The NOLS Goal!

I know I've mentioned NOLS here several times before, and said that this is something which I really want to do, so I thought I should dedicate a posting to NOLS. NOLS stands for 'National Outdoor Leadership School' and NOLS was started in the state of Wyoming in 1965 by a famous mountaineer named Paul Petzoldt who believed that the best classroom for teaching is the wilderness. NOLS mission is to teach people technical outdoor skills, leadership and environmental ethics, making its students good stewards of the environment. There is no formal physical classroom at NOLS - it's all in the remote wilderness where few people care to go, away from civilization and roads. Most of their courses last thirty days, but they can be as short as ten days or as long as an entire year. NOLS has locations all over the world, from Tibet, to Australia, to Scandinavia to the Gulf of Mexico to Wyoming, the Yukon and Alaska.

For me, the options for locations are almost mind baffling. I have always wanted to visit northern Canada, but in Alaska I feel the call of the Chilkoot Trail and Scandinavia sounds like a fascinating landscape. In Wyoming I could learn to ride a horse and pack with it, going deep into the wilderness aboard an equine friend. I was amazed when I heard of NOLS and now the desire to take one of their courses is a burning desire. What could you discover, twenty days away from any road, a distance which you have traveled using only your own two feet? What kind of person would you become? NOLS is a life changing experiance. To me it sounds like the world's absolute greatest scout camp.

But for me, NOLS is a ways off and not just because I lack the finances. This past year digestive problems have made me suffer and I am likely weaker than I have ever been, too weak to go on a NOLS trip where I would be hiking sometimes literally from sunrise to sundown for days, covering hundreds of kilometres. Before I can even think of applying to NOLS, I have to get abolish my irritable bowel syndrome and I will have to work drastically on my fitness, but I believe that I can do it. Yesterday, I at last found a resource for what I've been looking for - a book detailing the proper diet for the human body. Since I've learned the proper diet for members of Carnivora, I've wondered what the proper diet is for our kind - herbivorous omnivores. I think that once I switch myself onto this healthier diet I will get substantually healthier, which will help allow me to do more physical exertion. I've had the unpleasant thought a few times working my last job carrying 40lb bags of dog food that I might be getting weaker still. That needs to stop.

I believe that proper diet cures all ills. In a truly healthy cat, for instance, their digestive tract is so acidic that their saliva is antibacterial, meaning they are actually immune to sickness caused by bacterial infection. Most domestic cats aren't this healthy though, but if you look at cats in the wild, very few of them are ever sick. Since I've been little I've thought it rather strange that things like cancer were not such a big deal a hundred years ago, yet people yelp about it all over the place on our society now. Is there a cure for cancer? Yes, I believe so - eating correctly. Our western society doesn't. Our diets are as bad as the trash that we feed to our carnivorous animals, yet in older societies which have stayed traditional to their heritage, people easily live spryly into their golden years without any problems from stuff like cancer.

Personally, I really look down on conventional medication because most of the time it's really just a bandage. It conceals the symptom, but then it often gives you OTHER symptoms in trade. The most disgusting example I have heard of in conventional medicine is a practice which concerns the treatment of ulcers, where the nerve which connects the brain to the stomach is severed. What does this do?! It doesn't solve the problem of the ulcer (which, by the way, are NOT caused by influx of stress or emotions but by poor diet) it just cuts out your ability to sense that you are in pain and need to change something. (Like your diet.) The more I research diet, whole, holistic, ancestral, biologically appropriate diet, the more I see that diet can solve probably every ill in the body, perhaps even those which are mental. Now, wouldn't that be divine, if my 'uncurable' anxiety disorder and my 'uncurable' irritable bowel syndrome both went away? I think the statement that any disease or bodily problem is uncurable is utter bullshit, perhaps designed by drug companies who want our money. Natural medicine has already helped cure my mother of something which we had all thought would never go away. That's one reason for me to believe so strongly in natural things like a simple change in diet - natural medicine, when properly explained, is extremely logical. It tells you how and why it works and it doesn't hurt you more in exchange. It's said that the body has a tremendous capacity for healing when actually given a chance.

I'll write more about proper human diet after I've finished reading my new resource book as it's not just good research on a personal level, but also for characterization. It's kind of amazing how my journey to find out the details of why Ki gets sick and how he gets better is leading to my own hopeful jump in well being.

Characterization and writing is another reason why I want to take a NOLS course, as 'the long journey' theme seems to be a common element of all of my stories. Since I've been going on long road trips every summer since I was a tiny kid, maybe that's not a coincidence. NOLS to me, sounds like an 'ultimate road trip.' It could be really fun; I could really road trip all the way to the course, maybe with my parents, then I could road trip back afterwards too. Also, as for the writing, NOLS would be a really great inspiration. I'd actually get to see what it's really like to travel for days on end on foot or in saddle. Then I'd REALLY be able to describe the sensation!

NOLS is a far off goal, but I'm wishing and I'm hoping pretty hard, so maybe now the universe will listen to me and give me the means to get there. That's what I'm hoping. I really think that after thirty days in the wilderness, I might finally be able to make up my bloody mind about stuff!

BCMC Trail & the Summit of Grouse Mountain

The BCMC (British Columbia Mountaineering Club) Trail, is, supposedly, the less cruel sister of the famous and stupendously awful trail known internationally as the Grouse Grind. Both trails run from the base of Grouse Mountain (easily accessible by transit) to the summit, where all the fun stuff is. Today I went in with a plan of taking the 'kinder' BCMC to the top to save quite a few bucks on a gondola ticket (how most people get to Grouse Mountain's summit) and then I was going to go off and hike to Goat Mountain.

I didn't get to Goat Mountain today. The furthest I got, in fact, was Grouse's summit. Why? Well, the fact is, is that BCMC is really not much kinder at all than the Grind. In full, honest truth, the BCMC is still amazingly horrible. Is it gentler than the hell-case known as the Grind? Yes. But it's still pretty shitty. Now, I like trails. I am an obsessive hiker and I love hiking, yet when a trail is almost vertical for 2.5 kilometres in which I am constantly lifting my feet to hip-high and breathing like a stricken racehorse with my face all red, well, that's when I DON'T like a trail. I hike for fun, thank you. The BCMC isn't fun. Also, I was passed many times, which kind of damages my pride. (Of course, I had to come ultra prepared for that Goat Mountain jaunt that I never did with 2 litres of water, a fleece hoodie, sketchbook & sketch pouch and full survival emergency pack - that all comes to about 10 lbs of weight on my back, which feels more like 30 lb when you're doing something stupid like the BCMC Trail.) A good hike is one where you can enjoy the scenery. You CAN'T enjoy the scenery on the BCMC Trail, because it never gives you a chance to lift your head up from the ground as you toil up the dementedly steep mountainside. The BCMC trail and this crazy guy I hiked with for the last five minutes of it, all come together to tell me some facts about myself and about people on the Lower Mainland:

1. People here are fucking insane and have no idea of what a real hike is like. (Note, I know what a real hike is like because I like the long 25+ km ones!)

2. I'm out of shape, which isn't surprising, given that I barely ever get any excersize (noooooo!) and that I just ran through a bad episode with my IBS (which didn't bother me AT ALL today and it's been twinging all week - hiking IS medicine!) so I need to find a way to be more active, without doing something retarded like magically acquiring a dog from some place. (Actually I think being a professional dog walker would be an awesome career!)



So, how do I rate this trail?

On a scale from 1 to 10, I rate this one a 1. It's less disgusting than the Grind (which I rate a 0, as it should not have the right to call itself a trail) but it's still not very fun. The Grind is a hellish staircase to insanity. The BCMC is a trail which is considering becoming a hellish staircase to insanity.

Would I do it again? Potentially; yes, when I'm fitter. Why, when I hate this trail so much? Well, personally, I'd rather not pay the $45 lift ticket up the mountain to the summit just for a day walk there. Hiking should be FREE. The right to move around and experience freedom is so base in our souls that it is as required as water, another thing which should always be FREE.

Don't do this hike if you've never hiked before, if you're overweight or if you're extremely out of shape. Work up to it; you'll be thankful! (Also, if you're a new hiker this might poison you to hiking forever because it is truthfully terrible!)



Now, the hike up might have sucked (also meeting that weird guy who claims that he regularly runs from Park Royal to the top of Grouse and back who's going to Mt. Fuji next month was sort of a turn off to any more extensive hiking, especially when he happily said that Goat Mountain is a lot like the BCMC - uh. Yeah. Fuck no.) but the summit of Grouse Mountain is actually a really great destination! Most of the really crazy things like ziplining and paragliding are obviously activities which you have to pay an arm and a leg for, but there are plenty of free activities which are great for the whole family! Also, with stupendous views and fun educational nature stuff, it's an especially good place to expose young children to the great outdoors, without them getting too tired.



In winter Grouse Mountain is a ski resort and as I don't ski, I can't really attest to its ski-ness. However, in summer, the place is pretty cool; at the bottom of the mountain close to the parking lot you can see three male timber wolves from the film industry and at the top you can see....



...Grinder & Coola, the resort's ambassador captive grizzly bears, who were instrumental in the recent development of bear rehabilitation techniques (they're pretty much the reason that scientists can now take an orphan bear cub from the wild, rehab it and release it when it's old enough now)...



...see a Harris Hawk named Natas at the Canadian Raptor Conservancy's 'Wings in Motion' show...



...see an ADORABLE squeaky female Great Horned Owl named Galaxy...



...see a really funny and fascinating turkey vulture lovingly named Frank as well as a red-tailed hawk, which the conservancy is valiantly petitioning to make Canada's national bird, since bald eagles (America's national bird) like to EAT iconic Canada geese...



...and Rocco, the bald eagle, who is apparently an escape artist. The show promises to also showcase falcon species soon!

Besides the wolves, grizzlies and the brilliant Wings in Motion show, Grouse also has a 'World Famous Lumberjack Show' (which I've seen before at the IPE, my home town's fair and which was much funnier there, but the show at Grouse is still excellent, especially if you've never seen it) and 'The Eye of the Wind' which is a massive wind turbine that Grouse decided to put up to make its resort more energy efficient. You can also take a lift to an observation deck at the top and see the view - I didn't. I wasn't sure if you had to pay money to do that and I'm a cheapskate. Plus, I don't very much like heights, though I definitely would have went if I hadn't been alone and if it was free!



All I got a picture of for the lumberjack show was the set up. I didn't take any photos of the actual show for some reason. Before that I enjoyed an interpretive talk on Coola and Grinder the grizzly bears, as well as the Wings in Motion show which I loved, because I got to learn some great new things! (Like, did you know that an adult grown male human can only exert with his fist about 78 lbs of pressure, while a Great Horned Owl can do about 7,000 lbs and that only three bird species in the world have a sense of smell, two of them vultures? Other birds can't smell at all! It's pretty amazing! Also, did you know that turkey vultures can apparently projectile vomit their rancid stomach contents - remember, they eat carrion; rotten meat - at a range of 6 feet as a threat display to scare off predators? Apparently the scent is worse than skunk, which, amusingly, is the favourite prey of Great Horned Owls (which can't smell.))



The Eye of the Wind. It's pretty impressive close up. I've seen wind turbines before in Alberta in fields, but I've never been able to walk right up to one before!



My favourite part wasn't the huge propellers though. It was the base of the shaft, which had really cute sillouettes of North American animals on it, including a wolf!



Also, if you're clinically insane you can zipline from Grouse Mountain to the next peak over...



...and if you're even more insane than that, you can go paragliding! Wee! $200 panic attack at 500 feet in the air! Exciting!



What was really great though, was the views. You can see nearly the entire Lower Mainland from up on Grouse!



But, that wasn't my favourite view...



...this was, and it made me cry, because it made me miss hiking in the Rocky Mountains with my parents and my brothers. I really miss my family. I wanted more of a view in this direction, which could only be seen behind the wind turbine and I wanted to go off hiking, under that glorious, glorious mountain...



...but enough of my sadness. Today, I wore my new gaiters, which I've only worn a few times before. They worked well and I didn't notice them on my legs as much today, except when I was overheating on the BCMC, where I got so hot that I had to pull them down around my ankles, which, y'know, kind of defeats the purpose of leg protection, as with them rolled down they couldn't protect my legs from my boots as I have a habit of scratching myself with the tread, making my legs all muddy. So, today I came back with muddy legs, despite my effort of wearing gaiters. (Which, by the way, make me fantasize a lot about eventing horses, since, y'know, eventing horses wear gaiters to protect their legs too... I have a pretty big obsession with horses.)



A picture of me! I took it, but hopefully it doesn't look too much like I did. I really hate 'myspace' photos. Y'can tell the BCMC wore me down a bit here. I really only had about 50% of my endurance left.



Pretty eh? Now, imagine the gigantic swarm of black flies which was also enjoying this vista, while supping on the many different international vintages of tourist's blood. Surprisingly they left me alone while I was sitting completely still life drawing that vista of the craggy mountain that I liked, but the second I stood up there was a horde upon me again! Little bastards... I can't WAIT to count how many bug bites they gave me tomorrow, though they might have just been landing on my skin endlessly to be annoying. I think they like the smell of hiker sweat.



After enjoying the view, I went back down the peak trail to the chalet, passing by the grizzlies, who were having a snack of apples soaked in honey. At the chalet I window perused the gift shop (and saw two wolf books I dearly wanted to buy), bought my down ticket, then attended the free interpretive documentary on Grinder and Coola, which told all about the experiment that they were involved in, that of seeing if, with as little human interaction as possible, a bear cub could be successfully be put back into the wild once it was old enough to go free. The result? Yes, but Grinder and Coola are to be forever captive, because they're too habituated, even with as little handling as they received as babies.



The views again, were really, really great!




There were also a plethora of great wood carvings! I especially liked this angry threat displaying grizzly. All the grizzly stuff about how deeply instinct based they are really gave me some great inspiration for writing Ki, my drakoon protagonist!



Though I can't see a drakoon standing up this high on its hindquarters and roaring like this. Drakoon have a lot of trouble rearing as-dragon actually. There's too many bits of their anatomy from their tails to their wings and everything in between unbalancing them.

After all that, I decided that I was hungry and that I wanted to go home. I went for a last stroll around to capture a few photos of the sunset and the tram coming in, then I got on and that was that. Now I'm waiting for my quiche to be done, so that I can eat! Grr!!



All in all, a very good day! Lots of thinking got done and that is awesome!




Photos: Rosanna P. Brost

Some Thought as to What I Should be...

The other day, a few nights back, I stayed overnight at my buddy Rachel's house and we pulled an all-nighter, drawing stuff and generally having fun. It was awesome and during that time we had some interesting conversations, from how time lapses for artists when we work because the act of noticing time pass is a left brained thing - and we are right brained, so in using our right brains we literally lose our ability to perceive the passage of time when we are concentrating on our creative pursuits - wow - to a bit about my future. My buddy said that when I'm thinking towards my future, I must consider what I am willing to give up. To me, I also find I must consider what is absolutely the most important things to me and to not lie to myself, as I'm pretty good at doing. The fact that I'm a liar to my own soul and a procrastinator is why I am still in Vancouver, despite my heart saying that it wants to go back to square one in the Okanagan.


(Photo Note: These images are from the Heather Trail in Manning Provincial Park, a backpacking expedition I did with my brother and my dad in 2007. All photos taken by my father.)

So what am I willing to give up? Nothing. The fact is, I'm the type of person who believes that you can have your cake and eat it too! What's most important to me? Family, not being alone for my whole life and hiking. Yep, hiking. Hiking trumps art though I love art. Here's how things go in my had:

1. Family & Being Loved + Giving Love
2. Hiking
3. Writing
4. Art



Thus, the most important thing to me besides my base need for companionship (I am NOT a dog who can be happy being left all day alone in the backyard, then get a piddly walk and a cuddle once and again THANK YOU) the most important thing to me psychologically is hiking. This is pretty good; hiking is usually free, the only thing that makes hiking beyond my reach right now is my inability to drive a car, so I need a license and a job that'll give me gas money to get to my precious hiking trails. Now, I could get into animation and make a stupid amount of money, but the problem with the animation industry is that it is usually centered around large cities and if there is one thing which is absolutely true about big cities, is that the hike offerings most often range from nil to almost nothing. If I live in a big city like that, I will be denying the wild part of my soul which wants to HIKE! So, the animation is not an indefinite career choice, though I think I might be willing to work in it for a while, just to figure things out and get some finances going. If I join the animation industry permanently, I will be denying a very large part of my soul and thus, lying to myself.





BUT, I can not deny that I'm not a fully trained artist either, or that there's a big part of me that also wants to draw, draw, draw! SO, what I need to do is find a career which either:

- Is an outdoorsy job which gives me enough free time for writing and artsing.
- Or, is an artsy job located in some outdoorsy town which gives me enough time and resources for hiking.

Most of all, I need to find a life partner who wants to hike as much as I do, because unfortunately, dogs and cats can't hike everywhere! A life partner would also help take care of my need for loneliness and family. Again, I am NOT a dog who can be left alone in the backyard. I whine and I yelp and I howl and I start to do stupid things like dig up all the tulips. A wolf can NOT be without a pack!




So far, the only ideas so far for my near future are thus:

- Move back to Okanagan where parents are, preferably before winter.
- Save up money and learn to drive a car; driving a car opens up outdoorsy career opportunities as well as gives me more freedom to get to my hiking trails.
- Take a NOLS course! Yukon, Alaska or Wyoming! Maybe two! I'd love to be able to do horsepacking as well as backpacking.
- Figure out career after NOLS gives me experience and thus more deciding power.

I think that's a pretty good game plan for my life. Plus, I might kill two birds with one stone and meet my perfect life companion at NOLS! You never know... I can be hopeful... but all this costs money, so in the meantime, I will be applying for jobs in the animation industry, preferably in the Okanagan. No matter what happens, at least I have a plan now... somewhat! If anyone has any ideas which combine art and the wilderness, I'm all ears!



Photos: Bryan B. Brost
Art: Rosanna P. Brost

Sunny & Me & the Okanagan Valley

To those who don't see the full picture, who only see activities and things like shopping and hanging out, any place can seem boring. To the young people of the Interior of British Columbia, their small towns are often described as boring and dull, with nothing to do as they dream of the city.



Sunny and I grew up in the Okanagan Valley and we had no need for any of that. We saw the valley in all its splendour from high on the mountains and low in the hills. Sunny saw the land from the lush of the grass and from the long shadows of the trees. Both of us lived and loved there and every single time I leave the Okanagan, I am tortured by my leaving. It's where my family is, where my cats are and where my spirit resides. When I am away from it, my soul cries and cries for the Okanagan, where all is quiet, all is peaceful. The Okanagan wasn't where I was born, though it was where Sunny was born, but I may as well have been born there too, because it's there, that the big bang of my imagination happened and where my spirit ran free. The Okanagan was and always will be our inspiration and though Sunny's no longer there except in spirit, I know that he loved that land too. It was his home and is. He never left it and he never will. To take Sunny from that land would be a crime and I know that when next I go there, my spirit will cry in earnest for his, for he will no longer physically be there.



The Okanagan Valley is like no other place on Earth. One can say that about just about any place though, for no two feet of dirt are alike, so I will say this; in no place in the world that I know of can you travel thirty kilometres and go from lush green forests edging lakes, to green farmlands roamed by beautiful horses to a semi desert where the hills flare up with yellow balsam root flowers in the summer and where if you're not careful, you'll step on a prickly pear cactis. Everything is surrounded by soft old mountains and cliffs kissed orange by the sunrise and in the valley bottom there is a troop of lakes, one after the other, one by one. There's Okanagan, grey and long busy, home to the mighty Ogopogo who once ate people crossing the lake in legends. There's Kalamalka, a lake National Geographic rated as being one of the world's most beautiful lakes in the world and it deserves that title, for Kalamalka's colouring is always forever changing, for in its waters are the properties of a crystal prism. There's also Swan Lake and Wood Lake and Gardam Lake and Skaha and Osoyoos. All of them are beautiful.



The lake that me and Sunny grew by and where Sunny tried so hard to hunt the mallard ducks at was Okanagan Lake. I lived in terror of those waters as a child, not particularly because of Ogopogo (though he scared me too and still does) but because I just didn't like water and I thought that octopi lived there and that there were crabs to pinch my feet. (I will never swim in the ocean!) My mother told me that when I was a baby, every time they tried to put me in the water, I would scream bloody murder, so the general consensus has become that in some past life, I drowned, because I still don't like water. If I'm in a canoe, I have to paddle close to shore where the water isn't so deep and I will not put my feet anywhere near reeds or water grass. I think Sunny was the same, though he was a cat, so like me, he possessed a sensible distrust of water. One time, when he was young we tried to take him out and he leaped out of the canoe before we had cleared very far past the shore, swimming back as fast as he could. We never made him do that again; some cats may like water, but not mine.



It's hard to think about the Lake Lot now. So much of my memories there in that sacred place were spent with him, my Sunnels, now passed. It's been two days since he died now. Two days. Over fifty four hours since he passed away. I can't stand thinking of that. Thinking of the lake, I remember him striding through the green grass, his orange and white fur bright against the flora, beautiful eyes and knicked ears keen. Whenever we were cooking, whenever we had a fire the cats would hang out with us, never getting too close, but sitting or prowling nearby, a part of the moment.



As dusk drew, we would hear humming birds and then we would see the daily cloud of swallows, reeling and diving like fighter jets after the bugs. There's less of those now than when I was a kid. There may be less humming birds too and for both species, that's a great tragedy. Darkness would fall and out from the black forest mountain behind our house would come the bats, flicking flashes of coal in the shadowy light, chasing the insects that the swallows had chased while at the fire we drew letters in the air with glowing poker stick points, making smoke trails. Out of the night there would be a flash of white and that would be Mamma Kitty, leaping at the bats. She was seldom successful, but that's not to say that she never was. Mamma Kitty was a champion of mousers and bats were in particular probably of some annoyance to her, flickering about above her head, challenging prey that dared her, mocked her. Mamma Kitty got her revenge though. Like a wild African Serval she would spring up in a flash of her markings, claws clapping together, tail waving wide and any bat who hadn't heard her jump, if it caught between her fatal paws, it was doomed. Mamma Kitty was a spectacular mousing cat.



Sunny's prey, were the ducks. Sunny always dreamed of catching a duck. From his observations of how they came close for bread when we were feeding them (note; bread actually isn't very good for ducks, but these ducks were also feeding on proper duck things at the same time, unlike ducks at your typical city park) the ducks seemed pretty stupid. The only problem was, was that they were in water and he wanted them to be on land. Ducks do go on land though, waddling up to nibble at the grass, so I think Sunny was pretty hopeful that one day he'd catch one unawares. Most of the time though the ducks would see him and they didn't seem too impressed by his chirping bird call, gliding infuriatingly away through the placid water as he stalked across the rock dock. As they left they would straighten and I do think he would breath a sigh then, frustrated by their bloody wariness as they paddled off, quaking about him, oft times a mama duck telling her flotilla of babies to be careful about him.



Smokey and Mamma Kitty were never really tempted by the ducks like Sunny was. Smokey only wanted to catch shrews or robins (my mom cursed her to stop killing all the robins though they seemed in plentiful enough supply) and Mamma Kitty wanted bats - or humming birds - or other birds, or really, anything. The uber hunter wanted to eat something tastier than kibble and to give us something to show her endearing regard. She ate most of her kills, as did Smokey, dragging them into the yard then munching them on the lawn, but sometimes our huntresses didn't eat their prey, leaving them in front of our doors to impress us. I think the gifts were usually shrews. Maybe shrews taste good?



What tasted good to me, were hot dogs, crisped until black so that they have some flavour. To those who don't know, veggie wieners aren't high in the taste department. They're pretty boring, but they taste pretty good if they're charred a bit, at least in my opinion. Something about cooking them in fire makes them taste a thousand times better, especially served on a piece of local bread drizzled with ketchup, relish, mustard and mayo if we were lucky. That, combined with my mom's potato salad and iced tea, followed up by copious sweet marshmallows (also better over a fire) makes for one of the best weinie roasts ever. Marshmallows are also fun because occasionally they become torches, whether you're trying to flame them or not. They're very combustable. (Also, if you put them in the microwave they grow to like five times their size. I know because me and my brothers conducted several experiments on this when our parents were out. We also once made something we called 'astronaut food' which was a blended much of hot dog, bread, mustard, ketchup and relish. Yep. It was nasty looking. I didn't try it.)



Like the cats, we ran barefoot at the lake lot, dashing through cool grass in not much besides our swim suits, leaping through the rain, dancing cautiously around the dry spot in the lawn where the spiny horse chestnuts fell. I don't believe the cats ever stepped there either. Cats are too smart. We climbed the trees; my brothers built forts. We went on the roof of our cabin and looked out over our territory. We chased the cats in games of Endangered Species where they played cheetahs that we as biologists were trying to catch with tranquilizer darts (water guns) and made mazes out of two-by-four blocks of driftwood, once putting Smokey in one of those. The mazes were epic. It's too bad that there's no pictures of those.




In the garden Mamma Kitty liked to lie under the tomatoes on the hot black Earth and soak up the sun while Sunny preferred the cherry tree, where he could lay in the shade in cool peace. I saw him pant a few times. My dad made the cats a big automatic feeder thing out of a big metal stove pipe and the bottom of a plastic vegetable oil bucket, which we kept full of kibble for them and they drank water from the lake shore, crouching at its grassy edge. In the day, you could always hear the boats and seadoos going NEA-NEA-NEA-nea-nea... At night all there was was quiet and our childish conversations and the occasional terrifying bark of our mother telling us to go to sleep as the cats all slept with us in the trailer.



The Okanagan is home to me and my cats. It's where I first dreamed of giggoos and roleplayed falcolfs playing in the lake mud and where I told many of my first stories. Rimer was born there as Sunny was and Smokey and Mamma Kitty were too and it will always remain a source of great inspiration to me, from the Lake Lot where my family all found their peace and where me and my brothers learned the wildness that all kids should learn, to the dusty hiking trails that bake under the sun where as a kid I followed and where now I so often lead. Hiking drives my blood up like nothing else and the Okanagan does too, because it is home and it is familiar. I love the Okanagan like a family member and this year, I was grateful when it didn't torch. This year, my homeland got a break from the recent string of yearly firestorms that have plagued it. Maybe the sunspots and flares which chase away the needed rain have calmed down for a while; I would welcome that. I think we all would welcome that, here in the Okanagan.



For me, I will remember running in the rain unjacketed and hiding under my parent's sofa bed with Sunny and Smokey and Mamma Kitty in the thunderstorms. I will remember Sunny cutely chatter chirping at the ducks and Mamma Kitty hunting, bringing back mice. I will remember the bottle caps stuck in the dirt road and riding my bike the five kilometres out to the general store for candy under a hot summer sun and I will remember Smokey, playing with her prey, flipping them into the air.



I love my home. It won't be the same without Sunny there, but it will still be home and when I go there, maybe, maybe he will come to me and if only just in dreams, we'll be together again.

Rest in peace buddy.





Photography by Rosanna P. Brost and Bryan B. Brost.

Hiking

Hiking is beautiful.

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, before the time of the horse, when our ancestors still had to gather food and hunt and lived in caves, hiking was a daily necessity, whether it was for daily survival or for nomadic tribes on the move. I cannot fully describe hiking to anyone. It is too beautiful and pure; those who have never been hiking or have never truly hiked cannot understand. Hiking for me is simply trusting my spirit and my feet to guide me wherever I might want to go, scrambling and leaping, loping, skidding and then that oh so holy gait - the hike. Humans, like horses, are gaited animals and whether you take to that analogy or not does not change the fact that this is true. The first gait of humans, was the hike. You might think that hiking is walking, but it isn't. Hiking is an energy efficient, swift, extenction of walking. A very experianced hiker can hike for what feels like forever, covering distances of upwards of several thousand kilometres on a long trek, going as far as forty miles or more in one day. Rather than tire you out, hiking invigorates in a way that walking just doesn't. The pureness of the air filling your lungs, the softness of the earth and the terrain passes beneath your heels.

My father once described hiking as being like his version of church and this is a feeling I can attest to being true. A hiker needs no walls or cross to feel at peace with the world or pure. All you need is the wilderness and the wind softly blowing through the trees, animals pausing invisibly in the growth to watch your passage by. When I hike, I feel like a dog shaking off the mantles of humanity to leap back into a world of primitive joy. Like a sled dog the moment I smell the forest breeze, a crispness of glaciers and pine, I cannot wait to begin. I feel like crying "Let's go, let's go, let's go!" and the moment everything is ready, when all gear straps are tight and everything is prepared with nothing forgotten my feet hit the trail and I give my self to them.

My feet know what to do. I cannot lift much with my noodle arms, but my powerful legs can lift my weight and more, springing me through the density of the forest like a wolf on the prowl, hunting for the path of least resistance through the woodland. Surefooted, fleet, I sometimes can do nothing but proverbially hold on as my feet bring me down an incline over roots and rocks that could end my hiking days in a heart beat. Take a wrong step hiking and you could even be dead, but I trust my feet. They have always brought me home and kept me safe. Where other people ride horses and love cars, I need none of that. All I need is my feet, which like my hands when I draw, simply just know what to do. They should - I grew up hiking. The hiking gait is ingrained into their makeup. The most peculiar thing is how I almost did not have this trust with my feet or this freedom of the trail. If I had been born a hundred years ago or maybe even just fifty, I would of been wheelchair bound for eternity for the way that I was born, my legs bent out of shape. I would have been crippled but I am not and I will always be eternally grateful for those who were looking out for me when I was a baby and straightened my legs, giving me this life of adrenaline and freedom on the trail. Sometimes, I even believe that my feet are stronger because they were born crippled and had to be straightened. I have certainly never sprained an ankle or broken a limb though there have been plenty of opportunities for such things to happen, growing up on the trail.

There is something in the forest, perhaps the air that just plain invigorates the body, enlivening a perhaps stagnant soul which sends a charge through you. On many occasions I have felt like a dead horse going into the forest, my mind and body poisoned by the stresses of our modern world and yet later, leaving the forest I almost always feel cured. I am very fortunate to live in a place where this natural medicine, a cure without side effects is so readily available. Away from the forest lands and the mountains, I would surely sicken and die. In the forest I shake off my cares and humanity to just be another thing in the wilderness. The wild does not care that you are human, nor what your station in life is.

If it wants to, it will take you just the same.