a question mark.”

Mount Rushmore next and the little town of Keystone. For those Alaskans, think of McKinley Village but increase the tourist heinosity by an order of magnitude...or two. The carved faces are undeniably impressive though, epitomizing the mantra "build it and they will come."

That night, Devil's Tower glowed in the evening light as I arrived and walked the trail around it, whisps of cloud above and a few dozen circling vultures. The crowds were not here - they were all in Keystone. I'd had the tower's image in my mind since I started climbing and saw a picture of Catherine Destiville stemming one of the dihedrals...or maybe it was close encounters...either way...an impressive spot.

Prairie dogs burrow through the flats around Devil's Tower...and a few are working on their chop stick handling...

...while others just get to know each other better...

...and then back on the road headed for Jackson, Wyoming. Settling in to perpetually beautiful scenery, this time through the Big Horn mountains...

...and taking a break for now

"Life must be rich and full of loving--it's no good otherwise, no good at all, for anyone." Kerouac