The God Jar

Some time ago, my friend Lucca gave me what she referred to as a ‘God jar’. Whenever I remembered to, I would jot down something that happened to me on any particular day and throw the note into the jar. It being the end of the year, I pulled out the notes and read them this morning. Wow I am blessed! Here are a few examples:
-Ate the last of my beautiful garden carrots
-Booked our cross-Canada holiday!
-Marigold got her new heart today
-Morning snowshoe with my friend Linda
-Amazing sunrise!!
-New Year’s Eve…on our back deck in a light jacket watching the northern lights
-Walking in sunshine
-Freshly made bread!
-Dinner out with the girls
-Charlotte’s birth…so much love

Anyway, you get the drift. Amidst all the horribleness and sadness this year, it’s great to remember the good stuff too.

Here Comes the Sun

Happy winter solstice everyone. Living in the Canadian north, this is a day of significant celebration for me, since it means the short days (sunrise after 10 a.m. and sunset before 4 p.m.) will finally start to lengthen.

Here are a few random pictures I took today in homage to the sun.

The sun low in the sky in downtown Whitehorse just before noon today.

One of local artist Lise Merchant’s beautiful stained glass pieces from her “Waves of History” collection.

Viewing the solstice sky from the law centre in Whitehorse.

Ted Harrison’s painting “The Great Land”. Isn’t that a glorious sun?

 

Getting Re-acquainted with Ottawa

It’s been years since I was in the nation’s capital, and the last time I visited, it was a horrendously cold January. I remember little good about the city apart from the fact that the Hudson Bay store on St. Laurent Street was conveniently located, allowing me to escape from the wind that was threatening to freeze my face off.

This time, it was early October; the fall colours just starting to show themselves, and the sun gloriously out. I was there for a day and a half of meetings, but took a week-end at the end to re-acquaint myself with this city, which truly has much to offer. Here are some highlights in pictures.

Furry friend at the Canadian Museum of Nature

Beautiful, but I’d rather see them flying around.

Canadian Museum of Nature. Who doesn’t like dinosaur bones?

I have wanted to see this very famous sculpture, done by Louise Bourgeois, for a long time. What a delight to finally experience it outside the National Art Gallery.

National Art Gallery

I love this piece by Luke Parnell of Prince Rupert. It is called “A Brief History of Northwest Coast Design”. The 11 panels tell the story of First Nations people since European contact. Looking from left to right, it depicts a rich flourishing culture, to the periods of repression, to renewal and rejuvenation.

Helen Kalvak: “My Hands” – 1982. I couldn’t help but be tickled when I saw this limited edition print by Kalvak in the gallery. Joe and I have one too! I was initially drawn to it because of the intricate detailing of the tattoos on the subject’s hands. It was only later that I learned Kalvak had Parkinson’s Disease by the time she created this, and so this image of her hands has taken on greater significance.

Art created out of plants and flowers. I love the ‘hair’ on these bison. This was part of an undertaking called “Mosaicanada 150”, located in a park in Gatineau, Quebec (an easy walk just across the river from Ottawa).

More of Mosaicanada 150.

One more…so beautiful!

 

Mad Max: We Don’t Need Another Hero

Was out geocaching and stumbled across this post-apocalyptic landscape. I felt like I was in a Mad Max movie!

My Attempt at 24 (Caches) in 24 (Hours)

Who’s up for a geocaching marathon? I thought I was, so I gave myself the goal of finding 24 caches in 24 hours.

I was perhaps a tad optimistic. One of the first caches of the day ended up being much further away than it appeared. I was not able to find four of the caches I was seeking, and spent too much valuable time on them when I should have just moved on. And then my phone/GPS app died on me, cutting my day a bit short.

All in all, I walked about 18 kilometres today, found 16 caches, and saw some beautiful parts of our city.

Geocaches come in all sizes…from tiny pill bottles…

…to containers the size of picnic coolers!

They can be hidden in hollowed-out tree stumps…

…inside equipment or pipes…

…underneath interpretive signs (magnets hold them in place)…

…or underneath fallen trees. Lots of other places too.

This takes the prize for being the cleverest one I found today. It looks like a bolt, right? I glanced at it a few times before I clued in that it was out of place. I reached under the park bench where it was located and gave it a pull. It turned out…

…the top of the bolt screwed off, allowing a tiny log book to be stored in the hollow bolt! The metal pin is there so the finder can remove the log, sign it, and carefully put it back the way they found it.

Not that I needed any reminders, but today there was lots of evidence that I share this city with wildlife. The lid of this geocache has had a good gnawing by some kind of animal. I saw deer tracks, fresh but not steaming bear scat, and…

…was carefully watched by this eagle while looking for a cache. 

Thanks to all those folks who took the time to set up these caches. You provided me with a great day of fun, with only a little frustration. As for those caches that evaded me today, I will be back!

Hiking Back in Time

What started out as driving rain turned, within a matter of about 20 minutes, into a sunny hot evening for my Wednesday night hike. The destination this time was Canyon City, an historic spot on the banks of the Yukon River near the once tumultuous rapids at Miles Canyon. During the time of the Klondike Gold Rush (1896 – 1899) the waters here were the nemesis of many gold seekers trying to reach Dawson City. About 300 rafts crashed against the rocks, and a handful of people died. Some enterprising souls set up a tramline at Canyon City to help people transport their goods around the rapids. They charged 3 cents per pound to have goods hauled on the horse-drawn cars to Whitehorse, about 8 kilometres downstream.

The rapids were tamed once a hydro dam was built near here in the late 1950s, and all that remains of the once thriving community of Canyon City are piles of tin cans and some decaying logs from old buildings. Modern additions include a replica of a tram line and some interpretive signage.

This is a family-friendly walk that should hold interest for anyone. The Yukon Conservation Society provides guided hikes here in the summer. Check their website for details.

Oh, and there is at least one geochache in the area, but I am not going to tell you where it is!

Detail of one of the tin cans. Notice the jagged way it was opened.

An historic photo taken from one of the interpretive panels. This was Canyon City in its heyday and shows the tranway.

Replica of the tramway

Breakfast With a View

There is a reason that Whitehorse, Yukon is known as ‘the wilderness city’. I woke up early this morning itching to walk. A half hour drive and a one hour hike brought me to this spot, where I enjoyed my breakfast.

The hike took me above Fish Lake. If you are planning to walk it any time soon, know that the trail is pretty muddy right now. However it is a short hike that anyone in reasonable shape can do. There is also a geocache at the top that I found; an added bonus.

Walking the Labyrinth

A fellow pilgrim read my lament about the restlessness I have been feeling since returning home from my recent walk in Spain.  She contacted me about a labyrinth she constructed after her first Camino. I decided to seek it out today.

I was stunned by the amount of work she must have put into creating this, and was grateful for the chance to walk it. Like many people, I find contemplative walking to be strong medicine. If I have a problem I am trying to sort through, or if I am stressed or out of sorts, a walk almost always helps.

While I don’t feel at liberty to share the location of this labyrinth, my friend’s work has inspired me to look for a spot close to my home where I could create a similar one, for use by anyone who could benefit from it. A new summer project.

On the Trail of Sam McGee

It was a great day of hiking today along the Sam McGee Trail, just south of Carcross, Yukon. The trail was developed to allow for the use of a tramway, built by Sam McGee in 1905 to service a silver mine. Much of the cable and some of the ore buckets are still there.

It’s a bit of a climb (9 km. of pretty much up) but worth it to see the view over Windy Arm and the surrounding area.

I am watching you.

Still some ice on the lake.

We didn’t make it to the very top since there was still quite a bit of snow up high, but that gives us an excuse to return again later in the summer.

Puzzle Pieces

I went to the book launch last night of my beautiful friend and neighbour, Joanna Lilley. Her new book of poetry, called “If There Were Roads” is an examination of and nostalgia for place and home.

Listening to Joanna read several of the poems last night, it made me think about how little bits of me are scattered throughout the world, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. This I find both comforting and heart breaking at the same time. Does a traveller get to the stage where they are so fractured they can’t be put back together again? Or, when leaving a piece of one’s heart in every place they have been, does that old adage apply:  ‘the more you love, the more love you have to give’? Maybe it is a bit of both.

To all of us attending last night’s reading, Joanna provided postcards of Yukon, to be sent to friends and family who want to visit the place I currently inhabit. Who to choose?

There’s only one way to settle this. Send me a note telling me why you want to visit Yukon. I will randomly select one of you and mail you this postcard, plus if you do end up visiting here, I will contribute $50 Canadian towards your transportation costs.

Joanna’s books are available at amazon.ca or if you are in Whitehorse, they can be purchased at Mac’s Fireweed Books.

The Last Time

I was out for an evening hike tonight and came to a pretty challenging hill. Some people love hills. Typically I am not one of those people. However tonight I decided to take a new approach, playing what I dubbed the ‘last time game’.

I imagined how I would feel if this were the last time I would ever have a chance to climb that hill. I thought about what it would be like if it were the last time I would see the spring buds bursting open; the last time I would see the wild crocuses; the last time I would feel the sand under my feet.

All of a sudden everything became achingly beautiful and precious. It became a great honour to walk up that hill. In no time at all, I was at the top, feeling happy and grateful.

What a powerful tool it would be if I were to try to live my life like that, if only for a few minutes every day?

Camino Withdrawal

I am suffering from a bad case of Camino withdrawal. All I want to do is walk, and walk, and walk. All my life allows me to do at the moment is steal a couple of hours after work or on week-ends to feed my obsession.

How do others deal with this feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction that comes after being on the road for a time?

Touring the Copper Belt

Funny how a person can live in a place for years and not see what is right in front of his or her nose.

Tonight I tagged along on a local tour organized by the Yukon Chamber of Mines and the Yukon Geological Survey. Its focus was the Copper Belt…an area that runs from the north end of Whitehorse to some 30 kilometres to the south. At one time there were as many as 20 small mining operations in this region, and you can still see remnants of some of them today.

First, a science lesson. Limestone was deposited in the Whitehorse area more than 200 million years ago. Then, 90 million years later, magma from the mantle inside the earth started bubbling up. It mixed with the limestone to make granite. Hot fluid seeped from the granite as it was forming. This liquid was full of dissolved metals. The metals reacted with the limestone and voila…copper (and some other metals too).

See how the veins swirled as they were cooling? Beautiful art!

One of these things is not like the others…the round grey and white stone in the centre of this photo is a glacial erratic, carried here by a surging or receding glacier.

Remember “Sam McGee from Tennessee”, made famous in Robert Service’s poem? Actually, Sam McGee was from Armprior, Ontario. He was on his way to the Dawson Goldfields in 1899. He did some poking about while on a stopover in the Whitehorse area and ended up staking a claim at what was to become the War Eagle Copper Mine (now the city dump). If you know where to look (and now I do) you can find the remains of his operation.

McGee wasn’t the first to discover copper in these parts. That honour goes to Jack McIntyre, who staked the Copper King claim in 1898. Think about that the next time you are having a brew at the Copper King Tavern, or are skiing any of the Mount McIntyre ski trails.

Thank you to the Chamber of Mines and the Yukon Geological Survey for a great evening!

Heartbreak Hill

Tonight’s hike…not quite as scary as it sounds and the views were worth the effort.

Discovering the Thrill of Geocaching

I know that geocaching has been around for a long time, but this week was the first time Joe and I gave it a try. It was great fun, and I can’t wait to introduce it to our grandkids.

Getting started is easy…just create an account at geocaching.com, and you’ll receive GPS coordinates for caches in your area. You can go old school like we did and use Joe’s 12 year old GPS, or you can use your smart phone.

Along with the coordinates, you receive a clue as to where the cache might be hidden. On this occasion we were looking for a dead standing tree. This one seemed like a good candidate.

Look what was at the base of that tree. It gave us both a little thrill to see the box. Who doesn’t like finding hidden treasure?

We signed our names in the little notebook, each took a gift, and each left one behind.

Here’s a view of the area where we found this cache, plus a picture of the beautiful wild crocuses we saw along the way. Treasure at every turn.

Where’s our Pride, North America?

It was on a sweltering summer night in 2006 that my husband and I found ourselves in a little neighbourhood diner in Madrid. It was called Las Delicias del Jamon, suitably named given that there were Iberian hams hanging from just about every inch of the place. Those that weren’t curing were being thinly sliced and plated for appreciative customers like us.

Photo from restaurant’s website.

Joe was/is mad for Spanish ham, and devised a plan to bring some home with him. He approached the restaurant owner about how to package it up, and what ensued was about an hour of rapid and lively discussion involving every patron in the place. Everyone had an opinion about how best to wrap this precious product so it would survive the flight to Canada.

What struck me then, and continues to impress me each time I return to Spain, is how much pride the Spanish take in their food.

During our last trip to Spain in March, we sought out – as we tend to do wherever we go – what we call ‘grandmothers’ cooking.’ It’s simple, usually inexpensive, but so, so good! And the people running these humble eateries are almost without exception the sweetest souls you can imagine.

Case in point – Sisco and Dolors, who run Can Vilaro in Barcelona with several of their children. Sisco inherited the restaurant from his parents, and he serves the same recipes they did. Pigs’ feet, tripe, breaded goats’ brains, and pork head with trotters and chick peas are all staples on the menu. This isn’t typical tourist fair of course, so when we returned for the second day in a row we were treated almost like family. Sisco beamed when we told him how much we liked his food and tawny house wine. There’s that pride again.

Sisco and one of his daughters.

First course: sardines on toast

Second course: lambs’ brains

It’s not just in the restaurants that you see the care and attention given to all things edible. Food is displayed and handled in the markets as if it is more precious than any Crown Jewels (which it is in my mind).

The egg lady. Who in North America would take the time to carefully display eggs this way?

In Galicia, there’s a whole festival devoted to celebrating the eel, including a community feast where we were served eel prepared just about every way you can imagine.

Eel are dried on racks, just as First Nations people here in Yukon dry salmon.

Plates of eel at the community feast in Muxia.

North America, why do we settle? Where is our pride in raising/growing, preparing, and savouring the foodstuff that sustains us? Have we forgotten what good food tastes like? How is it that processed and fast foods are ok with us? We can do better. Please raise a glass with me to grandmothers’ cooking and to making food sacred again!

 

Walking the Source of All Paths

I have written here earlier about how difficult I found it to walk on the cobblestones ever present along much of the Camino Portuguese. I have to say though that every one of those cobblestones was worth enduring given that this Camino also took me along the Variante Espiritual (Spiritual Route). It’s a roughly 75 kilometre path that runs from just north of Pontevedra to Padron.

Here’s the back story: locals refer to this as ‘The Source of All Paths’ and the first ‘true Camino’. The legend goes that in 44 AD, followers of the apostle James brought his body here and were guided by an angel and a star up the estuary of Arousa to Padron. James’ remains eventually found their way to Santiago.

Whether you buy the story or not, there is no question about this being a spiritual place. It is hard to be here and not believe in some kind of a higher power.

From Monasterio de Armenteira to Pontearnelas we walked the Route of Stone and Water. There were many old water mills along side a beautiful river. That, coupled with towering trees and the happy chatter of birds, made this one of the most memorable parts of the Camino for me.

Another unique part of this path is that on the final day, there is an opportunity to take a boat down the Rio Ulla to Padron, following the same route that James’ followers took. There are crosses all along the way…some with Jesus facing towards Santiago and Mary facing the opposite way. I have only seen these double crosses in Galicia.

Once in Padron, you can walk a few kilometres to a Franciscan monastery in Herbon, where you can stay the night and be fed both dinner and breakfast all for a donation. We received such a warm welcome from Felix and Anna, who are volunteering there for several weeks. It turns out Anna and I were both celebrating our birthdays that day, and as a result we were treated to the most delicious cake for dessert!

The fate of this monastery seems rather tenuous to me. There were only five elderly friars/monks living there when we visited, the oldest being 96. There was talk of turning the place into a luxury hotel (as has been the fate of some other monasteries in Spain) but recently the Spanish government granted it some kind of special designation, so hopefully it will be retained. The designation also comes with a small amount of money, the first allotment of which was used to refurbish the main altar. As we toured the place, it was evident that the monastery really needed a rather significant influx of cash for repairs and renovations.

To those pilgrims who choose to stay here, something I definitely would recommend, please be as generous as you can with your donation.

The youngest of the monks, who gave us a tour of the facility. He was a beautiful soul who seemed to be carrying  a large burden. It is his job to care for the others here, some of whom have dementia.

The Church at the Edge of the World

If there was any doubt that the folks in Muxia, Spain were ‘people of the sea’, a visit to the Santuario da Virxe da Barca (Sanctuary of the Virgin of the Boat) certainly set the record straight. The church sits on the craggy shore of the Costa de Morte (Coast of Death) in northwestern Spain, just meters from the crashing North Atlantic waves. Inside, model ships hang from the ceiling…everything from fishing dories to a WWII submarine. Since pre-Christian times, people have gathered on this spot to pray for the safe return of their fisher folk.

The name of the church comes from a long-held legend. It is said that the Virgin Mary met St. James at this site and helped him in his work to spread Christianity throughout the region. Then, when the Romans beheaded him, his body was carried in a stone boat to Muxia, where his remains were discovered many years later and taken to the cathedral in nearby Santiago de Compostela. Some of the dates and details don’t add up for me, and there are conflicting legends in northwest Spain about all of this, but who am I to judge?

I was in the church on the evening of Easter Saturday to hear the local choir. Their deep rich voices delivered mournful tunes appropriate to the day. Tomorrow morning’s service would feature a much more joyous repertoire.

This church only recently re-opened, after suffering major damage because of a lightning-caused fire on Christmas Day 2013. The main altar is still to be replaced. As a temporary measure, a life size photograph of what I assume was the original altar adorns the front.

The fire was not the first bit of tragedy to strike this spot. In the fall of 2002, the Prestige tanker spilled an estimated 66,000 litres of oil into the sea, polluting thousands of kilometres of shoreline and killing 250,000 sea birds. Muxia was ground zero for this environmental disaster.

Five thousand fishermen were without work for several years (things still aren’t back to normal according to some locals), and while the monthly government compensation cheques of 1,200 euros helped with the bills, they didn’t prevent the social fall-out that inevitably comes with a community’s loss of livelihood.

A short distance from the church, a large stone obelisk has been erected to commemorate the 100,000 volunteers who came from all over Spain to help with the clean-up. Every day for nine months, people painstakingly scraped oil into buckets. In a country that seems divided in so many ways, it was a remarkable coming together.

The Virgin of the Boat church is not fancy. But it and the rocks surrounding it give off waves of energy that are deeply and inexplicably calming and reassuring. It’s as though the church and the rocks know things that they want us to know too. It would do us good to listen.

What do I know when I am in the place that I can know nowhere else? What does this place know of me that I cannot know of myself? – “The Old Ways” by Robert MacFarlane

Comparing Caminos

I have just returned from walking parts of the Camino Portuguese. I have much to tell you. I will start by offering some observations about how this Camino was different, and similar, to my 2010 pilgrimage along the Camino Frances.

Differences

1. The Camino Frances was, if memory serves me correctly, about 80 percent dirt path. The Camino Portuguese, at least from Porto onward (from where I started), was about 80 percent pavement and cobblestone. The cobblestone in particular was a killer on my feet. After walking on this for three days, my companions and I adopted Plan B, which involved moving further north to an area that offered more dirt and rural walking. It meant we arrived in Santiago earlier, allowing us to walk to Muxia, which I am so happy we did. If you are considering doing a Camino and taking this route, know that you will be doing a lot of road walking.

These were so painful to walk on.

2. On the Camino Frances I travelled by myself. While I spent time walking with people, I had a fair bit of alone time too. This time I walked with three other people. I enjoyed their company very much, but I think for my next Camino (Via de la Plata in 2019), I will plan to go solo. A huge plus of this trip though was that one of my friends speaks Spanish, and this opened up a whole new world in terms of being able to more deeply connect with the local people. I have made a commitment to get serious about learning the language before my next trip to Spain.

Getting to know some local fishermen

3. No need for earplugs! There were fewer people travelling this route, which meant the albergues were not often very busy, and that in turn meant fewer snorers and better sleeps.

My sleeping quarters for a night at a monastery in Spain

4.  The albergues have really addressed the bed bug issue. Seven years ago, these critters were somewhat of a problem. While I was not bitten, I know of others who were. Now, almost all the albergues have rubber covers on the beds, and many provide disposable or cloth sheets.

5. No injuries! It may have been because there was less up and down walking, but my knees gave me no trouble whatsoever this time (unlike in 2010 when my left knee caused me a lot of pain). I didn’t have poles on this second Camino either, so I was a bit nervous about how my body would hold up. I was pretty pleased with how well my feet and knees cooperated.

Cooling my feet in a stream. The blue tape is not because I had an ankle injury, but was merely to hold some ‘second skin’ in place to protect a blister.

Similarities

Same beautiful spring flowers, delicious food, and delightful people. If anything, I found the Portuguese people even kinder and more friendly than the Spanish. I wanted to hug them all!

This sweetheart of a man told us all about the garden he was planting.

Beautiful Tools

These beautiful tea towels were hand woven by a friend of mine. They are wonderful to the touch. The right tools always make the job so much more enjoyable, and I can honestly say I am looking forward to doing dishes tonight!

Geeking Out on Camino Gear

 

Note: I edited the initial list down slightly (note items crossed off) but am struggling to find anything else I can leave behind.

I head off to Spain and the Camino Portuguese in a week, so it’s time to organize my stuff. This post is for the Camino gear geeks among us, and for my own record keeping. It helps to able to look back and determine what was useful and what I could leave behind for a future walk.

This seems like a lot to me, but it is pretty much what I took last time, with a few additions. Items with asterisks are ones I did not have for my Camino Frances walk but wished I did.

1 pair hiking pants
1 hiking skirt
1 long sleeved Marino wool shirt
1 short sleeved Marino wool t-shirt
1 other quick drying t-shirt
1 pair silk weight long underwear bottoms (for wearing with my skirt on cold days, and for sleeping)
3 pairs of thin double lined hiking socks (I know lots of people love thick sock, but the thin ones work best for me)
3 undies
2 sleeveless tops with built in bras
1 fleece jacket
1 ultra light wind breaker
1 rain poncho
1 pair light hiking boots
1 pair hiking sandals to wear at the end of each day of walking*
1 pair shower flip flops
1 fleece hat, gloves for chilly mornings
1 wide brimmed sun hat
1 quick drying towel
First aid kit, strength tape*, knee brace (I had one bad knee during my last Camino)
Laundry kit – sink stopper, 8 large safety pins, and two long shoe laces tied together
Small bar of soap in a tin for body, hair and hand washing clothes
Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss
Hair brush/elastics for hair
Moisturizer, lip balm, sun screen
Tissues
Disposable razor
Deodorant
Nail clippers
Minimal make-up (mascara and lip stick)
Head lamp
Earplugs
Small sewing kit
Duct tape
Passport, tickets, bank and credit cards/pouch for said items
Guide book, journal, pen
Cell phone, charger, adapter for European plugs
Spork, collapsible cup*
Water bottle
Light weight sleeping bag, silk liner
Cloth shopping bag for groceries
Small padlock*- this is more for staying in the hostels in Frankfurt and Zurich on my way home. I never had issues on the Camino with theft.
Small Canadian flag patch* – I have never felt the need for this until November 2016. Enough said.
Scallop shell
Backpack small enough to take as carry-on (the one shown in the photo is the old one I used in 2010. It has since bit the dust and I am using my daughter’s beautiful Osprey bag that I love!)

Maybe:
Hiking poles
Lightweight down jacket – there were times during my last Camino when I had to wrap myself in my sleeping bag because I was so cold. I could do that again this time if necessary, but the jacket would be easier.

Buy there:
Swiss Army knife (can’t take mine on the airplane)
Pilgrim’s passport

Note that apart from my iPhone, which I am taking primarily because of its photo taking abilities, I won’t have any electronics with me. Please don’t expect daily updates. I promise to tell you all about it once I am back home.

The Legacy of November 1995

Jags Brown is a bit of a Renaissance man. He’s a photographer, runner, storyteller, and co-owner of the popular coffee shop and local hangout Jags Beanstalk in Skidegate, Haida Gwaii. He’s also a guide, working for the company that took us into Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve.

At first Jags struck me as being rather quiet and reserved. But as time went along – especially once we arrived at Windy Bay on Lyell Island – stories started pouring out of him; stories that easily transported me back to the fall of 1995.

Jags, photo courtesy of the Toronto Star.

It was in November of that year that a group of Haida formed a human chain across a major logging road, saying no to any further clear-cutting on the island. Jags, who took part in the stand-off, said it was a ‘line in the sand’ moment after more than a decade of frustrating negotiations, court cases, and land-use planning sessions that seemed to go nowhere.

Jags talked about the elders, who – dressed in their button blankets and regalia – took centre stage at the blockade. The younger folk begged them not to participate, but the elders insisted. They said they had been silent long enough. Those elders were among the first of 72 people arrested over the next couple of weeks by the local RCMP. As Jags talked, it brought back memories of the footage I had seen on The National.

Jags spoke of a young First Nations officer who was in tears after being forced to arrest his auntie and other relatives. Heartbreaking. Jags also showed us the long house that was built for the protesters. We had a chance to see the bunks where they slept and the large table where they ate and talked strategy. It felt like they had vacated the place just yesterday.

Photo courtesy of Parks Canada

Support for the Haida’s actions came from more than 150 organizations who wanted to see South Morseby Island protected. David Suzuki, then host of The Nature of Things, aired a piece about South Moresby that apparently got more letters and calls than any other episode. Former NDP Member of Parliament Svend Robinson came to the blockade. He was the only non-Haida arrested.

In the end, the stand-off was a turning point both in terms of the preservation of the area, and the recognition of Haida rights to the water and land. It led to the formation of Gwaii Haanas Reserve, co-managed by the Haida and Parks Canada. The reserve is apparently the only place on earth that is protected from mountain top to sea floor.

Twenty five years after the event, a totem pole was raised to celebrate the Haida victory. Jags was there that day, helping to raise the pole. As he talked about it with us, his face shone with pride…as well it should. It was the first totem pole to be placed in that area in 130 years!

Thanks Jags for bringing history alive in such a powerful way. Haw’aa. Hawsan dang hl kingsang.

A Visit With The Ancients

Bouncing along the waters of Hecate Strait for five hours in an inflatable zodiac is not for the faint of heart. The water was rough, and every bone in my body had been rattled and rearranged by the time we arrived at our destination. I suppose this was appropriate, given that my soul was about to be shaken to the core too.

We were with Haida Style Expeditions, headed for the very southwestern tip of the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve. Specifically, we were going to SGang Gwaay, a tiny island and UNESCO World Heritage site that has some of the finest examples of Haida totem poles.

Upon reaching shore and walking up the short beach, the first thing I felt was ‘enveloped’…embraced with a light hug by the giant trees that surrounded me. “Come. Sit for awhile,” they were saying. “We have stories to tell.”

First though, we were to meet James, one of the Watchmen who spends part of his year on the island welcoming visitors, sharing stories, and ensuring the protection of the site. He took us to the totem poles, many of which – after 200 years – were in various stages of decay. As is the Haida way, once a pole is carved it is allowed to live out its natural life and return to the earth in its own time, without any kind of preservation.

There used to be a few hundred Haida living in this village. As a result of the smallpox epidemic that ravaged the West Coast in the late 1700s and 1800s, their numbers rapidly dwindled to a handful. Maybe five. James told us there is not one person alive today who can trace their ancestry back to SGang Gwaay. There is no one who carries the stories of these totems within them. So once the poles are gone, so is much of the last remaining evidence of that earlier life.

But the spirits will still be here, I am sure. And there are a great many of them. I felt them among the trees, along the shoreline, and sitting amidst the remnants of some of the long houses. I was overwhelmed with sadness. But then the trees spoke again. “It’s OK,” they said. “We are taking care of these ancients.” And I have to believe that they are.

I left SGang Gwaay feeling like my molecular structure had been rearranged. I can’t get the place out of my head…not that I want to. I must find my way back there.

The Man in the Middle

I am in love with this painting. It’s  called “Rockfall”, and it’s from a collection by Whitehorse artist Neil Graham named “Shaping Haida Gwaii”. It’s in large part because of this body of work that I travelled to Haida Gwaii this past summer.

For the last year or more, this painting has hung in my diningroom. The spirits in the rocks speak to me, some beckoning me to come play with them, others showing much more reserve, not at all sure they can trust me with their secrets.

My grandson Caleb is also drawn to the painting. He stayed with my husband and I for two weeks in January, and every day as we ate breakfast and dinner Caleb studied the painting, wanting to know about who he called the man in the middle. Who was he? Why was he sleeping on the rocks? Did he have a home? Did he like sleeping in the woods?

I think the man in the middle (see the centre of this detail for the head that’s resting on its left side) looks like Neil, so I made up a great many stories about him. He loves to ride motorcycles (this much I know to be true). When he’s not sleeping on the rocks he enjoys travelling to France (again, true). He loves hanging out with the bear spirits. In some of the more dramatic stories Neil is swallowed by sharks and must be rescued by Caleb.

We’ll be taking a bit of a hiatus from those stories though. Neil has an exhibit planned starting next month at the Haida Gwaii Museum in Skidegate and “Rockfall” is one of the pieces in the show. It is of course wonderful for Neil and for the people on the island who will get to see his work, but our dinner conversations won’t be nearly so interesting until the painting finds its way back to me in a few months.

If you are in the Skidegate area, be sure to take in the exhibit. And if you do go, look for the man in the middle.Tell him I say hi.

Who is this person?

Three weeks until Joe and I leave for Spain, and less than a month until I begin my next Camino in Portugal. I am rather amazed at my different mindset this time round. For months before my first Camino, I poured over books, sought out dozens of websites and forums, got in some good training walks, and packed and re-packed my bag at least half a dozen times.

This time I have hardly looked at the guidebook I ordered in the mail, and only last week-end decided I should perhaps get new hiking boots (I had thought I might just use my trail runners).

It’s not that I am not excited. I can’t wait. But having done a longer walk before, I know that everything will work out just fine without me overthinking or planning to the nth degree.

That being said, it would be most wise for me to get those new boots broken in!

 

 

Full of Hot Air

I had a lovely dream last night of floating above Whitehorse in a hot air balloon. It made me remember the two times in my life when I have experienced such a thing in my waking hours. The first time was a wonder; the second a huge disappointment.

I was introduced to hot air ballooning while visiting friends in San Francisco four years ago. They bought Joe and I balloon tickets as a gift. We got up before dawn, drove to a hotel where we had a tasty (and rather fancy) breakfast, and then we were up, up and away.

Floating above the Napa Valley was a zen like experience for me; so calming and such a beautiful way to see the area.

A year later when we visited Cappadocia, Turkey we decided to take a ride there, given how extraordinary the landscape was. Sadly, our experience was deflating. For whatever reason (wind conditions, number of people in the basket?) the balloon operators couldn’t get much height. We spent more time looking at the tops of trees than enjoying a sunrise over Cappadocia.

If you decide to take a balloon ride, wherever that might be, it’s important that you do your research. Make sure whichever company you choose has good safety standards and practices in place, and ask about the number of people they take up at a time. I found our group of 18 in Turkey was too large. If you can, pay the extra cost and go for a more intimate experience. It’s a wondrous way to see the countryside if done right.

 

 

 

Getting Sloshed in the Fraser Valley

The title is a falsehood. To my knowledge, none of us actually got drunk on our Canadian Craft wine tour, which is surprising given the generous pours we received during the day. But I should start at the beginning.

About a dozen of us gathered at Vancouver’s Canada Place where we were to meet our guide. Among us was Regina, her five children, and their significant others. Regina was celebrating her 60th birthday (the woman didn’t look a day past 40), so the party atmosphere was set right from the start, even without a drop of wine.

Our guide James was gregarious and warm-hearted, and one of those people who loves to learn about everything and anything. He’d been a medic for a year and a half before deciding he wasn’t cut out for that kind of work. He course corrected, took some sommelier classes, and now offers wine, craft beer, and distillery tours in the Vancouver area. You’d be hard pressed not to get caught up in his enthusiasm for life.

On the way to the wineries, we drove by several large greenhouses that were surrounded by a moat and some heavy duty fencing. The sign on the property read “Herbal Research”; my first glimpse of a medical marijuana farm.

Township 7 was our first stop. It apparently has similar terroir to Champagne in France, and so is able to a make a sparkling wine that is in the Champagne style (soft bubbles) with grapes from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir vines. They weren’t serving the bubbly when we were there, but we did have a chance to taste their Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in their more pure forms, along with their Merlot and a Bordeaux blend called Reserve 7.

Next stop: Back Yard. On tap was a rosé, Riesling, and a couple of reds, including a blend called Nosey Neighbour. We stayed there for a light lunch of charcuterie, crackers, cheese, etc. and for most of us, more wine. I abstained as I am a cheap drunk and was trying to pace myself.

Last stop: Chaberton Estate Winery. It’s the grandpa of the group, having been operating for more than 25 years. Because we were running a bit behind schedule, the wine tasting felt rushed. We tried a Reisling and a Baccus, but after that things were a bit of a blur (and not only because of the amount of alcohol I had in me by that point).

We did, however, have time for a quick tour of the wine making operation. They had a little bistro on site that I would have liked to try, but that will have to wait for another time. The bistro grows its own herbs in re-purposed barrels from the wine operation. Given that, the plants apparently take on some of the flavours of the wines.

All in all, it was day well spent with some great people, enjoying one of life’s little pleasures.

 

Newly Discovered Eats in Vancouver

I took advantage of a recent seat sale to escape the Whitehorse winter for a few days and visit a long time friend in Vancouver. As is our usual way, we spent a significant time seeking out new food experiences. Here is a smattering of what we experienced.

Patisserie Fur Elise – 847 Hamilton St., near the Vancouver Public Library

This is a beautifully renovated heritage house with steel and glass condos looming above it. I’m so happy the city didn’t see fit to tear this building down, and the few on either side of it.

High tea, which is what we were there for, consisted of a mini vegetable quiche as an opener, a variety of open and closed faced sandwiches, biscuits with sweetened clotted cream and strawberry jam, five dainty and scrumptious sweets, and a very fine pot of tea. The stand out for me (and my friend too) were the strawberry squares. Their texture was a cross between gelatin and cheesecake. They weren’t too sweet and they were bursting with flavour. The strawberry in the middle was a happy surprise.

The wait staff was lovely, and the price was pretty reasonable ($30 each) given the quality of the food and knowing what other places in Vancouver charge for afternoon tea. It’s pretty girly there though; lots of pink things.

Western Lake Chinese Seafood Restaurant – 4989 Victoria Dr.

Even though we had made reservations for dim sum, we still had to wait 20 minutes. The place was hopping; filled to the rafters with Asian diners, which is what you want to see in a Chinese restaurant. Everything we ordered was delicious, and the dumplings were huge…probably three times what I have come to know as ‘normal’ size. My favourite dishes were the eggplant with shrimp paste and the sticky rice (it was wonderfully smoky).

We ordered enough for four people (our eyes were far bigger than our stomachs) and the bill came to about $60. The photo you see here only shows a portion of what we ate.

If you are looking for a calm and quiet dining experience, this isn’t it. But I am happy to be able to add this to my ‘go to’ places in Vancouver when I am in the mood for dim sum.

Tamam – 2616 E. Hastings St.

This was my first time trying Palestinian food. It had all the makings of other food from that region…hummus, mutabal, mujaddarah, kebabs, rich spicy meat and vegetable stews, etc. I was taken by their pickled red cabbage and their pickled ocra…something I had not tried before. To me orca is typically a slimy mess, but this was crisp and flavourful. It might have been my favourite thing on my plate. They make a beautiful roast cauliflower with cumin sauce too.

I was too distracted by the food to remember to take photos, so here is a picture of the cauliflower dish, courtesy of the restaurant’s website.

I am now back in Whitehorse, probably 10 pounds heavier. I see a lot of salads in my future for the next little while!

So Much to Explore

It’s a big world out there, and I have only seen a tiny part of it at this point in my life (the countries in green). Here is my five year wish list:

Spain (Barcelona this time…heading there in a month)

Portugal…trip planned for April

Another Camino…from Seville to Santiago de Compostela

Rural France

Cambodia

Vietnam

Laos

Thailand

Japan

What’s on you list?

What an Amazing Country!

Joe and I recently returned home from a trip across Canada. Our route:

• fly from Whitehorse to Nova Scotia
• fly from Nova Scotia to Toronto
• take ‘The Canadian’ train from Toronto to Vancouver
• fly from Vancouver to Whitehorse

I knew we lived in a huge, stunningly beautiful country before our trip. But certainly this holiday solidified that knowledge for me big time.

In Nova Scotia and Southern Ontario, it was the fall colours and the many produce markets that took my breath away; that, and spending time on the land and by the sea where I grew up. So healing.

In Northern Ontario, I fell in love once again with the ruggedness and remoteness of the land. I plan to revisit the work of the Group of Seven very soon, while my eye’s own images are still fresh.

The Prairies – I could never figure out why someone would find them boring! The expanses of land and sky, and the colour play between the two…amazing!

Alberta – well, what can I say about the Rockies? Wow!

And beautiful Vancouver…one of my favourite cities in Canada.

I would highly recommend the train trip between Toronto and Vancouver. Time was suspended during those three days and four nights. If anyone had asked me how long I had been travelling, I would have been hard pressed to give them an exact number of hours. In a way it felt I had always been there.

The meals were all very good, there was time to meet and chat with other travelers (no wifi meant people actually talked to one another!) and the rocking of the train lulled me to sleep in my bunk at night.

I am so lucky to have had the opportunity to take this trip, and luckier still to reconnect with my family, friends, and country.

Feeling patriotic,

Janet

Overlooking the Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia.

The red sandstone in the ocean in the Bay of Fundy makes it appear rusty.

Fall colours at McGee Lake, near our family farm.

So many colourful fall markets in Nova Scotia and Ontario at this time of year. What bounty!

Mothers, sisters, aunties, cousins, nieces: reconnecting with my Ontario family.

No wonder this is the symbol of our beautiful country!

Northern Ontario shows its more subtle fall colours.

The train station in Winnipeg. Gorgeous!

Arriving in Winnipeg just as the sun was coming up. The large building is the Canadian Museum of Human Rights. Very well done and definitely worth a visit.

Earth and sky – the Prairies does it up right.

The Rockies near Jasper. We really do have it all in Canada!

A fitting end to our train journey in Vancouver.