Adventures-of-the-Unadventurous

I recall the afternoon sun shining and the chill of the wind nipping at me. I gazed around – nothing but mountain peaks and a nasty little incline awaiting me, luring me to test my fitness level.  My breathing seemed laboured for just standing still. There is something to be said about being 2,200 feet above sea level. I was calm but there was also a tingling, flutter inside me. I heard the announcement, “team 105 a mile out.”  That was my queue to get ready for my first live running race since November 2019.   Ten kilometers of down hill awaited – plus an up hill start and nasty up hill finish. 

“I’m hoping that gravity will be my friend,” I joked to a seasoned-looking runner standing beside me. He eyes met mine. His eye brows raised. His chin dipped. It was my younger sister’s “as if” look, if truth be told.  A few moments later, I noticed the neon green shirt of my team mate pushing through the end of gruelling leg 5 of the famous Kananaksis 100-mile relay.  We exchanged the timing chip quickly and I was off.  That hill was not really a hill, but in the thin air of Highwood Pass, Canada’s highest paved pass, getting to the crest of the pass’s peak was monumental.  I mostly walked up that hill, already short of breath.  Before I knew it, I crested the peak and assumed it would be smooth sailing down hill.  My teammates cheered me on throughout the stage.  By kilometre 8 my quads were still working hard and surprisingly not minding the pounding of each step. The bottoms of my feet were tender though, noticing each landing as I decended. I could hear some old tunes blasting from Stephanie’s truck – songs with great beats we all selected to help us run fast, and perhaps to remind us of our younger speedier days.

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The Kananaskis 100-mile relay had been on my bucket list of races to do due to its breath-taking beauty in Canada’s Rockies. In 2019 I started recruiting running friends to take up this 10-stage race with me. It is not for the faint at heart – 5 legs of climbing and 5 legs of decent into Kananakis/Nakiska’s stunning Rocky Mountains. The event is usually scheduled for the end of June to take advantage of the longest days of sunlight. No one needs reminding that 2020 wasn’t usual. COVID had other things in mind for our team.  The June event turned to an August event and then postponed to 2021.  Surely COVID would be “done” by then. Who knew? With multiple date and year changes, our team members dropped out and more were added but by July 2021, we were down to three members. I may be crazy, but there is no way we would split 160km between three people – more than 50km each, no way. After plans B, C and D didn’t pan out, Plan E did. Our team merged with a local team also lacking sufficient runners and voila, “How the West was Run” emerged.

With two vets, two nurses, two CPAs, a CFA, a teacher and an array of talents, we had a team. Stephanie, part nurse, part rancher, and mother of three became the team captain of this motley crew. We dined on BBQ’d steaks and burgers and other potluck goodies the night before on the porch of her ranch. Andy and I brought the mother of all chocolate cakes as our contribution, made by a local German bakery. Did it really take three of us to carry it? The evening meal on a ranch really set the mood for a truly Albertan experience. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet our team members. I’d like to say it was also a time for us to strategize on our race the following day.  But what the heck.  None of us had been racing for nearly two years.  We were all grateful to have a live race waiting for us the following day.  As we chowed down, no mention was made of running, at least that I recall. And, before Stephanie could race, her 4 and 6 year old boys were doing the mutton rodeo just down the street when we parted ways around 6:30pm. Her day was not over.

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So, back to the race, as the early afternoon wore on, I was treated with peak after peak of Canada’s Rockies. I breathed in the fresh crips air. I could feel the bottom of my lungs. For much of my race, I enjoyed the solitude of running, breathing and feeling lucky to be there. Many of the peaks in my view were barren grey rock – simply above the treeline. My legs felt great pounding down the slopes. My lungs and heart had other ideas such as “why was I doing this again?” at each breath.  I chose a run-walk rhythm to keep my breathing at bay, but to also take advantage of fresh legs the were egging me on down the slopes. I was unused to carrying bear spray in my hand but it was a requirement for the park. I was surprised at how quickly I got accustomed to carrying it as I ran. Andy and my long-time friend, Dave supported me with water breaks & cheering, and Stephanie’s crew provided music at various points. Thanks to a great team, I crossed the transition line ten minutes shy of the forced start cut off for our leg 7 runner, fully aware of the tune of Rocky theme song – Gonna Fly Now blasting from the van – a personal best time for 2021. Whew!

My adventure wouldn’t be complete without introducing our amazing team.  We couldn’t have done it without each other.

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I think back to our starter, Rob. New to wheelchair racing, our man-in-motion, Rob chugged along nearly 20km up hill, grinning.  It was impressive to see him rolling along in a standard wheelchair, navigating potholes and the uneven elements of old asphalt. Dave, running leg two looked tired early on and commented about his slim training plan as we clapped and supplied water.  By km ten, Dave was rolling along in his old form and enjoying the moments. Steve, our third runner was our veteran.  He’s tackled this challenge multiple times before but was coming off injury.  He pushed hard. The day was getting hot as he tackled incline upon incline.  Andy was a Speedy Gonzalez as he tackled a more technical climb and didn’t seem to break a sweat.  He was inspired by the views and kept a fast pace to hand off to Eric, for the gruelling, relentless climb up the Highwood Pass. Katrena joined the team from Saskatchewan, and took leg 7, a long down hill section. We all enjoyed her awesome sprint to the finish to our cheers, overdoing it a bit for herself. Our ladies were impressively fast. Mariana had leg 8 and clocked a 5:13 pace over 16km.  Ashley, new to running, and Stephanie took the cross-country trail sections. Stephanie rocked the last leg at a 4 minute pace and change, to bring home our team – 14 hour 39 minutes. Rumour had it that there was bear activity on the trails but our ladies were too fast for the bears, apparently! We all finished in one piece.

Grinning as I write this piece, it was an adventure I’ll never forget. I’m already thinking about next year.

One impact of COVID is redefining what an experience is.  An adventure experience pre-COVID is quite different than what I might call an adventure now.

It all started when a few friendly requests (or more) from Diabetes Canada appeared in my in-box to help celebrate 100 years of insulin and join their fundraising campaign – Lace Up for Diabetes.  This spring I had already run three races for our local hospital’s cardiac care unit and felt I couldn’t do more fundraising this year – at least I couldn’t go back to the well of friends and family. Most of you know Diabetes Canada is one of my favourite charities. I’ve lived with type 1 diabetes for nearly 46 years and have benefited in so many ways from their work. After a while I couldn’t resist the call. But, how to fundraise without asking for sponsorship?

In early July, BC was moving into phase 3 of its COVID recovery plan. This meant that people could start socializing and getting out, and gathering in a small way after living for 15 months without. I love music of almost every genre.  My little hamlet of Shirley (less than 500 households) has a community centre. Pre-COVID we had our fair share of live music there under the umbrella of Shirley Loves Music. So, I started noodling the idea of organizing a small concert in this post-COVID world.  People were ready to get out. People were hungry for music. Our hall could be rented but hadn’t been rented in nearly a year. Musicians were dying for work. After a conversation with Shannon, the director of Shirley Loves Music, our 100 Years of Jazz, Celebrating 100 Years of Insulin concert was born.

Well, this wasn’t a physically challenging adventure like hiking the Rockies or canoeing the Nahanni River, but it was an adventure in learning how to replicate the life of a concert promoter, manager, master of everything concert related, media guru and understanding what an audience would appreciate in a safe environment – not fully free of COVID. I also had the experience of a lifetime but you’ll have to read further for more on that. And, raising in $1,260 in one night was no small feat – another adventure.

 I designed the tickets, sold and promoted them at the Shirley country market, solicited prizes, hung posters, created my own prize baskets, and developed ideas as to how to make the evening more meaningful, tying jazz and diabetes into the evening’s mix. Even my kindergarten skills of cutting and pasting were dusted off and put to use as every attendee got a personalized loot bag, each featuring a different jazz artist on front. I made 44 bags, designed diabetes themed quizzes and crossword puzzles and had a jazz wordsearch.   With the generosity of many, we had door prizes, raffle prizes and beautiful silent auction art. Whew.  Thank goodness for Andy and friends who offered to help too. They were invaluable.

Fast forward to jazz night.

I couldn’t seem to get that silly grin off my face. My heart was beating. My hips were swaying. That feel-good sensation took over and my body released any tension there might have been. My moment of fame had finally come – that once-in-a-life-time experience. There I was, in front of 40 people, black swing skirt in motion, saxophone broach to remind me of jazz, wooden Mingo’s Music Store clappers in hand, and beside me, Andy, making my debut as a band member. (Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration). Andy had the Newfoundland spoons.  A local woman, Vivi, to his right, had cluster bells she snatched from the rhythm instrument table, held high in her hand – ready to perform as well. Carol had the thunder stick – a big impressive instrument.  Other instruments of choice included the triangle and shakers.  The moment we’d been waiting for came. Kent and Rea, our fabulous jazz duo belted out Peggy’s Lee’s “Fever” as seven of us brave souls played our new instruments to the tune, becoming one heck of a rhythm section for the live band. It was the highlight of my night, having that rare chance to play with the duo – for a fee of course! (It was a fundraiser after all). We must not have played too badly.  We were invited up on stage later that evening to play along with “I’ve Got Rhythm.”

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As I look back and smile at the success, I think about why. It was an evening of some social interaction, some needed laughs with friends, and a chance to say hello to someone new, face-to-face. Music sooths the soul and it was easy to see the smiles on everyone’s faces throughout the evening. Andy is now calling me impresario, much to my delight.   Who knows, maybe this COVID situation has found a new volunteer career for me as a concert manger/promoter. But, more importantly, I just might take up percussion.  What an adventure getting up on stage and being part of something musical. Adventures are not all challenging physical feats.

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I took a look at the map and sighed, “Only 100km to go and we’re done.”

“Yep,” my husband, Andy replied.  I glanced at the whole route from St John’s to Victoria.  It was one heck of a journey.  I’d be sad when it was all over. It’s amazing what seven pairs of legs could do. I recalled proudly making the Nova Scotia basket back in August for a lucky winner who virtually ran through my home town, a virtual Christmas in Winnipeg, my birthday in some remote spot on Lake Superior, and Andy’s birthday in Charlottetown. These thoughts all came to mind as I reminisced. Painting rocks in Vanessa’s backyard. Hiding the inspirational rocks on local trails for others to find.

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Back in April of 2020, Canadians were learning how to cope with this new virus called COVID.  We were all in the same boat. With restrictions for no non-essential travel, stay at home policies, shops and restaurants closed, and limited visits with friends and family, we wondered how our worlds would change and for how long. I’m not sure I really understood the extent of the longer-term impacts of COVID at that time.  I feel fortunate to have a broad range of interests and hobbies of which many could be done on my own. My course in Victoria was cancelled. We cancelled our plans to visit aging parents in Nova Scotia, after missing Christmas for health reasons. Parks were closed. Our volunteer work supporting literacy to grade 1 students at a local elementary school came to an abrupt halt. Our gym closed. Our running club group runs were nixed.

However, my bike was on the trainer in the basement.  Our 55km iconic Galloping Goose rail trail stayed open. I could run or walk every day if I chose to. My book shelf was full. I had an extensive stash of stationery. I’m passionate about correspondence writing. We embraced Zoom. My personal trainer and I moved our gym sessions to Zoom. Our family visits moved to Zoom. My course resumed on Zoom. I volunteered to send correspondence to seniors in my parents’ assisted care home. Within six weeks, I wrote and sent over 400 cards and smiles to isolated seniors. I volunteered to organize a few running club events that wouldn’t involve us meeting as a group. I created the Virtual Vancouver Island Circuit Challenge in April. Could our cumulated club mileage get us around Vancouver Island in nine days?  With daily distance tallies and writing daily reports about our club’s location, I engaged 30 runners and walkers. Families with children made signs indicating our locations. It felt as though I had a full-time job with overtime. Then I created “May Marathon Madness.” How many marathons can you complete in a month? We asked for photos of members cheering on our front-line workers from the safety of their own homes. These are the types of things that kept me occupied in the early days of COVID. Friendship, health, family and a sense of fulfillment are the most important things for me in life. COVID or no COVID, I needed to keep these things central to my new and unchartered restricted world. The way I would approach fitness, family, friends and goal setting would change, but not the fundamentals.

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At the end of April, I received an interesting email from a running organization in Ottawa. How would I like to be part of the Big Canada Run? After being slightly incensed that they stole my idea (LOL), I quickly learned that the run would engage running communities from around the globe to commit to 8,000km of distance on foot, crossing Canada from St John’s Newfoundland to Victoria, BC. Teams could be as small or a large as we wanted. We’d have a year to complete the challenge, starting on Canada Day, 2020. I was pumped to create a team.

I contemplated who to invite. We’d be a team and we’d need to support each other for a year. We’d need members to be accountable to walk or run their share of the distance. We’d need positive attitudes and not take ourselves too seriously.  Let’s face it, 8,000km would be no small feat. If one of us was having a hard week, we’d need to be supportive. If one was having self doubts, we’d need to build the confidence. We’d need friends with some grit who wouldn’t quit when the going got tough. I chose people who I thought might fit the bill.  In the end, seven brave spirited souls committed to be the Sooke Supremes Team.

We made bets as to where we’d be on each member’s birthday. We’d celebrate each at an outdoor café. Every member made a basket of his or her home province for the other members to win – Nova Scotia, Quebec, Ontario, Alberta, and two regions of BC. The baskets were amazing. Everyone took pride in selecting representative items to remind them of home. When interest started to fade, we added the Bad Ass Prairie basket, the Caesar basket, and the prairies Lean, Mean Machine healthy basket, all to be won by meeting motivational criteria. Megen graciously offered to help with planning and take on the western provinces cheering and photos through facebook, and organize the celebration when we reached the end of the journey. She creatively made signs (award winning I might add) to post as we reached various destinations. I engaged my family and friends across the country to take photos from their home towns to post as we virtually passed them following our progress on the map. Maggie added the 100k-in-a-day for a New Year’s Eve challenge and organized hikes, always with a positive attitude. I added the ugly sweater run. Maggie improvised and wore ugly socks. Kayla organized the private facebook page for us and added some youth to our team. Vanessa’s infectious enthusiasm to our ideas was contagious. Kari’s calm, quiet nature and her consistency showed through-out the challenge, participating in everything we did and clocking her kilometers.  Andy was our distance guy and won many of the bets. I made a personal commitment to read a book by an author from every province this year. We shared photos and comments on-line. I sent postcards and art cards from each province to the team members as we virtually passed. Vanessa posted photos from her time in Regina, including a photo of the “corner gas station” from the TV series. We earned 18 badges.

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We were there for Megen’s surgery. We cheered for Maggie’s half marathon. I received tremendous support from the team for my half marathon post-heath challenges. We celebrated our successes.  We supported Kari for the loss of her old beloved dog. We encouraged Andy’s 25-miler. We cringed with Kayla’s bloody knee running incident and the dramatic story she re-lived with photos on facebook. Maggie and I sold books for breast cancer and COVID initiatives for the hospital. We shared our family histories as we virtually passed through our ancestral regions.

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While I was writing this reflective piece for my writing course, I came across a quote “Running has given me many things, but the greatest gift has been the people that it has brought into my life.”  This quote sums up my experience with the Sooke Supremes. In years to come, I expect what I’ll remember about COVID is not the closures and personal inconveniences, but rather the tight knit friendship I developed with The Sooke Supremes during the serious and uncharted year of global death, fear and isolation.  We maintained fitness, developed deeper friendships, and completing 8,000km earlier this week with such a phenomenal group gave me a deep sense of accomplishment. We covered ten provinces in just nine months on our own two feet.   We really rocked. Thanks so much, Supremes!

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Our trip to the NWT and Nunavut had been in the works for two years. In 2017 at the Outdoor Adventure show in Toronto, I was fortunate to have met an experienced Parks Canada ranger. Upon hearing I was going to be travelling to the NWT in 2019, she assured me that Wood Buffalo National Park (WBNP) should really be on my list of things to see and do (if we could at all swing it).  She spoke enthusiastically about a couple of towns we would see along the way, and the new rustic cabins the park had to offer.  Andy and I discussed it as the park would likely not be a destination vacation for us in the future, but being so close and really knowing how enriching the national park experiences are, we put it on our high consideration list.  It would be an 8-hour drive from Yellowknife so not a hop, skip and a jump either. Some people discouraged us.  One relative said that he heard the highway was all gravel. We know from our experience last summer crossing southern Saskatchewan that just because a road is labelled a highway, does not mean it is necessarily paved. We were not discouraged. So, we planned it – three nights at a rustic cabin, 2 days visiting the park, and 2 days travelling to and from the park. We wouldn’t be able to see everything, but we’d get a taste of what the park had to offer.

A few locals in Yellowknife warned us about the road to WBNP. It was indeed paved but the first 100km has significant frost heaves and if one is not careful, could find himself or herself airborne on Hwy 5. One person even said, small cars could get stuck in them or lose a wheel.  Well, what is an 8-hour drive without some adventure? The rest of the drive, we were told would be good. 

We left Yellowknife early enough to hopefully catch the Saturday market in Hay River.  We also had a full tank of gas, not knowing how many service stops might be available between Yellowknife and Hay River (not much!). The day was lovely.  Not more than 10 minutes out of town the whoop-dee-doos started – ie the famous frost heaves we had been informed about.  It seemed every minute or two we saw another “whoop -dee-doo” sign to warn the inexperienced Hwy 5 traveller of the on-coming “danger.” Then our focus changed from the road condition to the side of the road.  Trotting along toward us was a beautiful lone wolf, head high in the air.  This was so unexpected. By the time Andy stopped the car in hope of a photo opportunity, the wolf has trotted by not showing a care in world of our presence.  We backed up. Then Mr Wolf slid into the woods beside the road and we never got our photo.  Already this 8-hour drive was giving us a bit of entertainment.  For the next 100km or so, we saw lots of big rocks similar to the Canadian Shield in norther Ontario. The rocks were various hues of orange, pink and greys like we had observed at Cameron Falls the previous day.  There were dozens of small lakes and streams, and here and there a territorial day-use park which largely seemed to be used for fishing. I think we saw less than 10 cars in either direction on the “whoop-dee-doo” laden part of the highway.  This was definitely a peaceful, tranquility that one would never get in the Toronto area where the hum of traffic can be heard everywhere day and night.

Just when Andy thought he could relax and have no more potential air launches, we saw a sign we’d never seen before. “Caution, wood bison for the next 210km!”  The next few hundred km of the highway that runs south of Great Slave Lake is the Mackenzie Wood Bison Management area.  Not long after the caution sign, we saw our first bison show.  We stopped. Took dozens of photos.  After the bison took their time crossing the highway in front of us, we carried on our way.  In another 10 minutes or so, we were delighted to see another herd. We stopped. Took dozens of photos. When the coast we clear and the bison safe on one side of the road or other, we moseyed on.  In another 10 minutes, we saw a lone buffalo in a nice round sandy wallow enjoying a nap or a scratch.  I lost count of the number of episodes we had along that road, stopping to observe these huge and protected at-risk animals, but it could easily have been 6 or 7.  If this show wasn’t enough, we had another one waiting for us.

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Not far past the bison excitement came the crane show. We stopped several times to get some good photos of sandhill cranes pecking along the streams and pond grasses within great viewing site if you stopped the car. Given that we saw almost no vehicles, I can honestly say that each time we stopped for wildlife viewing, not another vehicle passed in either direction. We had this vast natural viewing to ourselves.  What could be better than that?

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By lunch time we rolled into Hay River and enjoyed dining with the locals at the Saturday market.  The Fish & Chips line up was long – apparently the best of the food shops, according to the residents I spoke with. We did take a look on the river for pelicans but we had no joy there. We did also gas up. It was the first station we’d seen since we left Yellowknife.

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You must be wondering if there were any wildlife spotting between Hay River and Fort Smith where we were to check into the park and get our cabin key.  Yes, there were.  As we approached Fort Smith, huge birds’ nests filled upper levels of electricity towers.  What bird could possibly make a nest that big? An eagle?  No, a raven!  We had many viewings up close and personal over the course of the trip and I’d never realized just how large they were. An adult raven can weigh 2 kg and have a wingspan as large as 1.5 meters – not a small bird. They love pecking bugs off cars and trucks.

In Fort Smith we were rewarded with pelican sightings and the keys to our cabin. What we hadn’t realized (and probably should have) was that although Fort Smith is in the NWT and the park straddles the NWT and northern Alberta, our cabin (about 70km further on) was in fact in Alberta.  WBNP is a Canada’s largest national park and is about the size of Switzerland.  It is a UNESCO world heritage site due to containing the last remaining nesting site of the whooping crane. The Peace-Athabasca Delta lies beneath several major migration flyway zones and provides one of the most concentrated nesting environments for geese and ducks on the planet. It is also home to the world’s largest wood bison population. The park has a lot of biodiversity and landscape and the salt plains were listed as a “must see.” 

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Our rustic cabin, Aurora, was situated on Pine Lake – a quiet, peaceful lake. It had no electricity, no running water and no wifi.  For the next few days we would be truly out of touch with the world. However, it was more like glamping than camping. We brought water for cooking, drinking and washing dishes.  We had a two-burner propane stove and a cute pot-bellied wood stove to take the chill off the evening air.  We brought dry pasta and sauce for our dinners, and had bagels and peanut butter for breakfasts.  We packed our lunches each day to eat en route during the hikes.  We enjoyed the sitting on the screened-in porch each morning enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee while watching the sandhill cranes peck for their breakfast near the water’s edge., relatively free from mosquitoes.

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Our 12km hike was peaceful, relaxing and yet spectacular. Within a few hundred meters of the trailhead, we heard a small screeching which turned out to be two young owls and possibly the mother.  We stopped to take dozens of photos.  They seemed high enough in the birch trees not to be afraid of us, but they kept their eyes glued on us, should we try any funny business.  We crossed rivers, open marsh, wooded forests. We saw wild flowers and various other small souls. We pulled out lunch on a small wooden bridge as far away as possible from the buzzing mosquitoes as we could manage.  All in all, it was a lovely day.  We drove out to the salt plains on the next day.  It was interesting to see the mounds of salt.  Apparently, the salt comes from an underground saline stream and the area was once covered by sea. We saw wide open vistas on Salt Pan Lake. That day had less wildlife although we saw two separate black bears crossing the road on our way back to the cabin. 

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Would I recommend the park? If you can break yourself away from civilization for a while, it is a great place to relax and see some interesting wildlife. 

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Have you aver wondered what It would be like to explore the area north of the Arctic Circle? I’d seen pictures in various books about the north and on line, but never had the opportunity to explore it until recently. My destination was Somerset Island, 800km north of the Arctic Circle, and about 80km south of Resolute Bay, to the most northerly lodge in the world – Arctic Watch.

As our plane started its descent onto a man-made gravel air strip, dozens of beluga whales could be seen swimming around Cunningham Inlet, in the area that would be our home for the next 5 days. Off in the distance I could see the cluster of white tents – sleeping and dining facilities that comprise the lodge. The barren landscape and the turquoise sea were the first sights I saw and remember of our first glimpse of this no-longer inhabited and remote island.  There are so many rich stories, small and large to recount about this adventure but I will focus on one – our muskox “tracking” excursion.  Andy joined me, as well as his sister Pam and her husband, Mark.

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It was a cool crisp morning when 6 of us – Andy, Pam, Mark, Judy, Jim and I piled into the unimog for our next trek, guided by our experienced leader, Dave. A unimog is a multi-purpose four-wheel drive truck originally designed after WWI as a modified tractor. Its off-road capabilities make it suitable for jungles, deserts and mountains and apparently, the Arctic! It is not so fashionable but was just what was required for our purposes.  The terrain on the island is bumpy, rocky, mucky, uneven, and consists of land, streams, and rivers. Our destination on this morning was key and not the surface we would travel over nor the vehicle to take us there.

We were all bundled up in various layers, wearing our bright yellow double-lined jackets. It must be about 0C or maybe 2C. With bated breath and anticipation, we hoped to see muskox but as with any wildlife, they will go where the winds and their noses take them. Maybe we will spot them, and maybe we will not.  Earlier this week, our feet crossed many fresh muskox tracks and we saw and touched soft wool-like fur that they were shedding as they travelled (known as qiviut). We had also spotted the beasts themselves in the far distances, with hills and rivers separating us from the perfect photo and ability to watch closely. They were there on the island for sure. Dave was our driver and guide for the day. If anyone could spot them in the distance, it was him. We would rely on him to reel us in for closer viewing.

We jolted along the road and non-roads, taking in the bleak and barren hills, while keeping a watchful eye for dark spots grazing in the distance. The smell of gas and the roar of the engine drowned out any other sounds, and minimized any small talk.  We were silent in our own thoughts while keeping an eagle eye open for muskox. I was also hanging on tightly to the side as we were jolted around.

Ha, ha! We spotted what we thought were muskox. We stopped. Some had binoculars and pulled those out in unison to have a closer look.  There was not a sound from any of them while Andy and I looked on as only tourists without binoculars could. Then we knew. Indeed, indeed, indeed. There they were – three muskox, chomping away on the sparse vegetation on a far hill, not at all suspecting an audience. These beasts that appear to be left overs from the ice age, pull me in. I gaze, like everyone else for a while. Why this ugly hairy beast with horns has me mesmerized, I cannot say. All I know is that I am. I am north of the Arctic Circle and staring at this majestic beast.

So, we hop back into our spots on the “cattle car” benches. We roll slowly along towards this unsuspecting trio. Slowly, slowly like a movie in slow motion, we carry on.

But, ha, ha! Another dark spot appears on the horizon. We repeat our previous action. We stop. Take off our gloves. Pull out the spy glasses (for those who have them). Alas! There is a 4^th muskox on a different hill but not far from the trio and in close proximity to our destination.

So, we sat back down on the benches in the open air of the Unimog and we roll as close as we can get easily. We descend. We pull out our cameras. We let our feet carry us the rest of the way. We hope that our trek around the pond and up the hill will bring us some muskox joy.

Quietly we sneak closer to the hill. For a few moments, a flock of long tailed geese with their goslings and ducks distract us from our muskox mission. Cameras snap. Geese fly. Squawking is rampant and a V formation of birds fly overhead, telling us not so subtly that we are in their territory and they aren’t too pleased. Some ducks on the pond swim quickly out of site into the surrounding grasses.

We carry on trekking upwards. With us out of their way, geese and ducks are back in the pond as if they had never been disturbed.

Dave checks the direction of the wind. We have a plan. We must stay quiet to get close to the muskox but come from the direction that our scent won’t travel downwind to their grazing grounds. We wouldn’t want them smelling us nor seeing us if we could avoid it. We want to sneak a peak into their window, but do not want to come charging through their front door. Disturbing them would send them running and believe me, they can move. So, we proceed up the last part of the incline in a tight single file. Dave explained that this formation would perhaps be a way to trick the muskox into thinking we were one and not seven individuals, should they spot us. We were decked out in bright yellow parkas after all – fairly easy to see I would imagine. At this point we couldn’t be sure if they were still grazing on the other side of the hill. If they were there, our goal was not to scare them off but quietly observe them in their natural habitat and of course takes tons of photos.

Our conga line was rewarded – 4 not 3 muskox stood about 200 metres from us. Cameras flung up silently. The group seemed to have noticed us, but appeared unperturbed. I really don’t know how long we gazed at these hairy creatures but we were awe struck. Time seemed to stop. I slinked closer, taking pictures from different angles, crouching low because there was no tree to hide behind. At some point, the snow started falling. Here we were in the high Arctic. It was snowing in mid July and we had front row seats for the muskox show. The experience just couldn’t get better.

As Dave noticed our enthusiastic delight, he suggested we have a gander for the lone muskox we also saw earlier. It could have joined the group we were watching now or no longer be where we originally saw it, or on the other hand, our lone muskox could still be around the corner to provide us with another show. So, back down we crouched and followed Dave away from the muskox group.  Then, Dave turned to us and whispered that we would have a new strategic approach. Instead of the single file conga line formation, we would be better positioned if we were to approach in a chorus line formation. Quietly, and in military precision (well, no, not really it was more of a squiggly line), we crept up the hill. Lo and behold! Muskox #5 stood 100 meters in front of us!  Although I don’t think we disturbed him too much, he clearly saw us. He started pawing the ground – an aggressive move Dave whispered. Then he moved away slightly to a patch of dirt and started digging in his horns alternatively. Dave informed us that this was another aggressive move related to scent and preparing himself “just in case.” The muskox stood there for quite a while. We didn’t seem to threaten him. We stayed quiet and still with the exception of shutters clicking in photo op style. He eventually went back to grazing as if seven people weren’t staring him down.

The snow continued to fall as we watched.  I thought about how amazing it was that these creatures could survive on such a meager diet. There are not lots of greens to be seen – just small low-lying Arctic flowers and plants dotting the gravel and mud here and there. It is mid summer. I wonder how they fare in winter?

Just another day in the Arctic – a day I will never forget.

I must say I’ve been missing my literary/literacy time I had in Oakville such as working the library’s book sales and managing the Friendly Finds book shelves for them as well as my book club and writing group (both small groups I had for many years). This blog site is all about adventures and I suspect you may wonder what a book sale is doing on an adventure site. You are about to find out.

For those of you who know me well, I am sure you are not surprised that I’ve had my eye on the Times Colonist annual book sale.  I believe it is the largest book sale on Vancouver Island and the proceeds support literacy programs across the island.  The sale takes place this weekend, Saturday and Sunday only.  It is held at “the curling club” (there must only be one!) in Victoria. I’ve read various articles about the sale to prepare. Not unlike a rock concert, people start lining up and camping out in the wee hours of Friday night/Saturday morning in anticipation of the big event.  The early bird gets the worm I suppose.  Also, parking can be a real problem.  Not wanting to parttake in the readers’ camp line, I decided that arriving around 10:30, and hour and half after the opening of the sale, would work well – fewer lines perhaps and maybe better parking. 

Not so!  As I cruised along Quadra Street looking for a good parking spot, I noticed a line of people extending several blocks. I really didn’t need to know where the curling club was situated, as the line lead from nearly Bay Street to the heart of the action I was looking for.  All roads lead to Rome and all lines lead to the book sale. I must say it was very easy to find.  I was lucky enough to find a spot in a one-hour parking zone about a km away. I needed the walk and the distance was a good incentive to keep my purchases at a reasonable carriable weight. You see, I don’t really need any books, I just love the thrill of the hunt and searching for authors I’ve yet to read.

I hustled to the line and parked myself at the back. I asked one couple how long they’d been waiting and they said “Not long, maybe just 15 or 20 minutes.”  I couldn’t pat myself on the back for out smarting the buyers. I’d have to wait in line for a long time, too.  I spoke with another lady in line and she explained how easy the books would be to find – well sorted and all in alphabetical order.  She also said it was quick to pay. That all sounded so promising from outside the rink.  Once inside however, it was sheer chaos.  Aisles were jammed with readers and shoppers and unless T comes after A, the fiction books at least were not in alphabetical order. (I never expected that to be honest). So, like everyone else who had come before me, I picked a random row of books in the fiction section, abandoned my book list and just shuffled along browsing the titles and authors, in the shoulder to shoulder crowd, and pausing for a breath as those ahead of me also paused. This was not Toronto nor NY. No one was pushing. Everyone who wanted to pass said “excuse me” (maybe a few times before the Red Sea parted but they parted and brave or skinny ones got through). There were just tons of great books.  Part of the experience was you had to dig and it helped to know your authors.  Also, part of the experience was brief chats about great books with other readers who were suggesting books they had read and couldn’t put down with out finding it a home. Glad to have had some physical training, I jumped over grocery carries, ducked out of the way of arm loads of boxes stuffed with books, and even out positioned a lady with a huge wheely suitcase she had stuffed with her goods so as not to have to pass her moments later in the aisle.  I don’t know how some of the buyers managed balancing so many boxes of books they had already selected while they searched for more.

About 30 minutes later, and 17 books heavier, I decided I’d better line up to pay. I hadn’t yet been to travel, nor biography, nor adventure stories, nor audio books for my parents’ seniors’ home, nor nature (BC birds, flowers, plants…) nor children books for our grade 2 volunteer work. I had to abandon those categories today. I decided that the best route to the cash was to pass by the adventure travel and maybe snag a book or two on the way so I wouldn’t miss any obvious finds.

After acquiring another 7 books, I was ready to check out but the checkout was in no way ready for me.  The line snaked back and forth across the rink about 4 or 5 rows deep.  By now my hour parking allotment had come and gone.  The bad side of this layout is that one must stand beside rows of books while they wait. It is easy to have another look and add to the collection before reaching the check out. Fortunately for me, I am not into military books. We had to pass 4 or 5 aisles of those. No temptations there. Then came the medical science books. No temptations there either.  A long queue provides a venue for people watching. The lady in front of me was carrying a mixed pile of books – one poetry, one zenish book, an Ernest Hemmingway book which her boyfriend pointed out he already had and she could read it, and maybe something Goth. “A student,” I thought.  I had my own thoughts on Hemmingway and was glad she put It back. A lady behind me asked what time I arrived at the sale. I said about 10:30. She was shocked. She’d arrived around 7am and hung out in a waiting line that ran for several blocks and waited for 2 hours before the doors opened.  What a keener!  A lady a few people up from me in the queue was carrying a cook book. Who would wait in line for 30 minutes to buy just one book? Not me. I had to make it worth my while. By now we were passing westerns and again no temptation.  As I slowly inched my way to the checkout, I also passed mental health, book sets and religion. Although these were not genres I had a keen interest in, one had to do a quick eye scan of the area to be sure. Within religion was a whole section devoted to Satan!  Hum. Who knew about that category?  Just when I thought it was safe to come out of the woods, the last row of books one needed to pass before checking out was “Last minute finds.”  As hard it was to resist this temptation as there were so many great books on that table, I managed not to grab one last book largely due to the quick pick up of the line.  About 24 books and $46 dollars later, I headed for my car contemplating returning tomorrow.

It is all for a good cause and it was the most fun I’ve had in a while.  I am still smiling as I write this account.

Andy and I retired this year and we set out for our first significant adventure on May 9^th – a trip across Canada. We started out from Oakville, Ontario. It was a glorious sunny day. Our plans included stops along Lake Huron, Lake Superior, Winnipeg, Riding Mountain National Park (MB), the Saskatchewan badlands, Grasslands National Park (SK), Cypress Hills (SK/AB border), Waterton Lakes National Park, southern BC and finally Vancouver Island. Unique B&Bs where we planned to stay included a sheep farm in Manitoba, a ranch in Saskatchewan, and a cattle farm in the badlands of southern Saskatchewan.  I was quite sure there would be a good adventure to write about. With hikes in various parks, watching nature up close and personal, and checking out all of the 50 meter pools across the nation to prepare Andy for his half ironman, there was bound to be a story or two worth sharing.  What we didn’t realize on May 9^th, that our first big adventure would have nothing to do with hiking, sports or wildlife, but everything to do with a lonely, remote national park in the middle of nowhere.

Grasslands National Park is the last remaining undisturbed dry mixed-grass/shortgrass prairie grassland in Canada and home to many at risk species such as plains bison and black-tailed prairie dogs.  The park has dry hills, badlands, eroded river valleys, and provides some spectacular scenic vistas which first drew me to seek out the park. Warnings of the dangers of rattle snakes and bison are provided before entering the park.  The closest town, Val Marie, is about 25km away if you take the right route, and the town’s meager population totals 92, so we were told.  It is truly a breathtaking remote spot. People come from all over to star gaze in the undisturbed night sky – free of any unnatural light which can provide life changing experiences for those who love the sky.  The park has glamour tenting which we took advantage of. A tentik is a large and sturdy tent, set up on a platform with a lovely deck to sit out on when it is not windy (not sure when that is), and few stairs down to the campers’ walk way.  Since it was our only camping experience on the trip, we opted to use the tentik and not drag a tent across the country for one lone night of camping.

After checking in at the park office in Val Marie, we took the recommended eco route – an 82km trip through the park experiencing many things such as the prairie dogs and their whistling, bison, ancient tent circles from nomadic tribes, and so on.  It was truly a unique experience.  Then off we went to the Frenchman Valley campground for settling into our tent.  The wind was not rustling, it was howling.  The tent poles shook violently and rattled from the minute we entered the tent, but from what we could understand, these tents had been experiencing the prairie winds for years with no incident. So the tent was fully secure. After writing a few post cards, we set into town to find a restaurant for dinner. We did take the long route by accident but found the town and an open place for dinner – not so easy pre-tourist season in a town of 92.

By the time we returned to our tent there were a few drops of rain and a very cloudy sky – so no light show for us that night.  One of the unfortunate campers’ tents had blown down in the wind.  We wondered what they might do that night with the huge tent flat as a pancake awaiting their return? We were lured to sleep by the sounds of the wind and sheer darkness of the night.  By 3:30am a call to nature woke me up. I found a light and exited the tent.  There was not a star to be seen. Not a light to the washroom either just sher pitch black like I had never experienced before.  So, with flashlight in hand I started out. Kaboom!  I was on the ground face down, landing on my right arm. With no warning I’d missed the first step and plunged down to the bottom of the stairs.  My arm was in agony. Andy heard a short shout and called out.  Since there was no answer he assumed I’d stubbed a toe and continued on my way.  Then he called out again.  “Over here,” a tiny voice said.  “My arm seems to be floating.”  With no medical experience on either of our parts, Andy examined my arm and noted that there was no dislocation.  “Should I call an ambulance?” Andy asked. “From where I thought?”  We decided to go back to sleep.  If kids in the war zones of the world could manage with worse injuries, than I could make it through the night.

By 5:15am the sky was light and my arm was not so good, so “we” (ie Andy) packed up and headed for Val Marie to see what medical support might be there for the park.  None from what we could tell once we arrived, and also figured an x-ray would be in order and therefore a larger town would be required. We knew Swift Current was at least an hour and a half away but with all of the driving through the park we’d done unexpectedly, we’d emptied our gas tank to a driving range of about 54km. Not so good.  This was the second misfortune of May 18.  We waited in town for the Park office to open to see if there was a place to buy some gas but we quickly had to move on to plan B.  There was a small town en route to Swift Current about 55km away with one gas station. Could we make it?  A nail biting drive and constant monitoring of the gas gauge resulted in 0 mileage left in the tank 1km from the station.  We drove on fumes and yes, we did make it!

Perhaps the rest of the story is not so interesting. With a fractured humerus, a sling, pain killers and Ibuprofen, we managed to drive to Vancouver Island.  We loved taking the less trodden path on the southern route of Alberta and BC (highway 3) and wonder why more people don’t opt for this region which is equally nice as Banff and not nearly so developed.  Waterton Lakes, despite the fires of the past year, was a breathtaking site.  The drive from there to Penticton, and then on through the mountains, lakes and rivers of the Selkirk Mountains and Kootenays, blew us away with the scenic beauty.

Back to the adventure. An x-ray in Victoria showed a full break. The result – a trip to the OR: a plate, 10 pins and 37 staples in my arm; and no running nor cycling for at least 6 months.  We did get to experience BC health and it was excellent.  I hope I can write about some real adventures as time passes but that is one of the most memorable (however unfortunate) parts of the trip.

Welcome to my first blog.