Reflection
Wow, that is some lame title. But it's 9:30pm, too close to bedtime for me to come up with anything more clever.
Last weekend we hiked part of this same trail, attempting to reach the summit of Speckled Mountain, instead inadvertently veering off on a snowmobile route up Mount Adams. No matter, we decided to return this week to attempt once again, this time on the correct trail.
But this week was winter in earnest. In some places the snow was at least a foot deep and we broke trail the whole way.
The fun part about this snow of course is seeing all the animals tracks. Mouse, squirrel, deer, vole(?), rabbit, undetermined canine - though we're guessing coyote since there was no accompanying human tracks, and moose.
Snow is fun. But it's also cold. This was the first real cold we've encountered in the mountains since well... last winter. We almost called it off half way up. Actually we did call it off and turned around because Laurent and I were so cold. But in Laurent's enthusiasm to turn back (very unlike him, he truly must of been cold) he started to warm up and I was just bound and determined not to quit if we didn't have to. So we turned ourselves back around and up the mountain.
We never did make it to the top. By 12:30 pm, after hiking for 3 hours through all that snow our 7 year old was more than ready for lunch and a well deserved break. So we called it good, dropped the packs, set up the stove to boil water for lunch (someday we'll share our new Japanese inspired wicked awesome trail lunch) and took a break. But not too long of a break or we'd get cold again. Just enough time to slurp lunch, use the "facilities", pack up again and be on our way down.
The trail down was fun and fast, taking maybe an hour and 45 minutes. Having already broke trail we didn't use so much energy but as the day had warmed up we weren't cold either, as long as we kept moving.
Personally, I struggled early on with a photographic disappointment and then with cold toes. But after pushing through those I enjoyed the hiking high. Experiencing the thrill of my body working (my muscles feel a delicious ache tonight from all that up hill trail breaking), the absolute stillness in the air (except for the woodpecker and the kiddos) and the refreshing solitude of the woods - neither seeing nor hearing another human soul for miles around and knowing we were the only ones on the trail today.
All of those, not to mention the invigorating conversations we had, the tears and laughter we shared, the sense of accomplishment we all felt for having done it in spite of initial hardships, were the gifts of today's winter hike. Who says the only presents this time of year are under a tree.
When was the last time you walked in the rain? Soaking wet? For a couple of hours? In the bush? Without wearing shoes? Without a warm, dry home to return to? On purpose? For us, it was last weekend. Are we hard-core? Perhaps, but I think that there are actually good reasons one might want to do this.
For the record, I just want to say that the situation described above was not enjoyed by all. Despite a drop in team morale, something interesting happened through all of this that I think merits a "philosophical analysis".
We as a North-American culture are very disconnected from the world, we are un-plugging ourselves from our physical body and its relationship with the world we live in. We live in climate-controlled homes, work in climate-controlled buildings and transport ourselves in climate-controlled boxes (yet still somehow manage to complain about the weather). We wear thick, padded shoes. We sleep on thick, padded beds. We bathe in hot water any time we like. When it gets dark, we turn on the lights. When we get tired we eat sugar or drink caffeine. I could probably go on and on, but hopefully by now you are getting the point. We continually try to shelter ourselves from anything we perceive as uncomfortable. We do everything on our terms which gives us the perception that we are in control.
Our bodies, on the other hand, are wired for full-contact living in an environment that is completely out of our control. We have a pile of nerve-endings connected to a large lump of gray matter that is designed for the high performance processing of vast quantities of sensory input. When we remove the sensory input, the gray matter spends a lot of time sitting idle: we start to get bored, restless, worried, stressed, depressed, and sick; slowly deteriorating from the inside out. To combat these problems we attempt to distract ourselves through entertainment, video games, iPods, the Internet, shopping, etc. We try to cheer ourselves up by (over)stimulating our pleasure sensors through things like food and drugs.
When we pull-out of our protected environment something interesting happens: we begin to feel things again. We feel wet, we feel cold, we feel thirsty, we feel hungry, we feel the wind, we feel tired, we feel the dirt between our toes. We feel, with a heightened sensitivity, all of the things that we have tried to protect ourselves from. Our brain begins to awaken and we are abruptly snapped into the present moment. We begin to process at a different level and view the world through a different set of eyes. Our brain no longer requires distraction because it is fully turned-on. We forget about the past, and forget about the future because the present demands our attention.
Many of those feelings are healthy and good, but we have been sheltered from them for so long that we don't know how to respond to them. Because we don't know how to respond to them and we cannot shut them off (or control our environment), we become scared. We feel totally out of control which is, for the most part, the reality of the world we live in. That is one of the reasons I think being in the outdoors is so important. It helps pull us back to reality.
Whenever the situation arises for our family, I like to push the physical boundaries a little (always well within safe limits). I like to use this as both a learning tool for testing what works (and what doesn't) for clothing and equipment, and for learning how to be more comfortable in conditions that may be less than ideal. I am already beginning to see the fruit, as my children are learning to accept, adapt to, and be content in wider variety of weather conditions. And how they are appreciating that sweat is not something to be avoided, but plays a very important role in our bodies natural ability to cool itself.
So while this weekend's hike in the rain (our first major foray) was not ideal (a few clothing/gear modifications are in order), my wife had an unexpected thing happen. She started out the weekend in a foul mood, wondering if she would ever want to camp again. She ended the weekend wishing it wasn't over yet. Why? Because she realized as the weekend progressed that the time spent out in the natural world (both good, and bad) awakend her senses and immersed her in the present, removing all concerns of our modern lifestyle... until we were back in our climate-controlled box driving home.
This is the eulogy that I wrote for my father who passed away a week ago Saturday.
Dad was born in St. Anne Manitoba on March 29, 1940. While most kids would spend their whole lives dreaming of leaving a small prairie town for the big city, dad was different. He must not have thought St. Anne was small enough because as soon as he graduated from university he headed straight to a remote native reservation in northern Ontario. To make sure that mom wouldn't run away, he chose a reservation that was only accessible by plane.
In all truthfulness, mom would never have wanted to leave - they were made for each other - soul mates as she likes to put it. They were committed: not because of location, not because of life circumstances, and not because of vows. They were committed because they loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. In earlier years they worked together, teaching as a team. In later years they worked together to support and nurture the family. Never in my life growing-up did I ever fear for them separating, and I didn't realize until much later on how much of a gift that was. Thank you dad for being the example of a devoted husband.
As we kids grew up, that togetherness we saw between our parents became a togetherness shared by the whole family. We did stuff together, the kids were almost always included in all aspects of family life. We were taught by example, encouraged in our gifts, supported in our endeavors, and of course, disciplined in our disobedience. Thank you dad for being the example of a loving father.
After teaching at native reservations for 11 years dad decided to try a stint in the white man's world and moved our family to the small town of Veteran Alberta. I guess Veteran was still too big. After 3 years, romanced by the time spent on native reservations, we packed-up and headed for the woods of Rocky Mountain House where dad began the process of building us a log home. From selecting, cutting, and hauling the trees out of the bush to building kitchen cupboards and my sister's bed. Dad devoted the next 8 years to constructing our home, while the woodpeckers and squirrels devoted themselves to deconstructing it. What impacted me most by this whole process was that there was no task dad wouldn't attempt. Thank you dad for teaching me what it means to have a "can-do" attitude.
Growing up, I never was afraid of being without. We always had food on the table, clothes to wear, a warm house, gifts on our birthday, and vacations in the summer. While I was able to sense when things got difficult financially, I trusted my dad's ability to care for us, a role he took very seriously. While dad's work was necessary, it didn't rule his life, he was always able to strike a balance between providing for us and spending time with us. Thank you dad for being the example of a hard worker and family provider.
Life wasn't just all work, it was full of play too:
going to the waterslides at Sylvan Lake
going to Vancouver for Expo 86
house boating on the Shuswap lakes
skiing in the Alberta Rocky Mountains
chasing bats in the house with a badminton racquet
fishing along the MacKenzie river (and protecting us kids from being carried off by the mosquitos)
camping on Vancouver Island in our tent-trailer
deep-sea fishing along the west coast
taking the train to visit family in Manitoba
hanging out at Crimson Lake beach
These are some of the memories that I hold most dear. Thank you dad for showing us how to have fun.
On the day before he died, dad assembled us all together around the bed. He knew his time was almost up and he knew how he wanted to spend it, surrounded by his family. It was in these last moments that I saw a new side of dad that hadn't been revealed in the past: his spiritual side. The night before, he had been touched by God and said he was no longer afraid. He said that if he got better, he wanted to devote the rest of his life to helping others. He asked us to sing songs of praise and worship, he asked us to hold hands and pray. Thank you dad for giving us so many wonderful memories, and giving us renewed hope for the life eternal.
