Remembering Beauty in 2012: Yoho National Park

Takakkaw Falls, Yoho National Park (ground level view)

 Yoho National Park, the Iceline Trail.  Completed in September, this was our last back-packing trip of the season, and most definitely the coldest.  Despite mainly freezing my nibs off nearly every night, I loved this trail.  Every section was completely different from the last.  Also, we had learned how to pack lighter food by this point in the season, so we could enjoy the views more and experince less backpack- straps-cutting-through-our-collarbones pain.

 That's right, ladies and gentlemen: Daniel cooks, bless him, even when it's finger-numbingly cold in the morning.

And here is Takakkaw Falls again, this time at eye level.

Day 2: we reached the end of the tree line.  Welcome to the scrub brush growing part of the mountains.

And then we went above the scrub line, to the glacier and these giant rock steppes.

 I literally had to crawl up the last 14 meters to get to this level because I was sure I was going to fall backwards and die on a set of carved stairs that I kid you not looked like the ones in the Lord of the Rings that Gollum leads Frodo and Sam up to get through Mordor.  Nevertheless; I survived, and what a fabulous view! (the mountains are nice, too).

It's a game: where in this photo is Faye?  Or Daniel.  Whoever that is.

This is a petrified tree.  No, it didn't get scared of the heights, too.  It got buried in something, and then eventually turned into rock after years of pressure.

 This was some sort of organic lifeform surviving in ridiculously cold glacier water at the top of the mountain.  If you want a more specific definition, you'll have to ask someone else.

 Looking back at where we'd been only a day earlier.

 Close-up of tree sap on a pine tree.

 Hiking out on Day 4.  There were some very vibrant red plants that grew on the ground on the trail that led us out.

I hate saying good-bye to the summer, because depression is so much harder to fend off in the winter without the sun, but it was a beautiful fall.  And this photo is of Daniel, who did not fall, despite being dressed to match it, and is also beautiful to look at.

Remembering Beauty in 2012: Berg Lake Trail

Dan and I did a few backcountry backpacking trips in the Rockies last summer.  These are some of my favourite pictures from our trip to Mount Robson National Park to do the Berg Lake trail.    

 

The vegetation in this park, particularly at the base of the mountain, was ridiculously large.  This is Dan's hand, in comparison to the size of a ground cover plant leaf. 

 

Dan versus the vegetation.  Yes, yes that is some sort of rhubarb type plant that is taller than Dan.  And yes, Dan is carrying a backpack that probably weighs as much as him.  Our packs were so heavy on this trip that we had to help each other lift them onto our backs.  One of the most ironic aspects of backcountry camping is that your burdens are always the heaviest for the most difficult part of the journey- when you're going uphill.  Admittedly, we also packed waaaay too much heavy wet food for this trip (this was before we figured out how to make good use of dehydrators), but what a delicious trip it was...

Pretty as this waterfall is, the most amazing thing about it is how long it is.  The Berg Lake trail follows this rush of water in its alternating rivers and falls for over 5 kilometers.  This is maybe the bottom 15th of the falls.  It originates from Berg Lake, which is about 2 kilometers up Mount Robson's total 4 kilometer height. 

After our climb-800-meters-in-one- day Day, we did this really pleasant level day hike from our camp site to Berg Lake which crossed through this long flood plain.

How to keep your children occupied on a long mountain treck without bringing along excess toys/electronics (which, when you're back-packing means excess weight).

That is a glacier.  Yes, they are actually blue in colour; it's not just an artists' rendition.  Weird, I know.  

 Me and Dan.  I'm happier than I look, I promise.  I just think this was before we ate lunch.

Mount Robson and the glacier that feeds Berg Lake.

A zoom in of the glacier.  Yeah, it's pretty cool.

Some mini bergs in Berg Lake

My feet after dipping them in the lake

And these would be photos of Tobaggan Falls (photos above, beside, and 2 below).  Neatest looking water falls I've ever seen.  They just run straight down the maintain at a nearly perfect 45 degree angle through these shoots that look like they should be water slides.

 This is a spot about 1/2 way up the Tobaggan Falls when I couldn't hike anymore because my blood sugar levels were dropping too low.  We stopped in a little cleft in the rock and cooked pizza and hoped no bears would come to eat us and our pizza.  As I said, waaay too much wet food, but such a delicious trip. 

Remember I said the falls are really long?  This is the beginning of them (Emporer Falls).

Eventually we had to go home again (sigh).  

These are mountain sheep we encountered around a sudden bend in the road and the reason why you shouldn't speed too much while driving through the mountains. 

All the Little Whispering Ghosts

As you may or may not know, Dan and I both applied to 3 schools to start our Master's studies in psychology this September.  While we waited to hear whether or not any of them would take us, we put our future lives on hold; drifting along, continuing to work, but not committing ourselves to any further responsibilities or plans.  Nolan used to have some sort of war-strategy video game where when you pressed the "pause" button, a flashing sign would come up stating, "Reality Check: Press Start."  The video-game designers were not wrong in their philosophy- wars, and life in general, will not stop just because you need or want a break. Most of the time, anyways.

Thanks to the thrift-awareness of my friend Jen, Dan and I learned about a year ago that you can use Airmiles points to pay for hotel stays.  It's a pain to arrange, but makes mini "luxury" travels much more affordable.  We recently used some of our points to stay an extra night at a hotel in Canmore where we were staying for a foster parent event.  (No, we haven't taken up foster parenting at this point in our lives, thank you for checking.)  Rather, the agency my parents used to foster with gives out an award in my mom's name each year (called the Marilyn Archer Memorial Award, MAMA for short) to a current foster parent who displays perseverance, creativity, and a sense of humour in their parenting, and this year I was the family member presenting the award.  Anyways, while we were in Canmore, we heard that the Canmore public library was having a used book sale.  Being suckers for cheap deals and the written word, we went in search of said sale.  We did find it, but before the library, we discovered an art show being put on by the Canmore Art Guild.  Being suckers for beauty and things that involve the word "guild", we went in.  We looked around a long time.  Each piece was quite different, and had an attached note from the artist explaining the inspiration for the piece and its materials.  Some members of the guild were sitting at a table, and warmly invited questions if we had any.  They also expressed love for my abominable snow-monster touque, and who wouldn't? I must have been dressed funny, or we stayed longer than their average vistors or something, because one of the guild members eventually came to stand by me and said, "You must be an artist."  I smiled politely and told her I wasn't really; I hadn't created anything in years, though I'd attended an art school when I was a kid.  I hate to take credit for being more than what I am.  My sister Melanie is an artist- she works on her craft 14 hours a day.  I've been "working" on the same mural on my wall since before I got married 3 years ago and there's barely 4 cartoon animals added per year, on average.  But as we left the gallery, I had the strangest sensation of being Peter, denying Christ the second time.

The second time?  Jesus, when was the first?  Oh, silver stormtrooper head necklaces, riiiiight.  Earlier in the month, Dan and I visited ACAD for their metal and jewelry show and sale, called Hephaestus.   I was excited to be the kind of pop children's literature reading nerd that understood the reference to the Roman god of metal working, and I brought $$ along to buy stuff and support starving students.  Apparently they hadn't had too many visitors, and I was one of 5 people who had bought anything the entire weekend of the show and sale, so many of the artists presenting their work were eager to find out how I had heard about the event, and seemed to be under the impression I must be an artist as well.  Then, as with the Canmore Artist Guild, I responded that I wasn't an artist, and I had heard of Hephaestus from my little sister, Melanie, who was a student there.  Melanie they knew.  One of the students helpfully informed me that Melanie was in the school that day, "She's on the third floor, working.  You could go see her if you like...oh wait, you're not a student, you don't have a key card to get up there.  Sorry, never mind."  I left feeling just a little bit sad.  ACAD wasn't really a part of my world- I was just a visitor, looking in from the outside, with no key to enter deeper realms.

Denial thrice: aaaaand check [mate].  Last night I went out to a Karla Adolphe house concert I'd been invited to over facebook via a former house-mate (who is now living in a smaller house with 9 new house-mates, the brave hippie soul).  I love house concerts.  They're intimate and relaxed, allow the musician(s) to interact with their audience like a large boisterous family at dinner, but don't deafen and crush you the way that "pro" concerts do.  And I would go to a Karla Adolphe house concert even if her music was wretched (happily, it's fabulous)- she's so delightfully human and humane, stretching herself out to engage her audience with personal stories, awful jokes, humour-filled self deprecation, and pursuasive encouragements to sing along.  Toward the end of her show, Karla invited anyone with an artistic bent to stay in touch by adding their name to her email list, adding a star to let her know they were interested in talking with her more personally about art and spirituality and community.  I wanted to add my name, and a star.  But at the end of the night, I left without leaving either.  I don't want to be a burden. Why should I take up space in their busy lives when I have no art to speak of and already struggle to maintain the relationships I have?  And yet.  And yet listening to her music reminded me why I had ultimately asked God to have U Vic reject me: because I need to learn how to be a psychologist from someone who can also teach me how to use art to communicate beyond words and logic.

Reality Check: Press Start.  The morning I asked God to take the decision of whether to accept U Vic or not away from me, was the morning that U Vic sent me an email telling me they had declined my application because they didn't have a professor for me.  So.  So now what?  Apply to more schools for acceptance in 2014, yes.  But what do I want to study?  And what will I commit myself to in the meantime so I will be ready?  I'm not sure.  But it seems suspicious that my place of employment recently informed me that my entire job and it's unpredictable hours may change by June, and that 3 of my closest friends from Milton Williams Creative Arts School have all recently reappeared in my life.  Hmmm.  Art class?