OCEANPAX Paddle / Run / Be

To all the people we've driven to distraction...

2012-02-01T11:02:00.000-08:00

...with our talk about minimalist and barefoot running over the past three years, here's a little gift.

This video, by Steven Sashen, comes from one of our favourite running guys, at "go bare footing". Many thanks Jimmy. There's no question, minimalist running is amazing but those of us who have cast away traditional footwear, for either minimalist footwear or no footwear at all, are undoubtedly guilty of driving everybody else crazy! Sorry, but passion will do that. Anyway, to all those who avoid us (whenever they think we're going to "preach" about running), here's a small admission: Yes, we know, we've driven some of you to distraction.

BTW, it's rated "G", there's no bad language.

(Barefoot) Duncan. :)

The "enduring" presence that beckons warmly...

2012-01-30T08:23:00.000-08:00

"Peace be with you."

Quite often, as we paddle along the Gulf Island shores, we'll come upon an inukshuk, a marker. Traditionally, it may have provided a point of reference or an aid to navigation. In our part of the world, today, it usually represents a place where someone has come ashore and enjoyed a short stay. An inukshuk extends a friendly welcome, its very presence declaring that great pleasure has been enjoyed in that exact spot. They have lingered long enough to build a simple structure that remains to greet others as they pass by, on the water or on an intersecting trail.

Setting rock upon rock and achieving the necessary balance and structural strength brings satisfaction. There is a timelessness to the inukshuk. We feel the connection to like-minded souls in the misty expanse of time. That, perhaps, is the enduring quality every one of these shoreside symbols expresses.

Perhaps this is the great appeal of paddling a simple craft, hill-walking, and running along forest trails. They are enduring, self-propelled activities that have always been a part of our inherent human desire to explore and to discover.

A similarly welcoming presence...on the top of a Scottish hill.

In a world of sound bites, pixels, apps of the day, weekly software updates, and cryptic storage "clouds"...enduring is good. It's very good indeed.

Peace.

Duncan.

Top image: A simple but elegant inukshuk on the rocky shore of neighbouring Saltspring Island.
Second image: Last year, overlooking Loch Brandy, Angus, Scotland.

The "companionship" of nature...

2012-01-23T13:29:00.000-08:00

I have a great deal of company in the house,

especially in the morning when nobody calls.

- Henry David Thoreau

Sunrise at Maple Bay - the "companionship" of the changing morning sky.

Despite the need to be somewhat gregarious and convivial in the practice of my chosen vocation, I am very content to have the "companionship" of the natural world. An introvert (and really ~~quite~~ very thankful for that as I would not have the energy to be otherwise), I find respite in being alone...outside. Perhaps that is why the darkness of the early morning hours is so very special.

In our small corner of the world, when we step outside, we are usually greeted by the resident deer and the rabbits - neither of whom ever seem to need to sleep. In the darker shadows of the deep woods that surround our home, I always imagine there is at least one bear and one cougar eyeing our every movement - the slight feeling of apprehension that this thought brings is rather delicious after all. (Much better that this be a "delicious thought" to me than to them.)

On the water, as we launch and paddle out into the warm glimmer that promises the coming sunrise, we hear (first) and see (second) the ever-present seals and the sea otters. Tiny pulsing "disks", the tiny and virtually transparent jellyfish, hover beneath us, somehow visible in the dark sea. Sea birds are already stretching their wings and preparing for their day. I imagine the giant octopus and the other such sea creatures that inhabit the deep waters of the narrows, and feel a slight shiver. That strange amalgam, the feeling of both vulnerability and cosiness in the confined but comfortable cockpit of our narrow craft...again, it's delicious.

As do many of you, who find meaning and value in self-propelled activities such as kayaking, running, hill-walking, and hiking, we have discovered that there is a wonderful experience of companionship in nature. I will confess that an hour in a busy pub, filled with loud noises and frenetic movement, leaves me feeling overwhelmed and rattled. Perhaps that is why I show reluctance, when invited, to join with much loved and appreciated friends. The promised and anticipated ambiance and companionship with others would be broken by the chaotic miasma (perhaps a rather strong word) of disconnected voices, conversations, and clattering of cutlery, glasses and dishes. I would yearn for that gentleness in nature that, surprisingly, can even be felt on the days when gales rage and our heavy Vancouver Island rains are blown sideways.

Skies lightening over Burgoyne Bay on Saltspring Island.

The sound of the bow of my boat, gliding through the water, delivers a "voice" that I can hear. It is the same voice that was heard a thousand years ago by an indigenous paddler on these same waters. This familiar voice, speaks the same universal language today as it did in the countless millennia before recorded time began. The waves that caress, and sometimes crash upon, the sandstone shores feel like they are moving right along with us, enjoying our company as much as we are enjoying theirs. They are never far away. The creatures of land, sea, and air offer their companionship - sometimes even calling out to us. We call back, and maybe their "grin" is as wide as ours? Sometimes I feel we are sharing laughter together, we most certainly share curiosity and perhaps even delight.

Watching the sun rise through the "notch" at Burgoyne Bay, we feel as though we are fellow travellers "on the way". We know where the sun is going and when it will return to our familiar horizon.

In all of this there is "companionship".

It is a context where one can be alone...but rarely lonely.

Perhaps this is how Henry David enjoyed such good "company", in those quiet early morning hours, alone in his tiny cabin and around his lovely Walden Pond.

Pax,

Duncan.

Left breathless...

2012-01-16T20:15:00.000-08:00

Beauty is a fragile gift.

- Ovid

Beauty that left us breathless.

When time and schedules permit, there's nowhere either one of us would rather be, than outside. Whether it's sea kayaking or spending time on the trails, we return home every time... astonished at both the inexpressible power and the unimaginable delicacy of the natural world. Early this morning, just metres from the carved sandstone seashore of this enigmatic little Gabriola Island, we came upon a most magical ice "sculpture". Its beauty and its fragility left us breathless.

Looking like a horse's mane, this exquisite formation is known as silk frost, hair ice, or needle ice. Not technically frost, these delicate and silvery strands of ice grow out of the pores of barkless wood on the forest floor. But only under very special conditions.

When the temperature is low and the humidity is high, supercooled water is pushed out through the pores in the wood, and just like our human hair, the strands grow outwards. We were fortunate to see this one because they don't last long. I placed my finger near the ends of the strands and even without actually touching them, they began to melt from the radiated warmth of my body.

The surreal beauty of frozen water.

Nature clearly delights in offering such splendid surprises. But this extraordinary beauty can be such a fragile and transient gift. How worthwhile, for all of us, not only to be outside but to be "present" when we are outside. It would have been so easy to miss.

Pax,

Duncan.

A day in the sea boats, on the Salish Sea...refreshment for body, mind, and spirit.

2012-01-11T12:31:00.000-08:00

The sea, once it casts its spell,

holds one in its net of wonder forever.

- Jacques Cousteau

The Salish Sea, Howe Sound, and Mount Garibaldi.

The Tuesday morning skies cleared and the sun, still low in the early January sky, shone brightly...and we launched the "sea boats". I love those words. These narrow craft, weighing just 50 pounds each, and designed to carry one lone occupant, were built for the sea, and for exploration. But they also enable the sea kayaker to investigate the land - both the immediate shoreline so close at hand, and the distant horizons of terra firma.

Sandstone shores of Gabriola Island, sculpted over the millenia.

The tide was just changing as paddles quickly propelled us out of Degnen Bay. Gabriola Island, also known as "Petroglyph Island", for the ancient stone carvings, has extraordinarily mysterious shorelines that have been sculpted by the ocean over time. The sandstone is thought to be 65 million years old. The "sculptures", are a work in progress.

At times, we simply had to drift quietly with the tide...and take it all in.

Gliding out of the bay, the ocean surface was alive with patterns that changed and transformed before our eyes. The invisible tidal force beneath us tugged and then pushed at our submerged paddle blades. Just off the port bow, a whirlpool began to form, quickly growing to a metre and a half in diameter, drawing into its centre the bubbling froth of the confused surface rippling and wind-formed waves. Would it continue to grow into a powerful maelstrom and pull kayak (and "lone occupant"!), spinning uncontrollably, deep into its vortex? What a story Joan would be able to tell!

Joan, paddling the "sea boat"
...and a distant stratovolcano: Mount Garibaldi, a sacred place.

A couple of hours later, feeling the warmth of the sun in the still-chilly 2 degree Celcius air, we paused between the tiny and photogenic Sear and Saturnina Islands. The view is breathtaking across the Salish Sea towards Howe Sound and the snow-capped Coast Mountains - the very edge of the North American continent. Forming a backdrop to the Sound is dramatic Mount Garibaldi, British Columbia's best known volcano.

The deck marine compass indicated that the mountain was due north from our position. I would have said it was to the east, fooled yet again by the alignment of Canada's coast. To the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh, the local indigenous people of the Squamish area, it is a sacred mountain. It should be to us all, as should all of creation. To gaze upon this unbroken view of a continent is to be deeply moved. The sea and the landscape puts life in perspective. Our lives occupy but an infinitesimal part of this planet...and yet our anxieties and our worries can often seem as immense as the universe! And that is not reasonable...and it is not a healthy state of mind.

A connection with, and an appreciation for the natural world can be one of the most powerful antidotes to anxiety, a condition that plagues so many in our society, with such debilitating consequences. The "outdoors", whatever its mood, calms and creates balance in our lives. One only need go outside, and breath s-l-o-w-l-y and deeply, taking in the sounds, the smells, and the visual stimuli that nourish imaginations and the innermost soul. We are strengthened and refreshed. Going, playing, venturing, exploring, breathing deeply, outside - such a simple source of refreshment and healing.

Heading home - the sun setting behind Valdez Island
and the mountains of Vancouver Island.

With the sun beginning to set and nautical miles still to paddle, we retraced our course, following the southern coastline of Gabriola back to our launch spot at Degnen Bay - thankful for the hours on the water and persuaded that time spent "outdoors" is as essential to life as the food we eat and water we drink. I'm sure you will have found the same to be true.

Once again, the sea cast its spell and held two paddlers in its "net of wonder".

Pax,

Duncan.

Eat porridge, check marine weather, load gear and boats...launch.

2012-01-07T21:12:00.000-08:00

Octopus Point and low clouds over Saltspring Island.

Earlier in the week, we sat down to breakfast - a bowl of hot, steaming, porridge. We start just about every day with this very sturdy item. Joan makes a particularly hearty blend that includes Scottish oatmeal (from Bob's Red Mill), fresh ground flax, hemp hearts, chia and maca (keeps energy levels up), blueberries, and blackberries. A bowl of this can sustain you all the way to lunch! Also means you don't have to bother keeping any reading material in the bathroom.

Anyway, following breakfast on this particular day, we loaded up the paddling gear, strapped the kayaks to the top of the High Mobility Kayak Transport Vehicle ("civilian" eyes could be forgiven for mistaking the HMKTV for a for a silver Subaru - everyone does), got into our dry suits...and THEN...checked the weather.

(OK folks, so this wasn't the first time we've paddled - it just sounds like it. The usual (and recommended) order of items on the checklist, prior to a launch, BEGINS with checking the weather. Sure, have the porridge first, but everything else normally follows.)

We were good to go. Unfortunately, however, we learned that so were the 80 kph winds that were forecast to blow into our area around or before the noon hour. Environment Canada was issuing warnings for "potentially damaging winds" and heavy rainfall.

OK. Now what?

Well, if we launch right away we could get two or three hours on the water - so long as the incoming weather doesn't arrive early. Hmm. The plan was to cross over to Saltspring and paddle up to Vesuvius, have lunch on the beach there and then cross back in the afternoon. That meant there was, of course, the potential for getting caught by the incoming winds and being "marooned" on Saltspring Island? That didn't actually sound so bad except that the marine pub at Vesuvius has been closed for years now! And besides, I had a work-related commitment in the evening. Sure, we could always hitch a ride on the ferry and get back to Crofton on Vancouver Island - but then one of us would have to thumb a ride back to the launch spot to get the HMKTV. People would talk.

After reviewing a number of scenarios, we elected not to go. Disappointed? Yes. But there would be another time.

Entering Sansum Narrows - the mist made it even more magical.

And today there was an opportunity. A small window, opened early this morning and we spent a couple of very therapeutic hours on the water. The skies were grey, the ocean was grey - but sea kayaks have a way of creating their own "sunshine". Every time.

Heading back into Maple Bay, and home.

So there you have it: eat porridge, check marine weather, load gear and boats...launch. That's the right order. :)

Pax,

Duncan.

Additional note, Jan 08: Acting on a tip from Paula, just to the south of us at Kayak Yak, we added a little cinnamon and some walnuts to this morning's porridge - nice! We'll add some raisons tomorrow. Any other tips for a "paddlin' porridge" recipe?

Saying "YES" to dreams and adventures that "stretch and test" - and the "r" word that makes us squirm.

2011-12-31T14:21:00.000-08:00

"When faced with uncertainty

about taking a leap of faith, take the leap."

- Chris Guillebeau

Life is large...it awaits (and expects) exploration.

When I was growing up, my dad taught me a particularly important lesson. An engineer, his training was in physics, the science of matter and energy - but he was also a dreamer. My mum, a teacher in her younger years, demonstrated the necessary practicalities that help to make those dreams come true. I'm not sure they could have given more precious or lasting gifts. My parents are both gone now, but their expressed "joie de vivre" and wisdom weave a thread through each passing, present, and promised moment.

In six months now, we will ~~retire~~ embark upon a new course. Such a decision sometimes invites comment - always welcome of course (why not?). Such feedback can sometimes be very interesting. A couple of folks confided that they didn't feel we were quite "old" enough. (Um, I did get the "senior's" rate at Scottish castles and was offered free coffee at a fast food restaurant!) Others have gently suggested that the timing may not be "fiscally responsible". (Point taken.) One caring soul wondered out loud why we would "retire" when we are still healthy and active. Now that question was really confusing! :) All "conversations", rumoured and heard, have been helpful in the process.

We have weighed all these things for some time now. The fact is, one of us is not all that far off the "conventional" retirement age. We will both have spent almost four decades training for and then practising our vocations. We know we will need to significantly downsize, in every respect. That, in itself, however, is quite appealing. And as for health, well, as they say, "life turns on a dime". We have seen too many folks wait, cautiously, until the overabundance of "ducks" are in a row - and then, sadly, it's been too late.

Now, as for the word retire, it makes us both squirm. To "retire" sometimes suggests withdrawal, rest, retreat. That's not very appealing. This upcoming transition is more akin to launching the narrow boats for a multi-day expedition in waters never paddled (which we look forward to doing) or leaving the trail-head to run along unexplored trails. The kayaking image above, gets close to our understanding of the nature of this transition - a simple vessel, continuing to move forward in a vast ocean of possibilities.

As for what will we do when the time comes? Probably many of the same things but, perhaps, in a different context. But maybe life will nudge us along to unexpected "shores" and serendipitous experiences. It will always be important to try to make a contribution, to do something that enriches the lives others - for therein lies life's greatest source of meaning. There is great appeal in all of these things.

It's worth investigating this place, in Sansum Narrows, between a rock...and a rock.

Life is large, it begs exploration, and continued learning, and growth. Life's "nooks and crannys" also invite observation and exploration. Even the darkness promises illumination. Life issues an invitation to continually seek out new sources of meaning, to risk and then savour new experiences. The alternative is to fuss and fret about the consequences of "change" - and end up settling for less than life offers. None of us should ever tempt "regret"!

Dreams need to be nurtured with hope and expectation - and then we usually find a way. Sharing our aspirations with one another, allowing them to unfold in "conversation" is a sure way to move towards them with increased confidence. A compass, a horizon, and the faint image of a destination may be all any of us really need to entice us on.

Emerson, essayist and poet, said, "Always do what you are afraid to do." Quite frankly, I've found that that has always been the secret.

Are we "retiring"? (Squirm) Um, no, just "reconfiguring".

Are we anxious at all?
Yes, a little.

But that's always a promising sign! :)

Wishing all, good health and continued adventures that both stretch and test, in 2012.

Pax,

Duncan.

Image: A launch from Gabriola Island with Entrance Island lighthouse and the Coastal Range of Canada's west coast on the horizon.

The quote from Chris Guillebeau is from his book, The Art of Non-Conformity: Set your own rules, live the life you want, and change the world - a good read.

A message in a tree, for all to see...peace on earth, goodwill to all, everywhere.

2011-12-19T22:01:00.000-08:00

In the middle of the Gabriolan woods...a message, in a tree.

We were running on a quiet trail through the magical and mysterious woods of Gabriola Island today. You can imagine our surprise and delight, when we came upon this magnificent...Christmas tree. Lush, vibrant and richly green salal was growing out of an old growth tree stump - a picture of new life and future possibilities. Some wonderfully imaginative and thoughtful person had added bright red Christmas bows and decorations and symbols of peace, joy, hope, and love. It more than made you smile.

Whatever faith tradition we follow, or have chosen not to follow, we all surely aspire to a world at peace and to lives and relationships that reflect joy, hope, and love. There would be no finer gift to our children and our children's children than a better and fairer world for all people...everywhere. I cannot imagine ever giving up on that possibility.

A simple message.

To this end, may we come to understand ourselves as sisters and brothers, inter-connected and inter-dependent, all sharing together this fragile, island planet that whirls through infinite space and time. We are, after all, a family...a community.

You are all so very special. From our small corner of the world, we wish you health and happiness, and warmest blessings this Christmas and in the New Year to come.

Paddle, run..."be", peacefully.

Duncan and Joan.

Sea kayaking, running, be-ing...and the BIG difference between "enjoying" and "valuing" the moment.

2011-12-13T19:21:00.000-08:00

"Joan, we're almost there...and our 'table' is ready."

First of all (simply can't resist it), here's, Fine dining, Part 2. (You can find "Part 1" here.)

So you want to impress someone special with a simple, but elegant, meal "out" this Christmas season? Last time, as you may recall, it was a night paddle by sea kayak to a tiny and isolated Gulf Island beach for some homemade pea soup...that, admittedly, the "someone special" made. This time, it was a day hike to (another) isolated Gulf Island beach for a whole wheat bun, spread with some crunchy peanut butter...again, that the "someone special" whipped up for us. And, oh yes, a small thermos each of chai latte. Joan made that too. But it was my idea to go "out" for lunch. :)

One of the wonderful things about hiking is that, as with most self-propelled outdoor activities, there is opportunity to think and reflect. As we followed the trails today, we were thinking about enjoying vs valuing - whatever it is that you're doing in any given moment of time. It was an interesting conversation.

Who needs a fancy tablecloth? The "Beach" theme is just so...natural!

The coming year will bring some changes to our lives as we transition from vocations we have cherished and found meaning-filled for a very long time now. Reflecting back over the years, I recently said to some of the special folks that we work with, "We've enjoyed every moment." After our conversation on the trail today, I realize that that's not entirely true. There were, indeed, moments (and experiences) that could not be described as enjoyable...but each moment and each experience was incredibly valuable, in one way or another. That's an important distinction because it calls us to honour time, that most precious of resources.

Here are a couple of examples.

I love sea kayaking, but, it's had its moments. Back in the summer of 1975, we were living and working in the townsite of Waterton Lakes National Park in southwest Alberta. It was May, in the Rocky Mountains. There was still a snow drift in the car port and the ice had just broken up on the Lake a few days previously. As soon as we unpacked our stuff and shovelled out the car port, I launched my Femat TR 2 kayak - I just couldn't wait to paddle after the long road trip from Toronto! Joan was on the shore watching and I attempted to hold my kayak on its "edge" - a new "manoeuvre".

Full of youthful bravado and quite inexperienced in the "narrow boat", I wasn't able to hold the brace and ended up capsizing in the frigid water. Upside down, it seemed to take forever to get my spray cover off. It was one of those moments when you have a sense that you're not going to be around to show up for the first day of work after all! I did free myself from the cockpit, however, and swam to the shore, thankfully just a few metres away, towing the kayak. We looked a rather dismal couple as we carried the kayak through the town, the new student minister drenched and somewhat hypothermic. So much for dignified "first impressions" with the members of our summer parish community. Those moments of kayaking, upside down in icy water, were not enjoyable...but, in retrospect, they sure were valuable. I learned an important lesson about focus and humility - rather important elements of sea kayaking.

And then there was an experience of this past summer that I've already posted on here and here. We were on the summit of Mayer, one of the Scottish "Munros". Gale force winds suddenly (it seemed) blew in, torrential rains came down, and lightning and thunder put on a great show all around us. I can tell you that there were several moments when we would have traded it all to be back home, sitting in front of the television, with a big bag of rippled potato chips between us, watching this little drama unfold - on someone else! Although there were occasional moments on that hike that were not particularly enjoyable - they were valuable in terms of the experience, lessons learned...and the memories.

And such is life for most of us. Every moment counts. Having said that, not every moment and every experience is enjoyable - far from it - but every moment and every experience can be seen to have meaning and should be valued, if for no other reason, the lessons learned. So often, it is in the midst of life's most difficult experiences, that we discover hidden strengths and abilities, and therein lies something very valuable. Enjoyment and value - there's a big difference.

Every leaf on the forest floor, like every moment, has meaning and value.

Another reason to treasure (and live fully in) each "moment" that we are fortunate to have.

Duncan.

PS Again, thanks folks for all for the additional comments and perspectives on an issue related to cold water paddling in the last posting. Appreciated and helpful.

Winter paddling, and keeping the "feeling" in your fingers...thoughts?

2011-12-05T14:32:00.000-08:00

Joan's pogies keep her hands warm on this 0 degree paddle last week.

One of the reasons for the "blur" in this image from our last paddle is probably my cold hands - just can't seem to get it right! Hands continue to be the "weakest link" for me.

East Coast and UK paddlers might raise their eyebrows, but the water around Vancouver Island does get chilly at this time of the year, as does the air - honest! :)

I've tried various paddling gloves over the years from NRS, MEC, and the current pair, SealSkinz which are advertised as waterproof but (when I think about it) didn't seem to cost enough to make that claim reliable. Although they are comfortable, provide great paddle feel, and resist the water for awhile, they soon become sodden if immersed. They also hold no warmth when wet. We're usually out for 3-4 hours on a day paddle and it would be nice to be able to have some feeling in one's fingers by the end of a winter paddle!

Joan really likes her pogies and they keep her hands warm even if they do get wet when launching or taking a lunch break or whatever. Pogies the way to go? Any liners for pogies that have worked? Any success with any brand of gloves?

Thoughts or suggestions out there about what has worked well for hands in cold weather would be much appreciated?

Many thanks in advance.

Duncan.

Edited 09 Dec: Many thanks for your input, everyone. Looks like I'll be looking for a pair a pogies and will also check out some gloves / mitts next time we're at MEC or REI or a paddling store. Looking forward to that "road trip". :) I'll let you know how it goes. D.

A December anniversary dinner, on an isolated Gulf Island beach. Romantic...or what? :)

2011-12-02T20:19:00.000-08:00

Heading out for some fine dining on Saltspring Island late this afternoon.

OK, so today is our 39th anniversary (I know, we were incredibly young!) and I wanted to do something really special. I mean really special. So...what to do? Hmmm. Yes! I'll take Joan out for dinner to neighbouring Saltspring Island. There's some very elegant dining over there. And, I know an oceanfront location that will guarantee to make this evening very memorable indeed. In fact, I'm almost positive we'll have the "place" to ourselves - since we have to paddle our kayaks to get there.

The menu? Ahh, simple: Some homemade pea soup and hot chocolate, heated up on our tiny MSR stove. No point in getting fancy about the food, we're here to paddle!

I ask Joan what she thinks of the idea. (After all, it's a pretty low budget night out.) She doesn't even flinch...which is one of the many (many!) reasons I was a very fortunate guy when this special woman agreed to marry me! :)

Midway across Sansum Narrows and enjoying a "photo op".

Leaving Maple Bay and entering into the Narrows, there were some nice rolling waves, a result of earlier brisk winds. They were fun but they didn't last long. We had to wait for a few minutes as a deep sea tug pulling a barge passed by in front of us. While we waited and as the sun set behind Maple Mountain, the sea calmed and we took a few pics before paddling on to our destination - looking forward to soup and a warm beverage.

You'd think a place with this kind of view would have "valet" parking!

Our dining venue was, indeed, deserted and we had the driftwood "furnishings" to ourselves. Heating up the soup and hot chocolate, we reflected on the meaning of "simple pleasures". Really. Life does get overly complicated...all on its own. How refreshing it is when you can just "simplify".

Love warms the heart and soul...
but soup and hot chocolate warms the body,
especially when it's just a couple of degrees above zero!

Who would have thought that an early December paddle, some home made pea soup, and a cup of hot chocolate could bring so much pleasure...

But mainly, it's just spending life with someone very special.

39 years ago - a different time, place, and "space". It was fun too!

So there you have it, paddling to an anniversary dinner and a simple meal, on an isolated beach on a nearby Gulf Island, under clear skies and a bright moon. Romantic...or what? :))

Duncan.

West Coast storm season, no paddling...and times when you can't see the forest (trail) for the ferns!

2011-11-26T09:40:00.000-08:00

"A good traveler has no fixed plans,

and is not intent on arriving."

- Lao Tzu

"I know there's a trail here...somewhere!"

That's all very well, Lao Tzu, but some days I DO have plans and, quite frankly, I AM intent on arriving! But the fact is, life's "undergrowth" and storm season on the West Coast can obscure the way, trip you up, and make it darn near impossible to find anything to blog about! Yeah, I guess that's what the Bard of Ayrshire was talking about when he suggested that "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley."! You got that right, Robbie!

We've been trying to get back out paddling for what seems like an eternity! The problem is, we've had one fierce storm after another here on Canada's beautiful "Pacific Island". With 140 kph gusts, wicked seas, torrential rains, floods, power outages, falling trees, black ice, and closed highways, launching the kayaks just hasn't happened. Oh sure, there were a couple of absolutely PERFECT "eye of the hurricane" days when the winds were calm and the sun was shining, but those were (coincidentally) busy days in the workplace. Go figure, eh?

Rather like a trail run a few days ago. We set off - with a plan (route) in mind.

Well, it didn't go as smoothly as planned.

The first hill aggravated my achilles - again! Eventually warming up, the dull ache in the tendon relaxed...until the next hill. This was not part of the plan. The downhill portions were slippery with mud and wet leaves making for some heart-stopping moments when it seemed that our feet might achieve a higher "altitude" than our toque-covered heads - not a pretty "end state" at our age! The trail finally flattened out and my body parts relaxed again. OK, we're back on "plan".

The trail however, became increasingly covered by a thick carpet of massive, yellow, deciduous leaves and downed branches and limbs knocked off by wind storms. Giant ferns, that were waist-high the last time, brushed our faces as we tried to maintain forward momentum - now just guessing where the trail was and trying not to get tripped up by hidden and obscured obstacles.

It just wasn't going according to plan. You can get all out of shape at a time like this this,

or...

you can throw all expectations and pre-conceived notions aside. Forget about the "plan".

Accepting the moment for what it is, and simply appreciating the miracle of life (that permits time in a glorious rain forest), changes perspective completely. Life usually is what it is. Paddling with the tide can make for a fast and exhilarating ride. Sometimes it makes perfect sense just to go with however life flows, especially if there is nothing else you can do about it.

I try to remember theologian Reinhold Niebuhr's prayer, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference."

The storms will eventually settle. A "window" for kayaking will open at an opportune and, perhaps delightfully surprising time. In the meantime, this moment is the only one we have. Inhale it, be fully immersed in it. Most important, be thankful for it. For it will only come by this way but once. As Lao Tzu suggests, "fixed plans" and the need to "arrive" are both greatly over-rated.

Thank goodness!

Duncan.

Still waters run deep...

2011-11-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

Joan, crossing back, towards the forested slopes of Maple Mountain.

Paddling back home, to our launch spot at Maple Bay, I am aware of the great and dark depths below. These are deep waters, in the Narrows between Vancouver Island and Saltspring Island. I have heard that some of the largest octopus in the world, glide silently below our narrow boats...and who knows what else. Jacques Cousteau said that this very location is one of the most beautiful places in the world for divers. I am too timid to venture into the unknown depths, self-contained underwater breathing apparatus strapped to my body. I am content to break the surface tension, and explore, time and time again, the mysterious and ancient shoreline. It is not usually as still as this. The water is like a mirror, reflecting every detail and texture of sky and land and paddler. The silence, broken only by the sound of the paddle dipping into and emerging from the water, is delicious.

The world is a noisy place. Voices compete to be heard, often without any apparent regard for one another.

As for me, I am drawn to those whose voices are not the strident "clanging gongs" that annoy and disturb peace of mind. I am more comfortable with those whose more gentle demeanour promises depth and engaging conversation. To me, "gentleness" is strength under control. There's no need for a lot of "noise". Those who paddle the rivers, lakes, and oceans or run or hike on forest trails, cannot help but be humbled by the extraordinary beauty of nature. It is this experience that often leaves us "speechless"...and it is then that we can be most open to a deep and abiding appreciation of the natural world. It is then that we become convinced to dedicate ourselves to doing all that we can to care for this fragile island planet.

Just think of how the world might change if our elected leaders and "captains of industry" would come paddling with us every now and again. They might just think more about the implications of their policies...and the consequences of their noisy speeches.

Just a thought.

Duncan.

Remembering...

2011-11-11T12:56:00.000-08:00

Our small connection.

Today, in Canada, we mark Remembrance Day. Between my son and I, we share two Canadian Forces decorations. Mine is a Special Service Medal, awarded for a NATO posting in Germany in the two years leading up to the end of the Cold War. It was, as they say, a "plum" posting for a padre. My son's is a South-West Asia Service Medal. As a member of the PPCLI, he earned it under infinitely more difficult circumstances, operating out of a remote and desolate Forward Operating Base in southern Afghanistan.

This is but a small connection our family has to the price of freedom that so many have paid over the years. It is so easy to take what we have in this marvellous country for granted. We come and go freely, believe whatever we want, practice any faith we wish or none at all. We have a voice in the government of our country and a system, imperfect as it is, that honours the sanctity of life and the right to pursue individual and personal destinies.

There has been a cost, a cost that we know all too well. And it has been borne on all "sides". As we stood in the rain, this morning, by the cenotaph, we remembered all of this and how precious life is, for all of us. One day, perhaps, we will find a way to live in peace with one another. We must, in any event, never give up on the idea.

May one day, peace be with all people everywhere.

Duncan.

A sweet, gentle day to be on the water...and exhilaration!

2011-11-08T20:32:00.000-08:00

On the beach at Maple Bay.

It was soooo good to be back on the water today and it was a sweet, gentle day. The air temperature was a balmy 8 degrees under overcast skies...and not a breath of wind. Usually we prefer some "bumps and lumps" but today, well, it was just kind of special. Maple Bay, across the channel from Saltspring Island, is one of our favourite launch spots, it's just five minutes from home and you can paddle "forever" in the fjord-like Sansum Narrows.

Crossing the Narrows to Saltspring.

Paddling in the late fall and winter can be very special here. The water is clear, the seals are curious, the shore birds are relaxed, the starfish seem extra big and colourful, the fragrance of the sea and of the forests blend to produce the most gorgeous of perfumes. Although this time of the year can be wildly stormy with winds and waves, today was an incredibly gentle day.

At high tide, these two "pillars" are mostly underwater.

Most of us need days like this every now and again. Gentle days that provide respite and the opportunity to rebuild our strength and our composure. They allow us to focus and to be mindful. On these days, there are no battles to be fought, no world demanding our involvement and our finite energies. We all need time apart, time to "cross to the other side" of the channel, time to find new perspectives and fresh sources of meaning. There, we can breathe deeply and slowly, knowing that we have the time...it is ours.

A world of reflections.

The gentle days give us the opportunity to come to know ourselves better, for it is in the quiet that we are most often able to hear the small, still voice deep within. It is a voice that engages us with our hopes and our dreams. It needs to be heard, without distraction, every now and again.

Energized, once again.

And then...when you feel your strength returning, you engage your core, you paddle hard, you revel in the quick cadence, you feel the relative wind on your face, and you experience...exhilaration.

May you too, find those sweet, gentle days.

Duncan.

We made mistakes...and got away lucky.

2011-11-02T09:47:00.000-07:00

If you enjoy outdoor
pursuits, consider this book.

Just finished an excellent read by Laurence Gonzales - Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why. It is probably a book that most folks who enjoy self-propelled activities, would enjoy and find deeply meaningful. And it's not just for outdoor enthusiasts. It's a book that gives clear and helpful insights into emotional, as well as physical survival, in today's rough and tumble 21st century world. After reading it, I reflected on an outing several months ago, while we were on a work exchange in Scotland.

We enjoyed a marvellous day, hiking up to the top of two "Munros", the well known group of Scottish mountains over 3000 feet in elevation. I blogged about it - you can find the posting here. It was reasonably strenuous, it was a great time, and it was an "adventure" - somewhat enhanced, when a massive glacial erratic (the size of a Smart Car!) released its grip on the mountainous slope and tumbled towards us. (It missed us - but just.)

The day also featured occasional dense fog, a thunderstorm, confusing "trails" - the potential for trouble. Reflecting back, especially after reading the book, we know that we made mistakes...mistakes that we got away with. Things could, however, have easily gone "south", as they say. In the posting back in July, I said that we had "bagged" a couple of Munros - that was dumb hubris speaking. What we did, in fact, was simply grind our way up to the summit cairns of two peaks. We also made some questionable assumptions - and folks make those all the time.

Mistake number one was using an inadequate trail guide. Reluctant to spend the equivalent of twenty dollars, I pulled a map and trail "guide" off the internet. It was barely three paragraphs long and made route finding seem like, well, "a piece of cake". The route was not particularly clear and the narrative was vague and unclear - in retrospect.

Mistake number two was not listening carefully to the instructions of the Ranger at the trailhead. We duly signed in, gave an estimate of our hiking time (plus two hours), and thanked him for his information. BUT, we didn't pay sufficient attention to his advice with regards to the trail. How tough could this be, we thought, it'll be well-travelled, it was a Saturday. We were late starting and impatient to get going. Heck, if at any point we were uncertain about directions, we would just ask a fellow hiker on the trail. Thing is, the route wasn't well travelled on that particular Saturday. (Hmmm, I wonder if that might have had something to do with the forecasted weather?)

Mistake number three was not carrying sufficient food and water in the event that we were caught out overnight. (That wouldn't happen to us!) We had a litre of "Nuun-enriched" water each, some sandwiches and some power bars - adequate for a reasonably demanding six hour hike in the mountains but not for an overnight stay. And it wouldn't have been a matter of dehydration or hunger. The issue would have been insufficient calories for required energy and heat, after the sun had gone down, in the dark, windy, lonely, and chilly mountains.

The fourth, and biggest mistake we made, as we thought about it, was the assumption that this hike would be a "piece of cake". After all, the two Munro summits were amongst the most popular, therefore most accessible. Further, we minimized factors that could raise the ante - weather, route finding, "trails" that were not obvious, and the relatively few others who were out that day. Because of a late start, we were amongst the last to return to the trailhead that day. Something as simple as a wrong turn or a twisted ankle could have caused a lot of angst.

On the positive side, we wore rain gear, had an extra insulating layer in our packs, carried both a cell phone (there was occasional coverage) and a SPOT satellite messenger. So sure, in the event of accident or injury, we could have attracted attention.

Still, "stuff" happens. Even massive glacial erratics that haven't moved for 10,000 years can decide to suddenly break loose! Stuff happens - believe it.

At home here on the Island: Even with our "Mediterranean" climate, the sea water in November is getting cold. There are paddlers who launch in sweat pants and wind jackets, without a thought of the possibility of immersion. The assumption? "What can possibly happen to me?" Well, lots of things...so yeah, dress for the water. Bottom line: prepare for the unlikely.

After reading Gonzales book, and reflecting on our innocent trek into the Highlands, we try not to make these same kinds of assumptions. Lessons learned.

Take good care out there.

Duncan.

When the going gets tough...it's time to go flying. :)

2011-10-27T21:02:00.000-07:00

"Wheeling" over the San Juan's and the Salish Sea
- a different perspective than from the kayak cockpit.

Thankfully, there's almost always time to get in an early morning run whether it's on the trails or the treadmill. Life, however, has been way too full these past few weeks for any time to even think about paddling. It was, in fact, pretty tough going. So this posting is about something a little different. But just as much fun. :)

Back in the early "eighties", when we were living in Banff and serving at Rundle Memorial, there was the opportunity to check off an item on the "bucket list" - learn to fly. On one glorious day, Joan (who always knows what to do!) slipped a "Discovery Flight" ticket in an envelope and said, "If you really want to do this, here's your opportunity." Six months later, licenced and checked out in the sturdy Cessna 172, I rented an aircraft and flew out of Springbank Airport, just outside of Calgary. It was great flying over the foothills and prairies, in sight of the Rockies with the usual trips out to Red Deer, Drumheller, and south of the city. Joan came along a number of times - always appreciated her, um, trust!

Several years after learning to fly, I joined the Canadian Forces, as a chaplain, and following Officer Candidate School (at the former military base in Chilliwack), was posted to Cold Lake, Alberta. Yes! It couldn't have been better - designated padre to 410 and 441 Tactical Fighter Squadrons - the world of F-18s on Canada's premier air base! :))))) (BIG smile!)

Once settled into the base and the new job, I presented the Squadron Commanding Officers with sound rational as to why I needed authorization to fly "back seat" in the dual cockpit jets. I needed, after all, to understand something of the life of the fighter pilot, and what better way to build rapport. Both COs agreed and it was off to the the High Altitude Indoctrination Course (HAI) at CFB Edmonton which treated candidates to the experience of "explosive decompression" and oxygen deprivation - but hey, it's all fun, right? Following completion of the course and the requisite monthly Martin-Baker ejection seat training, was the pick-up of summer and winter flight suits, helmet and O2 mask, G-suit etc. Here was one happy padre! Sometimes there were days when getting up and going to "work" seemed to be way too much fun. (There were, of course, other times.)

Hitching a "ride" with the visiting USAF - a "few" years ago.
"Air force" hair cut, eh?

We were in Cold Lake three years and, during that time, there were lots of opportunities to fly "backseat" in the F-18 "Hornets" as well as in 419 Squadron's Northrop F-5s, Canadair Tutors, and even a venerable Lockheed T-33. Our next posting was Lahr, Germany - 1RCHA (artillery) and 444 Tactical Helicopter Squadron. Ahhh...there was definitely "no life like it".

Fast forward >> a lot of years...I would still love to fly but reaction times and situation awareness are both probably past their "best before dates". So, as I said, life's been full, and when a friend extended the invitation to fly to Chilliwack, on the mainland, for lunch - I was in! Big time!

Lined up and cleared for take off at Victoria International.

In a right turn above the BC Ferry terminal at Swartz Bay.

"Traffic" - down below.

The Cessna 172 nav instrumentation has improved over the years!

Majestic Mount Baker in Washington - just off the starboard wing.

Flying high, above Abbotsford International Airport.

My friend, and pilot, Dave.

It was a great day, with an excellent pilot, at a time when getting some altitude in a Cessna was probably the very best thing in the world to do. The veggie burger at the Chilliwack Airport was pretty awesome too! :)

Thanks for making it happen, Dave. Hope you all enjoy the pics - another perspective of land and sea out here.

Duncan.

Rainbows and healing places...outside.

2011-10-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

Rainbow over the Salish Sea on an autumn day.

There was a most extraordinary rainbow over the Salish Sea the other day. We had just finished getting some groceries at Folklife Village, the little shopping centre on Gabriola Island, when I spotted its arch high above the trees. Driving back to the cabin (and my camera), just five minutes away, I hoped it would still be there...it was. In my imagination, it appeared to burst joyfully out of the sea into the sky, only to return again to the sea, somewhere on the other side of the island. We often see rainbows over the water here but this one was so close...so vivid, so brilliant against the overcast.

The world "outdoors" - whether it is on the forest trails, or by the water, or on urban pathways, offers such refreshment and inspiration. The sound and feel of the raindrops, the smell of the autumn woods, the taste of wild berries, the sight of nature's displays in the clear night skies.

I cannot imagine the appeal of a life spent indoors. When in need of comfort or inspiration or connection - I go outside. It is there that exists the greatest clarity of thought. Movement is usually part of that experience, but not always. Sometimes it is enough to sit by the sea or under a canopy of trees, and just breath...deeply...and slowly.

At this moment, Joan is at the bedside of her very special mother, who is nearing the end of her life. I will soon join her. When I lost my mother, on the summer solstice of this same year, we were 7000 kilometres away from home. When a friend called us with the news, she knew how best we would deal with the sadness. She counselled us, gently, to go for a run on the nearby trails around the loch. She knew that it would be the "outdoors" that would bring us greatest healing in the immediate moments. We did. And then, several hours later, we hiked up into the nearby Angus Glens and found solace in the remoteness of the high country and the mountains and in the blowing Scottish wind and driving rain. My family in Scotland, and the folks at St Margaret's, in Forfar, were immensely kind, and their compassion heartfelt.

So now, we come yet again to another occasion, in the days ahead, when the outdoors will faithfully bring comfort, inspiration, and connection at a time of human passage. And in the midst of it all, the rainbow, an ancient symbol of hope, reminds us of the words of St. Julian of Norwich..."all shall be well". Yes, all shall be well as we traverse together this deeply meaningful journey called "life". Peace be with you, Grandma, always.

Duncan.

Like ships passing in the night...

2011-10-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

Society is commonly too cheap.

We meet at very short intervals,

not having time
to acquire any new value for each other.

- Henry David Thoreau

Joan, and a deep sea tug - enjoying the comforting solitude.

When the seas and the skies are grey, during these autumn mornings, there is a comforting solitude on the water. On this day, for the longest time, there was just the two of us, and a deep sea tug. Soon, it too was gone, a tiny smudge on the horizon, leaving us alone again. The time of connection was brief, only a "short interval".

The gently rolling surface waters lulled us both into a meditative mood, one of the greatest pleasures of occupying the cockpit of a tiny craft on a vast ocean. Paddles dipping quietly into the cool waters, cadence steady, I drank in the solitude, thankful for the experience. And even more thankful that the day's worries elected to stay on the shore. With a bit of luck, they would completely dissipate by the time we returned to the launch spot. I know that many of you will understand well the feeling that follows a few hours in the kayak.

I am reading Walden; Life in the Woods again - but it feels like it is for the first time. I suspect my mind is only now sufficiently receptive to make sense of Thoreau's words. At my age, it's probably about time.

Seldom, it seems, do our minds have the opportunity to spend time with their own thoughts. Our lives are so busy and there are so many distractions. Our attempts to "multi-task" seem only to serve to exhaust us and leave us feeling unsatisfied. I suspect that is what the writer from Concord is describing when he suggests that "most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." I wonder if modern women are prone to the same experience? Hmm... I must ask Joan and those I work with for their thoughts on this. As for me, as I'm sure for you, I want to sing the song while I'm here!

Many of us are so busy that life itself is not unlike the magnificent countryside, that is completely missed by the harried occupants of the speeding car - all oblivious to everything but insidious worries and nagging concerns and, perhaps, other traffic.

I'm sure we don't, routinely, spend sufficient time with our own thoughts. Indeed, these thoughts are "treasures" that call out to be savoured. Those who meditate, or engage in contemplative prayer, or paddle lonely seascapes know well the value of spending time with their innermost being. We emerge from these experiences refreshed. There is a deep satisfaction, indeed, happiness available to those who would dare to disconnect from the "merry-go-round", if only but for awhile.

It is the same with our engagement with others. As Thoreau says, all too often, "we meet at very short intervals". In my vocation, I may meet a couple of hundred folks every week. We exchange a handshake, a few words, a smile, a laugh, sometimes a tear. I yearn for more, however, for I know that each of these very special individuals are of great value...but there never seems to be enough time for any of us. I find that frustrating, and sometimes, a source of loneliness.

I appreciate so very much the bloggers that I read regularly. As insignificant as it seems, the shared "comments" serve as the tiny building blocks to a "friendship" that is more than "virtual". The words, that folks take time to share, are a gift. I often think that it would be even better if we could have a coffee together, or spend some time on the water. The building of human relationships are all about acquiring "new value" for each other. Henry David is right again. Acquiring "new value", however, takes time and effort. It also takes courage...for we must become vulnerable. The reward is that the fabric that makes up our relationships and our society transitions to a deep richness. We are no longer as "ships passing in the night".

Taking the time to discern our own thoughts and discover "new value" in one another - as the old Sam Cooke song goes, "what a wonderful world this would be".

Duncan.

Image: Once again, paddling the Salish Sea, off the coast of Gabriola Island towards Entrance Island. It's a favourite place on the water for both of us. The vastness of the "fetch" humbles the paddler of the narrow craft - and clears the mind of clutter.

PS Happy birthday, mum, and bless you.

Paddling thoughts: On moving to live "lightly" and discerning what really matters.

2011-09-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

Simple enough - a "rest stop" for weary kayakers?

As many of you (who pause to read this little blog from time to time) will understand, we all usually think with greater clarity while moving - so long as it's self-propelled. So here's fair warning: if you find me sitting at my desk, don't expect too much. :)

Paddling and trail running, for me, are both a form of "moving meditation". The imagination is set free. Thoughts flow freely and without restraint. Solutions come quickly to mind. Perhaps that's been your experience too?

Kayaking by this "structure" in the Saanich Inlet the other day, reminded me of "Water World". Remember the movie? Kevin Kostner was the mariner surviving in a world where the ice caps had melted, covering all the dry land with water. I really have no idea what we were paddling by, but it looked a little like a "rest stop" for weary "Water Worlders".

As we paddled together, Joan and I were reflecting on the fact that for years and years, we have shared with folks that we would be happy to live in a simple cabin in the woods. The reality is, however, that over the years, the places we have called "home" have become bigger and bigger. Yes, there was always some common sense "rational". We needed some extra room for my mother during the time we enjoyed having her live with us, or for our son when he visited, or for company when they stopped by, or just space to "ramble". There was always some good reason or another to have more land and square footage.

So, what was it going to be - a "simple cabin in the woods" or a whole bunch of square feet on a nicely forested acre of land? Well, I'll be honest, we've really appreciated the latter for the past nine years. Having said that, I know very well that the vast majority of people in the world don't have the luxury of such choices. And I'm more than humbled by that thought.

Life is a developing "adventure" and we've come to the time in life when we know we need to discern what really matters - and, perhaps, make more concerted efforts to live "lightly". Since cancelling our cable television service, we have discovered that TV didn't much matter after all. After just a month of being "unhooked" we don't even think about it. (OK, so I do occasionally miss Clair Martin's weather reports on CBC). Looking at our "treasures and belongings", it seems that sentimental value is just about all that matters. The rest, well, it's just stuff - and some of it (packed inside boxes) hasn't seen daylight for a very long time. We don't, in fact, really know what's inside some of them! I'm somewhat embarrassed to make that admission.

So what does matter? Well, people matter. Family is simply precious, priceless. Friends matter, so very, very much...even if it's been a long time since there has been a connection or an occasion for the sharing of a glass of red wine. Time apart must not be reason to give up on each other. The folks we have had the honour of working with and the folks we have so happily served over many years, in Canada and abroad, are of infinite worth.

The world "outdoors" matters. That, of course, means that our paddling equipment, our bikes, and our running gear must go wherever we go.

Saltspring Island, ahead.

Connection with the world and with some very special people, through this internet medium, matters and satellite radio is something that I confess I would really miss. So yes, these technologies would have to find a place in the "simple cabin in the woods". "Images" matter, so whether they are in the form of old photo albums, slides, or digital images, spending time with them bring a lifetime of memories into the present moment. They too, are "keepers".

Making a meaningful and positive contribution to the world and doing whatever one can to support or better the lives of others matters.

In a year from now, we will transition to the simple cabin in the woods. Certainly, there will be some growing pains - or perhaps they will be more like "shrinking" pains as we embark upon this journey. As I'm sure you will agree, just the simple exercise of discerning what, indeed, really is important in life might well be the most valuable lesson learned.

You may well have already discovered, in your journey through the years, what matters most of all. Perhaps, you have a moment to share a thought here. Such lessons learned touch us all...and enrich our experience of life.

More to come...in time.

Duncan.

PS There's a great launch spot for kayaks at Mill Bay, just to the south of us, for exploring the Saanich Inlet and Finlayson Arm. It was another calm and sunny paddling day in the west coast extended summer!

How good things come out of being open to new possibilities - at the fitness centre.

2011-09-21T23:06:00.000-07:00

The outdoors, my kind of "gym"...but wait, there may be other possibilities!

I will admit that I had a preconceived image of such places - from years ago. They were often tucked into a strip mall - with the pool hall, the fish 'n chip take-out, and the "smoke and gift" store. They seemed so claustrophobic and "indoors", so enclosed, so airless. I imagined that they were filled with sweaty, protein supplement-swigging posers, "pumping iron" in front of mirrors amidst a sea of fearsome looking equipment - begging to be immersed in a tank of hand sterilizer! The "Fitness Centre".

And after all, I was different from them. I exercised outdoors. I breathed in deeply the fresh, chilled air of the mountain trails and the dense oxygenated air of the ocean. I rode on a real bike. My "quads" were nurtured on steep, rocky hills. My well-defined calves were honed on the forest trails, clambering over fallen trees and river rocks. My biceps...OK, so my biceps are nothing to write home about. But you get the point. I got my workout in the real world. Outside.

But when you're nursing a running injury, you gotta do what you gotta do. Right? Of course.

Thanks to the gentle urging of a friend, and her generous offer of a trial membership, we were introduced to a brand new fitness facility in town. A quick tour did, indeed, whet the appetite. Hmm. The air inside was fresh and cool. The equipment sparkled and moved oh-so-smoothly. The folks there, looked, well, pretty normal. No weird clothes, no grunting and groaning. There wasn't even any "sweat" in evidence - maybe just a little healthy perspiration. The music was invigorating. There were no line ups for any piece of equipment. The staff were relaxed, friendly, and very professional.

Yes, I'd give this a try.

And I did - the next day. Running on the treadmill didn't even aggravate the achilles. That means getting back to running - one precisely measured percent of grade at a time. Gentle progress means healing. The exercise machines - pure science. Add the expertise and motivation of a personal trainer - I can already feel those biceps awakening!

And, once again, there was the reminder - good things come out of being open to new experiences and opportunities. Hard to imagine the down side of that. The fitness centre - I'm in! :)

Duncan.

Image: Trail running in Banff National Park - a favourite place, and an old hometown.

Growing older, discerning new sources of "meaning"...and giving wide berth to massive sea lions!

2011-09-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

Entrance Island straight ahead - Joan gives the resident sea lions a wide berth!.

Yesterday, launching from Descanso Regional Park on Gabriola, we paddled out to the Entrance Island lighthouse. The modest "circumnavigation" is an easy three and a half hour paddle when it's not "bumpy" - as it can often be! There's a pretty impressive fetch that gives the wind time to gather up some good waves. This time, however, the Salish Sea was calm, with the only wave action coming from the passing ferry boats and some other commercial traffic. The sky ahead was overcast and the still air had an almost eerie feel to it as if a storm was imminent. A sliver of sunshine back-lit my paddling partner and the red and white buildings that have marked this tiny, scenic island for many, many years.

We paddled together, but alone with our thoughts. For me, I contemplated the process of aging that seems to be leaving some subtle "markers" on my own life these days. Having just read an excellent post by Silbs, fellow blogger and kayaking enthusiast, I reflected on the focus of my postgraduate Studies in Gerontology (processes related to aging), several years ago. I still have a great fascination with the whole subject of meaning and how sources of meaning in life, must out of necessity, change and evolve as we advance in years.

There is, perhaps, nothing in the world more important than meaning - after air, water, food, and shelter. Without meaning, our lives are empty, "thin", fragile, and without direction. There is no "light house" to guide us on our way. With meaning, however our lives are rich and full and satisfying - often regardless of health, employment status, or bank accounts. If we have sources of meaning in our lives, not much can get us down. Meaning, of course, comes from our "meaning-filled" connections with our families and with one another. Sources of meaning also include our dreams and aspirations, our vocations, avocations, passions, interests, and pastimes.

But, we need to be open to the sources of meaning in our lives changing as we grow older.

A source of meaning can be as simple as a daily activity that brings great enjoyment to our lives. Losing that source of meaning can be very difficult, even devastating. After tearing my meniscus ten years ago, (and subsequently undergoing knee surgery), I exclaimed to Joan (in a melodramatic moment of self-pity, induced by a prescribed pain killer), "If the day comes that I can't go for a morning run, well, that's it!" That's "IT"?!! What was I thinking?! The injury eventually completely healed and in that process of recovery, I discovered the joys of reading while exercising on a stationary bicycle. I looked forward each day to this newfound combo of catching up on some reading...while exercising. The proverbial "silver lining" comes when we are open to new sources of meaning.

This past couple of months, my morning runs have been threatened once again, this time hampered by a frustrating and painful achilles injury. I'm hoping the achilles will heal with some time off, but what if they don't? Running has been an immense source of pleasure (and meaning!) for over thirty years. Well, who knows what is to come but feeling sorry for oneself is not an option - besides, it's really hard on everyone else! (So I'm told by someone who has loved me for a very long time and can say frankly what needs to be said!). Over these past several months, trail running on our beloved Mt. Tzouhalem has been out of the question, but we have re-discovered our mountain bikes. They provide lots of exercise, particularly on the ample hills around here, and take us to some new places that beg to be explored. This two-wheeled, self-propelled activity has become a new source of that daily "fix" of endorphins - and meaning.

Whether we're turning 30 or 40 or 50 or 60 or 70 or 80 or 90 or 100, our bodies, minds, and spirits are undergoing change. That's life. It's normal. Advice to "self": suck it up, and move forward without regret. So long as we are open to new sources of meaning as we age, the process of getting older will be grace-filled, rewarding, and the changes we experience will be marked by growth and increasing richness. The alternative is to become grumpy, unpleasant, and irritable to others - and folks won't be wanting to seek out our company!

Just some thoughts that came to mind while paddling the Salish Sea and giving the Entrance Island sea lions a wide berth.

Makes me kind of forget about those annoying achilles. :)

Duncan.

Canadian Coast Guard and Canadian Forces - teamwork on behalf of us all.

2011-09-13T11:23:00.000-07:00

Drama unfolds on the Salish Sea.

There's rarely a dull moment on the sea scape before us on Gabriola Island. This morning the Coast Guard and Search and Rescue appeared to be involved in an exercise - transferring personnel from helicopter to hovercraft and back again. I'm sure the passengers on the passing British Columbia Ferry found it just as thrilling!

These are the men and women whose expertise and daring save lives - over and over again.

Mission complete.

I'm sure glad that they're there. Bravo zulu, one and all.

PS The images were a bit of a "stretch" for our little Panasonic DMC-TS2 (paddling camera) - but you get the point.

Trusting your "gut"...it's not always easy, but sea kayakers and pilots (and the rest of us) usually have to.

2011-09-04T19:36:00.000-07:00

Looking NE from Gabriola Island across the Salish Sea to Vancouver.

The morning view, over the Salish Sea, teaches a new lesson just about every day.

Life's biggest decisions are not always made with the benefit of what pilots call CAVOK - Ceiling And Visibility OK. That acronym usually means that the sun is shining, visual flight rules are sufficient and you can see, with clarity, everything that is important. You still have to, however, have a "feel" for what's going on.

New directions are more often born out of an amalgam of overcast and clarity - there is both a pinch of regret and a measure of hope. You just have to trust that feeling that comes from deep inside. Those who paddle sea kayaks know what it is to "trust your gut" - from reading the weather and the waves to knowing how much effort to put into a brace. Most of us know ourselves best - so trusting that "feeling" is usually the right thing to do. Then the sun shines through, things work out.

That being said, it doesn't make life's big decisions...easy.

Duncan.

When you're pushing a bow wave and life seems like an uphill struggle, it may be time to...

2011-09-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

A contrasting scene on the Toronto waterfront last week.

The "Hippo" was pushing a huge bow wave. It was meeting with heavy resistance. The boiling, turbulent water at its stern revealed its struggle to move forward. The yellow and blue amphi-bus looked (and sounded) "heavy". It was an uphill struggle.

The paddler, on the other hand, skimmed the surface...effortlessly, leaving no wake or evidence of his passage.

The paying passengers, inside the "Hippo", sat tightly squeezed together. They could exercise no control. The schedule and route were out of their hands - they were, "along for the ride".

The paddler determined his own course and timings.

The passengers were a "captive" audience to the commentary of the driver.

The paddler was singing - the rhythm of his song, matching the cadence of his strokes.

So when you're pushing a bow wave and life seems like an uphill struggle...it may be time to get out of the "bus" and "exercise" some freedom with a little self-propelled movement. Or talk with a good friend.

Both may take a little courage. But both work every time - at least that's been my experience. I wonder if it's been yours?

Duncan.

OK, so I adjusted the "horizon" on the image...just a little, just for effect.

On letting our "fears" show us the way...into the uncharted domains of our hearts.

2011-08-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

There are times, before launching the kayaks,

we stand on the shore and ask ourselves,

"Should we 'follow' our fears...or stay home?"

(Having done an appropriate "risk assessment", of course.)

As a small boy, I was rather shy, even timid at times. I was also short, wore glasses, had freckles and curly hair, and was usually the last person chosen to be on any team, whether it be road hockey or schoolyard soccer. I got homesick at my first cub camp and wanted nothing more than to go home. I did suck it up by day 4 - but only for the sake of appearances. (I had some pride after all!) Given all this, I'm thankful to have had the parents I did. My father always seemed completely fearless - there was nothing, it seemed, he wouldn't dare to do or try. He had a great life, full of adventure. I can never imagine him ever saying, "I should have." - he did it all. My mother was quietly the same way. Growing up, I remember her words of encouragement on countless occasions, "Duncan, if you don't try, you'll never know." She was so right.

Their example taught me one of life's most important lessons - that we need to follow our fears. I could never put this idea into words until a few days ago. I just finished reading Yossi Ghinsberg's moving account of his survival, against all odds, in the Amazon rainforest of Bolivia. It's a startling, raw, and graphic account of survival in unthinkable conditions. Having survived the impossible harshness of an agonizing three weeks, Ghinsberg ended his book, Lost in the Jungle: A Harrowing True Story of Survival, with these gentle words:

"May you find the courage to walk your own path. May you dare to venture into the uncharted domains of your own heart. Here is my advice to you, the adventurers - fear will show you the way, walk steadily toward it. Have trust and faith to guide you like a torch piercing darkness. Do not believe or do not deny, but find out for yourself - for there is no truth but the one you have earned in your own experience."

I get goose bumps when I read and re-read those words. Usually we talk about facing our fears - but following our fears is so very different. If we simply face our fears, we can decide that they are too formidable and back away from them. That's too easy. The problem with this approach is that we will never know if we have missed out on something essential that is life-giving and life-enriching. If we follow our fears, however, if we allow our fears to show us the way, we dare to go where we can confront their source and their true nature. Most often, the things we fear in life can have a ferocious bark, but rarely much real bite.

I was thinking this morning about my father's example and my mother's counsel, "If you don't try, you'll never know." Our first summer internship many years ago could have been in Toronto - it would have been safe and familiar. We had a sense, however, we should follow our fears of the unknown which would mean cutting the umbilical cord to the university and home and everything we knew. We were sent to a remote little community in Fortune Bay, in Newfoundland. We could have had the comfort of the familiar. Instead, we discovered the warmth and charm of wonderful people, indescribable natural beauty, a deeply enriching experience...and an "adventure" we'll never forget.

We didn't know where this steep, rocky trail in the Highlands was leading.
We questioned going on... but it was a great adventure.

For years, I desperately wanted to learn to fly but there was always the nagging fear of the mandatory and dreaded "spin recovery" and then the first solo, followed by the cross-country solo. What if I couldn't do it? What if it didn't go well? "If you don't try, you'll never know." Well, it went well and I enjoyed several years of living a dream - and no one ever got hurt. :)

We have loved everywhere we have ever lived, in both civilian moves and military postings. But every time we moved, there was the nagging worry that we might be making a mistake.To move always meant leaving people we cared for and places that had become "home", in every way. Despite this, there has always been the irresistible call, as Yossi Ghinsberg describes, to venture into the uncharted domains of our hearts. After the usual agonizing, we always allowed our fears "to show us the way", and over the years, have discovered that it was the right thing to do - even if the charted domains of our hearts felt a deep sadness about those we would miss so very much.

I must admit, while deeply thankful for the present moment, we always seem to feel that irresistible call to venture into those uncharted domains - and to find the courage to allow our fears to continue to show us the way. It is always easier not to "launch" and to stay on the shore. The waves, the wind, and the currents can be so unpredictable and so contrary. And the shoreline is very beautiful, rich in diversity, and offers much comfort. The counsel, however, a loving mother frequently gave to her shy, freckled and bespectacled, little boy, keeps coming to mind. "If you don't try, you'll never know." I suppose I just need to know.

One lifetime doesn't quite seem enough, does it? :)

Duncan.

Top image: Gabriola Island, looking out to Entrance Island lighthouse.
Second image: Angus, Scotland and a hike in the Glens.

Love, hope, and optimism...a recipe, for something very, very good.

2011-08-27T18:11:00.000-07:00

Pensive moments by Lock 21, Peterborough, Ontario.

Love is better than anger.

Hope is better than fear.

Optimism is better than despair.

So let us be loving, hopeful, and optimistic.

And we'll change the world.

- J.G. Layton

We went for a long walk the other night. On this occasion, we took some time to sit pensively by the quiet waters leading into Lock 21. The last "transfer" of the day had been completed and the highest hydraulic lift lock in the world, a majestic marvel of engineering, awaited the peacefulness of the coming night. As the sun began to set, the waterway reflected the sky, the trees, and the handiwork of skilled labourers, over a century ago.

We thought about "Jack's" words, written shortly before he died last week. We didn't know Jack personally, but it was impossible these past years not to be touched by his warmth, his energy, his enthusiasm, and his passion for social justice. He was a different kind of politician from the usual caricature. He believed we can change the world - simply because that's the right thing to do. So many struggle with so much, and he believed that it shouldn't be that way. He was a "man for others" - most especially, those that society allows to fall "between the cracks".

The expressions of affection these past days, from people of every political stripe, would suggest that it is love, hope, and optimism...qualities of selfless living, that would, indeed, change the world.

Thanks for the reminder, Jack, and for the inspiration of your actions.

The Honourable John Gilbert (Jack) Layton was a Canadian politician and Leader of the Official Opposition. He died of cancer last week, at age 61.

A fresh-water “expedition” by sea kayak - a multi-week paddle that “locks”! And no sharks.

2011-08-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

Burleigh Falls, Ontario - and one of the many lakes connected by the T-S Waterway.

For a good number of years now, we’ve thought about how cool it would be to paddle the Trent-Severn Waterway by sea kayak. Admittedly, it’s by no means an “epic” journey and the risk factors greatly pale in comparison to some of the impressive adventures being undertaken by some in the paddling community who stop by the blog now and again. There’s no exposed coastline, no storm swell, no need for tide tables, no grizzly bears scoping out the campsite, and nope, no evidence of the “predator of the deep”, the great white shark – as was snagged in Nova Scotia’s Bay of Fundy last week! The Waterway trip has, however, great appeal.

The gates begin to open.

While visiting with family in Peterborough yesterday, we had the opportunity to drive up to Burleigh Falls, the location of Lock # 28, to do a short recce. The Parks Canada staff were most enthusiastic and a great source of information.

In the lock and ready to go - down!

The Trent-Severn is an impressive 386-kilometer (240 mile) route through central and southern Ontario, from Port Severn on Georgian Bay to the Bay of Quinte on Lake Ontario. The numerous lakes, rivers, and canals are connected by the 44 locks (including two of the highest in the world), 2 “flight locks”, and one marine highway. The “lift” locks, located at Peterborough and Kirkfield are operated by monster hydraulics that raise and lower what are essentially steel “tubs”, weighing 1,500 tonnes of water! They would certainly make a 54-pound kayak feel like the proverbial “drop in a bucket”!

The Waterway is managed by Parks Canada.

The history of the Waterway is impressive. Construction began in 1833 and the project was completed eighty-seven years later in 1920. In a country as young as Canada – that’s a long-term project!

Ontario “cottage country”, through which the T-S transits, is very beautiful and incredibly peaceful – well, so long as the paddling is done before or after the “jet ski season”. Camping is available at most of the locks and the luxury of an occasional shower is available at marinas along the way. I think late spring or early fall would be perfect for a one, two, or three week trip, depending upon how much of the Waterway you wanted to do. It would, of course, be nice to paddle the whole route!

Deep in the lock - the sea kayak will be swallowed up!

As much as we’ve thought about it, it’s always been a difficult paddle trip to plan - logistically. For the last twenty years, we’ve lived in Western Canada. Getting the kayaks, paddling, and camping gear to the launch involves at least a week or so of driving – that’s a lot of time and energy expended, inside a car! There would also be the requirement to “ferry” the faithful Subaru "HMKTV" (High Mobility Kayak Transport Vehicle) to the end point. Despite these challenges, it seems like an excellent extended paddling trip to keep at the top of the kayaking “bucket” list for next year.

And on to the next lake.

Neither Joan nor I have ever spoken to anyone who has done this trip but I’m sure many have. If anyone out there has paddled all or part of the T-S Waterway (or is interested in doing so) it would be great to hear of your experience and any reflections you have on the route.

It looks like a great adventure - and hey, no sharks. :)

Duncan.

The August of our "disconnect"...the song sings itself!

2011-08-19T16:49:00.000-07:00

"In summer, the song sings itself."

- William Carlos William

Arbroath harbour, Scotland, this summer.
You can bet there's some nice "changes" happening behind the scaffolding.

The older I get (as in “circuits around the sun”, not wrinkles!), the more it becomes apparent that our lives need to be continually “fine tuned”. As with a musical instrument or paddling or running form, lifestyles and life-practices benefit from regular “tweaking”. Or yeah, sometimes, a major reno! That, of course, invites change - and it shouldn’t worry us. As I see it, change means that our lives are a work in progress – rather than a work in stasis or even decline. And heck, I’d rather be getting progressively lost, going in the wrong direction, than sitting around going in no direction at all!

I like change and would even go so far as to say that it is, for me, a source of happiness. Having said that, I do honestly feel badly when my need for change drives others crazy. J

And it’s not to say that all change is pleasurable. When a good friend moves to the other side of the country or when your body reminds you that it takes waaaay longer to recover from that so-called-easy trail run than it used to – well, that doesn’t feel good. On the other hand, a friend moving to the East coast provides a great reason to plan some exploring time on the other side of the country. Sore muscles from running are the body’s way to suggest a little moderation or maybe getting a little more biking or paddling in. It’s a fact that cross-training keeps us moving. One door closes slightly for awhile, another one opens – it’s that cosmic balance.

Experiencing ourselves growing and evolving and nurturing fresh perspectives, as we journey through life, should be an exciting proposition. I think I have always been a “happy” person – at twenty, at forty, at sixty-one. (Yikes.) But, I'm not the same person. Thankfully! There’s been lots of change, and lots of “phases”. Not all change was smooth and some phases were downright dumb. (Like the year in university I elected to forgo academics for a shot at a role in an rock musical. Man, what a disaster, but it was fun! It was back to the books the following year.) In retrospect, however, it was always exciting - perhaps in the same way as when you find yourself in your kayak in conditions that are just a little “sketchier” than you had planned. Normally, if we keep our cool, we rise to the occasion. And later, when we reflect on the day (safe and dry back home) we get that nice feeling – the warm afterglow that comes with knowing that we invited the unexpected, and that we dealt with change, in the form of a stiffer challenge than we had anticipated.

This month, we decided to change a few things around the house and adjust where we invested time – a “commodity”, after all, that is beyond value! We decided to have our TV cable service disconnected. It's not that we have ever watched a lot of TV nor is it a judgment on those who do. It was simply a sense that we needed to do things differently. OK, I’d better be honest. I did actually get a bit of a shock when I found myself (mindlessly) enjoying a reality show about folks who make a living bidding on the left-over contents of deserted storage units. Huh? It may be big drama for them but how the heck could it be entertaining for me to be watching it!? I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

Anyway, anything I need to know about current events can be found on the web. The TV still works for the occasional movie - so we “chopped” the cable.

Bottom line: That little change in the way we do things around our place felt good – really good.

Change - it sings a sweet song.

Duncan.

Keeping "technology" dry and operable on the kayak deck...a cool piece of kit.

2011-08-11T16:06:00.000-07:00

My spouse and paddling partner - every so often she'd disappear!

Yesterday was a sweet day to be on the water. The weather was changing and there was a brisk wind from the south-east. We don't get the swell of the more open ocean here. Our local launch spot, at Maple Bay, is in an area that is protected by both Vancouver Island and Saltspring Island. So yeah, "rolling" waves can be a bit of a treat.

Paddling into the action, the decks of the kayaks experienced lots of water washing over them which provided an excellent opportunity to test a new piece of "kit" we recently acquired - a couple of SealLine eCases.

Nice and flush on the deck, clipped and bungeed.

Being able to communicate with others can be very important when you're on the water in a sea kayak. We always have with us a VHF marine radio and also our cell phones. It's ideal if both pieces of equipment are waterproof, and that we are able to USE them with some degree of ease - especially if everything else is going "south". The radio is not problem. Cell phones, on the other hand, are usually vulnerable and built for dry-land use. Sure, it's easy to keep them safe in a dry bag or waterproof Pelican box - but they are difficult to keep dry and use, at the same time. Especially in conditions when you might be needing to call for assistance.

The SealLine eCase is bright (ours are orange), and sits flush on the deck. The phone is clearly visible through the urethane window and it is fully submersible. The best (and most useful) part, however, is that the iPhone is fully operable, including all the "touch and swipe" features. The next best bonus is that the phone, enclosed in the eCase, floats! (Not that either one of us has ever accidentally dropped anything over the side - and witnessed it tumble, in slow motion, into the depths. Well, maybe a couple of times.)

A nice piece of kit!

We tested out the SealLine cases in the kitchen sink first - no problem. In the real world of wet sea kayaking - once again, no problem. We found ours at Mountain Equipment Coop in Vancouver but they are widely available. At about $20 bucks - a darn good buy!

And no, I didn't check email, "surf" the web, or get temped to crank up any of the fun "apps" out there. :)

Duncan.

A work in progress...and the challenges of practising what you preach: A confession.

2011-08-09T23:21:00.000-07:00

A moment I might have forgotten...but for the camera.

I'm forever counselling, advising, sometimes even (and this is pure pecksniffery), admonishing people to live in the moment. All I'm really trying to say is that we need to be present and not let the moment or the experience slip away because of any of life's many distractions.

It's all about situation awareness - life's too short not to have it. And life can be really short if you don't have it. I learned that during my time in the army.

There's more though. We need to be aware of and appreciate each moment and each situation, no matter what - and that means making an effort.

Sometimes, I seem to forget all this. Which is why sometimes my admonishing others is a lot of pecksniffery! There are blunter terms that I have decided I shouldn't use. :)

That's when it's good to have a camera around...to record the images we sometimes miss. They serve as a timely and necessary "wake up call".

Indeed, I guess some of us are "a work in progress"...sigh.

Working on it,

Duncan.

Self-propelled activities...and their gift of "balance".

2011-08-06T10:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday evening and the last sun on Erskine Point, Saltspring Island.

In the evening, as the sun is setting behind the forested coastal mountains of Vancouver Island, the sea is often very calm. Paddling is easy. The mind is free to wander, to ponder, to contemplate...to drift. Very little attention is required to propel the kayak forward. You find yourself on "autopilot". You can get a lot of thinking done.

Earlier, however, the winds were brisk and the ride bumpy. It was exhilarating. The mind needed to focus a little more on maintaining balance - the kayak does occasionally like to go its own way. As following waves build and the distances between crests increase, the little boat likes to surf...some attention is required. Ah, but the release of adrenaline feels good and enhances the necessary focus.

Calm or "bumpy", it's all good.

We do, after all, need balance in life. We need times to simply "chill", to freewheel, to let go. These are fallow times, opportunities to take a deep breath and feel the restorative powers available to a body at (relative) rest. We also, however, need experiences that test us, that build stamina and endurance...that sharpen focus. These times challenge us and make us stronger, and more flexible.

That's why I think self-propelled physical activities are just about the best medicine of all - just by their very nature, they give balance to our often chaotic and topsy-turvy lives. And balance nurtures harmony. Besides, self-propelled activities are health-enhancing. Hard to see the down side of any of that.

So, once again, here's to movement. :)

Duncan.

Some family time on the water...and p-a-u-s-i-n-g to take it all in.

2011-07-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

Leaving Maple Bay via Paddy's Milestone.

With "geography" always a bit of a challenge to many of us in this immense country, good quality "family time" (that is, getting everyone together in the same place at the same time), is hard to come by. Time together, on the the water, is even more rare. We got lucky this past little while - our son flew out to visit us on the Island for a few days. The weather was perfect, and we had the opportunity to spend time doing something we all enjoy - getting the narrow boats launched and padding over to our closest neighbouring Gulf Island...and, following that, visiting a few local vineyards.

Mom and son and lunch break in Burgoyne Bay, Saltspring Island

Like folks often do, we sometimes take for granted our surroundings. We forget about the natural beauty around us. We become accustomed to the views and take them in "stride" rather than pausing to take them in. When we lived in the Rockies, folks often remarked how fortunate we were to have such dramatic views of snow-capped mountains right out our windows - back, front, and sides. It would, at times, jolt me when I realized how blasé I had become! "View? Oh yeah, it's pretty nice here." Huh - what's that about? Walking down the street, instead of focusing on the extraordinary beauty, I would find myself nattering about how the flood of summer visitors were causing long line-ups at the post office. When we were posted to Germany, we lived on the edge of the Black Forest, just a short drive from both France and Switzerland. Even there, I remember forgetting how marvellous an opportunity it was and getting annoyed at what I perceived to be the interminable waits at the traffic lights in Lahr. - talk about a bad attitude! :)

Father and son, chillin'...savouring the moment, weather coming in.

Looking back over the five weeks we spent working in Scotland in June and early July - the time has already compressed and in some ways, it's hard to believe we were there! I keep a journal, however, and I know we were there and I know we appreciated every moment, every person, and every new experience. Sometimes we get blasé about places, and opportunities, and even people. When that happens, our experience and appreciation for life is greatly diminished. It's as if we're not even here - because when we take any component of life for granted, we're essentially not here.

It was a great time on the water with our son. Cruisin' the vineyards was fun too. We treasured every moment. That will make those moments last a very long time - and that's a good thing.

Bottom line: Live the present moment fully and with deep appreciation, it ain't here to stay...and you don't want to miss it.

Duncan.

Between the fog and a grey place...and the challenges of "re-entry".

2011-07-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

A narrow band of clarity, from the top of Mt. Tzouhalem this morning.

”Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.

It turns what we have into enough, and more.

It turns denial into acceptance,

chaos to order, confusion to clarity.

It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home,

a stranger into a friend.

Gratitude makes sense of our past,

brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow."*

OK, I've been advised (in fairly clear terms) to get over all this "smitten with the country of my birth" stuff and get back to writing about paddling and running and being back on Vancouver Island. Well, um maybe, at least I'll try...after this posting.

It's interesting that forty-two years ago today, the Eagle landed - on the moon. It was the first such landing. One of the critical issues for Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin was to ensure that the angle of their approach to the moon was just right. If the angle was too sharp, they would augur in. If it was too shallow, they would land "long" or perhaps even bounce off the atmosphere back into space. Their subsequent re-entry back home into the denser atmosphere of Earth, would require even more attention to detail. I too, albeit infinitely less critical, dramatic, or newsworthy, seem to be dealing with similar challenges related to "re-entry" after being away.

Now that we're back in Canada, our early morning run around Forfar Loch, in Scotland, has transitioned back to time on the familiar trails of Mt. Tzouhalem, next to where we live. A couple of days ago, one element of the run remained much the same - the rain and grey skies! Returning to the trail-head parking lot, rather wet, muddy, and resembling a couple of bespectacled river rats, we might have brought a smile to the faces of any observers - had there been any there, that is. The rain pounded down, the forest streams flowed, and the mud and grit attached itself to our bare legs and our recently laundered running gear!

Somewhere below the fog bank, lies the waters of Cowichan Bay.

Although the rain has now ceased, this morning we arrived at the mid-point of our run, the "Cross" on Mt. Tzouhalem, and experienced a narrow band of visibility - between the surface fog and the overcast The "fog and the grey place" was partly to do with the weather. The sky was obscured by a thick overcast. Below us, a fog bank blanketed the usual view of Cowichan Bay, the Saanich Peninsula, and beyond to the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. The "fog and the grey place", however, also had to do with some challenges related to "re-entry".

The last six weeks have been deeply meaningful, instructive, and emotion-filled in many ways. It was an adventure, a time of spiritual challenge, a learning experience, a context for connection with special people, both back home, and abroad. For most of us, "transitioning" back from such experiences is rarely without the need for care and attention to the process of "re-entry".

Think about the last time you had a really excellent holiday, or an inspiring episode of continuing education, or an epic outdoor adventure, or a close and meaningful encounter with family or friends. It felt good didn't it? And you wanted that feeling to last forever. Right? Well, the folks who study human behaviour tell us that these "good vibes" will last about a week, after which, we return to our previous state of mind.

A cool shot out the window of the KLM Fokker 70,
on the Glasgow to Amsterdam leg last week.

There is a way, however, to extend those good vibes - gratitude, just like the quote up above says. Instead of regretting that the experience is over, we need to remain thankful for every minute of that special time. It comes alive again - and stays alive. The "fog", that had begun to gather and obscure the memories, dissipates. The blue sky and clarity of vision returns. The process of "re-entry" into our everyday routines becomes smooth and certain.

”Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.

It turns what we have into enough, and more."

Gratitude...makes for much happier folks, and a much better "re-entry"!

Having said all that, I'm still tempted to put in an offer on that deserted Highland cottage and become a shepherd. :)

Duncan.

* Quote from M. Beattie.

Smitten, just simply smitten...

2011-07-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

An ancient writer advised..."be still".
It's such an important exercise - it helps us absorb life's experiences.

Never in a million years (actually probably more) did I ever think I would share, dare I say it, feelings here. When this little blog began, almost three years ago, it was just going to be a venue to share some images, some reflections, and some experiences related to a couple of our favourite self-propelled activities - sea kayaking and trail running. And maybe, within the context of it all, a little "wisdom" could be shared that got absorbed along the way, really just simple lessons learned.

Such dramatic vistas put our lives, our joys and our struggles, in perspective.

Since then, it's been a bit of a surprise to see what the heart has guided the fingers to tap out on the keyboard. As much as I love the emotive value of just about every Dan Hill composition, heck, I was born on this island and I always thought that the "stiff upper lip" extended well north of Gretna Green, for heaven's sake.

And the "blogosphere" is hardly a safe place for the honest expression of emotion for a guy who feels he should keep such things to himself - after all, anybody could be reading this!

Our words and our aspirations, however, often outlast even the sturdiest of our human constructions, whether it be those built on a large scale, such as a 1000 year old priory...

The ruins of Restenneth Priory, by Forfar.

...or those built on not so grand a scale, such as a Highland crofter's cosy, stone cottage.

Our lives are brief...reason to live each day fully.

So words are important. The fact is, the expression of deeply held thoughts, questions, wonderings, observations...is healthy. Yeah, even for guys. That's why keeping a journal can be incredibly therapeutic. It's important to note, however, that guys keep journals - not diaries. :)

A tiny Scottish "corner" of this fragile island planet, whirling through space.

So, throwing all caution to the wind, I'm going to admit it right here:

I'm smitten...simply smitten with this land and her people.

The pastoral and peaceful fields of Forfar.

My mother and father and I left Scotland when I was three years old and sure, there have been visits a number of times, some extended. But something strangely warming happened this time. It had a lot to do with losing my very dear mother while we were here. It had a lot to do with, the opportunity to be with family, at that most important time...after way too many years. Their warmth, their love, their caring, their laughter, their stories and their shared memories has brought healing.

Important moments with both our Scottish...

...and our English, very special family.

There is so much..."outside" here.

The experience of being "smitten" also has a lot to do with the land and the topography - the rugged coastline, the deep red sandstone cliffs, the soft green hills and fields, the deep glens, and the rugged mountains - some of which we were blessed to have had the opportunity to explore. And the Highlands, so austere yet so welcoming, so full to brimming with misty images of a brave and complex history. And we know that this is just scratching the surface of this ancient and mysterious land.

All these things inspire a feeling of deep peace...a feeling of connection, a sense of belonging.

Connection and a sense of belonging are so important.

New friendships and warm memories.

And then there are the people of St. Margaret's Parish Church in Forfar with whom we worked with and amongst - warm, engaging, lively, and hospitable. Their eyes sparkle and their words and phrases emerge as songs. Their laughter and their tears bespeak a passion for life and a sense of the preciousness of each day. Their hospitality enriches and affirms. They are making the world a better place. We'll miss you, one and all.

This past five weeks here have been a deeply moving time for one who prides himself on keeping emotions in check. Many thanks to the Reverend David and Catriona Logan. It was their idea and vision that gave birth to the possibility of this exchange.

St. Margaret's Church, Forfar, Scotland

Bless the folks of St. Margaret's, and our own very special United Church of Canada parish community back home on Vancouver Island.

These two loving and trusting "families", thousands of miles apart, gave us the freedom to pursue this spirited adventure. They also served as great support teams, back at "base camp", to their respective visiting ministers.

I believe we have returned home having invested the time wisely and enriched by this experience.

We bid a fond farewell.

The "symbol" that sums it all up.

Bottom line about this country and her people? We're smitten, just simply smitten.

Tapedh leibh - one and all.

Yours "aye",

Duncan and Joan.

PS And to "Stella" (the well known Forfar umbrella), our constant and faithful companion for just about every day - you were awesome! :)

"Bagging" a couple of Scottish Munros...when a "little" adrenaline is almost a little too much.

2011-07-09T14:11:00.000-07:00

Heading up into the "corrie" (cirque).

This was our last Saturday in Scotland, it was free, and there was one more thing we'd hoped to do - we needed to "bag" at least one Munro before returning to Canada.

The Munros are Scotland's highest mountains and they reside in amazing landscapes carved by glaciers 12,000 years ago. Much to our delight, there are two Munros nearby - Mayar and Driesh - and they are a couple of the popular (and easier) ones to "bag".

The trail begins at the Glen Doll car park, where the Ranger suggested that we fill out a registration card indicating our planned route, estimated time, contact information...colour of clothing. Hmm. As were others, we were then advised to stick to the route we had submitted - no changes.

It's good advice. It's pretty remote.

The trail takes you from the car park, through a forest, and to the edge of the trees where you can look up into the corrie, or the cirque. Leaving the cover of the forest, and taking in the vista ahead - it takes your breath away, as you can see from the pic above. Another hiker we met described the route as "walking into a painting". So true. It looks like a long way to the rugged ascent...and steep, but there is a well worn trail, visible in places in the distance.

Once you leave the forest, the trail winds through the open ground of the cirque for about a kilometre and a half and then climbs to the ridge, the Cairngorm plateau. This section is described in the National Nature Reserves brochure as "a steep mountain trail" - it is. It does quicken the breathing - significantly - but the scenery takes all your focus. There is only the"moment".

Soon after Joan took this rather serene pic, we were back on the trail, when suddenly we heard a very loud "crack" reverberate in the massive bowl.

A serene moment.

A moment later, it was followed by a violent crashing sound and were startled to look up and see a massive boulder - the size of a Smart Car but with significantly more "tonnage" - hurtling towards us! It carved out massive divots and the earth exploded as it "bounced" down the mountainside. The brochure had mentioned "erratics, some as big as Land Rovers" but it didn't mention that they might unleash themselves on unsuspecting hikers! Mercifully, it passed well away from where we were on the trail, and disappeared, free-falling out of sight.

It was one of those brief instants in time when you review your entire life while at the same time shaking your head at the impossible odds of anything like this ever happening. And heck, how would you explain what could have happened, to the folks back home. Well actually, that would have been the Ranger's job. :(

Erratics "the size of Land Rovers".

Thinking about the experience, it was almost unimaginable to us that such an immense erratic could have been released from where it had probably rested at its "angle of repose" for thousands of years - except that the past week's torrential rainfall may have been the proverbial "straw" that broke the boulder's will to stay put!

That was: Adrenaline shot # 1.

Regaining our composure, we continued up for another half hour. Finally climbing out of the cirque, it feels as if you must almost be at the summit of the first Munro, Mayar. Not quite, there's still some more hill work to be done, through a clear but boggy area. And then the reward.

Checking the route - 'cause it wasn't obvious to us!

The view from the top is...breathtaking. The hard climb and the close encounter with the tumbling "~~Smart Car"~~ boulder, is forgotten. After the requisite summit photo, it's off to bag the second Munro, Driesh.

Feels like the top of the world in these parts.

Driesh is only another 3 kilometres away and the elevation loss and gain is not particularly demanding. The route is on a fairly obvious trail but having said that, we missed the turn to the summit and had to do a little backtracking - yeah, even with the help of an Ordnance Survey map (# 44). In addition, it had begun to rain and we could see dark, rather ominous clouds forming over the mountain, and the visibility beginning to deteriorate.

The summit of Driesh (left) with the mist descending.

Suddenly, in the midst of the darkening skies to the south, a rainbow formed, down in the valley - it was really quite remarkable!

The rainbow seemed to be a good omen but then the wind picked up and our "good omen" quickly dissipated.

Last few metres to the summit of Dreish.

Arriving at the summit, we took the second requisite picture when suddenly there was another immense and sharp "crack" - this time it wasn't an "erratic" tumbling down the slopes - the slopes were all below us!

The summit of Driesh...and now a thunderstorm is approaching!

This time, the reverberating sound came from above - it was lightning, and all too quickly followed by thunder. So here we are at the highest point in the area and a thunderstorm is rapidly approaching. Hmm...there's something not right about this picture.

That was: Adrenaline shot # 2. (Maybe we're having too much fun now?)

Heading back down the rocky slope, with cautious haste, we were relieved to see the skies lighten again as quickly as they had darkened.

Looking back at the trail descending back into the valley,
just below the top of the ridge.

The trail back and down into the valley.

The rain showers picked up and by the time we got back to the trailhead we were pretty wet - but it didn't matter, it had been a great day with the two Munros providing even more excitement than we had anticipated - and at least two good shots of adrenaline! :)

Pretty nice way to spend a day off in this extraordinary country. And the people on the trail...like everyone else we've met in Scotland, in Forfar, and at St. Margaret's - a lot of warmth, hospitality, and high spirits.

Duncan.

Garmin 305 GPS trip log: 5.25 hours, 16.35 km, 922 metres of elevation gain...and 2 shots of adrenaline.

"Little house in the Highlands"...sounds rather nice!

2011-07-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

Location, location, location - and lots of it!

We drove by this little place the other day...looks just about perfect for the two of us.

It's located in Cairngorms National Park, here in Scotland, which would be really nice. (We have, of course, great memories of the years we spent in Banff National Park in Alberta.) It is, admittedly, somewhat more isolated from the amenities we became accustomed to in the Bow Corridor, but the hiking and hill-walking is literally right out the front door. Come to think of it, these self-propelled outdoor pursuits that we love are right out the back door...and, um, the side door too! Now, how cool is that?!

We didn't actually see a "For Sale" sign posted, but it doesn't look occupied and it seems that it may well have been a while since anyone has actually lived there. Having said that, the property does look well groomed and cared for and I think the hundreds of sheep that dot the landscape are probably keeping a good eye on things.

The sheep are nice and even pitch in with the grounds maintenance.

We noted the two chimneys, which means a fireplace at either end - that's got to be a vast improvement over "central heating" where there is only one heat source in the middle of the house. Winters are cold and snowy here in northern Scotland so whoever built this place knew what they were doing. We'll certainly have to address windows and doors - they're missing. The roof needs some work as well but there's no real hurry for these upgrades as the current weather is reasonably warm and sunny.

Nice lines, simple design, twin fireplaces.

The house doesn't appear to be on the "grid", however, so we'd probably have to consider either solar or wind power as possible energy sources. Our thought is that we could locate a windmill on the nearby hill. (See top image.) We'd need a really long extension cord (or however that tech stuff works) but the bonus is that we could also hook up a TV antenna to the top of the wind mill. We should at least get some decent BBC programming that way. Cell service? Nope, I don't think so but we've got our ham radio equipment - could just add another antenna on top of the wind mill. Now, this is really starting to come together!

As for internet, we're not quite sure how that's going to work - yet. We have, however, seen some travel trailers in the Park and I know that some of the more sophisticated campers have a satellite connection for internet. We could just flag a tourist down every so often and ask if we could have a few minutes of online time in exchange for, I don't know, something.

Now there is the matter of the neighbours, just down the road.

Well, frankly, I'm not particularly impressed...
it's just not cosy.

They planted some trees and built this..."castle". Who are they trying to impress? I mean, really. Sure, it's a pretty nice and all that but do they really need all that space. I mean, it's just the two of them. And the thing is, their place is affecting the property taxes of us more modest folk. Oh well, that's OK. I'm thinking that they probably host some great parties...AND, I'll bet they have internet!

This whole thing is sounding better and better.

The strange thing is...living in a little croft house in the hills of Cairngorms, does sound rather appealing. Hmmm...

Now what was the name of that property agent? :)

Duncan.

Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention, these cool guys asked me if I wanted to join their band. I said, "You bet I do!".

Rockin', "Highland" style - "shaggy, unkempt, and wild"! Yes!

Rock on!

PS: Happy Canada Day weekend everybody back home!
Another PS: The "neighbouring place" is Braemar Castle. (It is rather impressive!)

On ancient walls and lunatics...

2011-06-29T08:46:00.000-07:00

Arbroath Abbey - a "marker" from another time.

Lest anyone thinks that this posting's title is meant to reflect the venue and the visitors (us)...well, I'll leave that to you. :)

It is admitted that sometimes we both get overly caught up chasing after the potential "adventures" that await in the world outdoors, and need to be reminded of the nearby evidence of the incredible depth of history that exists in the heart and soul of Scotland.

Having said that, when hill walking in the lonely landscapes, it's easy to be stirred by images of the rough and ready life, countless generations ago in the glens and hills - and my Scottish blood is quite happy to be associated with those "great stalwart men, shaggy, unkempt and wild with a liking for strong drink".

Donnchadh*, a modern day descendent of the
"shaggy, unkempt, and wild"...
exiting the chamber for declared lunatics.
(A giant of a man, note how he "towers" in the doorway)

In reality though, I'm a relatively short guy with a close-trimmed beard, an unwarrior-like personality (most of the time), and an aversion to whiskey. But - the day will come. The "shaggy, unkempt and wild" will be back!

Arbroath Abbey is just down the road from where we are in Forfar, Scotland. As the sun set, casting its warm rays on these ancient walls, we felt deeply moved at its immensity and grandeur in an earlier time. The abbey was founded by King William the Lion in 1178 and it was dedicated in honour of St Thomas of Canterbury. In 1320, the Scottish Declaration of Independence was signed and addressed to the Pope with these, among other words:

"For, so long as a hundred remain alive, we will never in any degree be subject to the dominion of the English. Since not for glory, riches or honours do we fight, but for freedom alone, which no man loses but with his life."

Yes, indeed, those words have stirred strong feelings over many centuries - and to this day!

Peeking into a cold, stone-walled "cell", once reserved for those thought to be "mad", I shuddered at the thought of being incarcerated there. I'm sure that the rather unfortunate term, "lunatic", was a more subjective than clinical designation! It is impossible to imagine what life must have been like. You'd have to be more than tough to survive.

And next door to the ancient abbey,
21st Century "warriors" ponder
more relaxed battle strategies.

When you ponder the hopes and the dreams, the plans and the passions, the lives and the "stories" that have accumulated over a thousand years in this place...it is humbling. It also puts into perspective the things that we tend to natter, whine, complain, and "drip" about (the weather, pot holes, partisan politics)...as if such things, over the vast expanse of time, were ever of any real consequence.

Clearly, we have only so much time here on this fragile planet. It could well be that one day, a thousand years from now, someone might reflect on the "markers" and the words that we early 21st Century inhabitants leave behind - would be wonderful, if what they find, reflects our best efforts and our most honourable aspirations.

Breathless, this time, by an ancient abbey.

Donnchadh.

*Gaelic, "brown warrior" - gotta like that. :)

192 minutes of breathtaking beauty, and the best "Brandy" we've ever "tasted"...

2011-06-25T09:53:00.000-07:00

Joan, high above Loch Brandy..."connecting".

When the human spirit is wounded, healing most often comes with connection - often in the company of others, but also by spending time in a natural environment of remote and breathtaking beauty. Yesterday, for Joan and I, it was a soothing and welcome balance of both.

A "marker", built over time - that helped us find our way.

We spent the morning at St Margaret's Parish, meeting and greeting folks, at the Friday morning coffee hour.

Such times are good "listening" times. I enjoy hearing folks speak about their lives, their families, their passions, their travels, their hopes and their dreams. The act of listening is also a valuable opportunity to affirm and value others. In so doing, we communicate to them the preciousness of both their stories and the "markers" that they have left behind - without saying a word. It just happens...whenever we listen with attentiveness and care.

Following coffee, we had scheduled two visits - the second, with a couple of delightful folks of "wiser" years who kindly offered us a glass of whisky, prior to a cup of tea and a plethora of tasty sweets. (Gee, that doesn't happen in Canada - the offer of whisky, I mean!) We so wanted to accept the offer, but the truth is, neither one of us has ever acquired a taste for the legendary Scottish beverage. Heck, to show you how totally uncultured I am, I thought "single malt" was like ordering a "single" shot of espresso in your latte! Well...apparently, that's not what it means.

Filled with delicious tea, shortbread, apple tarts, and our hearts warmed by the hospitality of our hosts, it was time to make another connection. We had been looking forward to the possibility of a hill climb around Loch Brandy. It promised remote beauty, breathtaking views, and a suitable "calorie-busting" hike - a grand recipe, anytime.

The Clova Hotel - it brought back memories
of the Lodge at Lake O'Hara in the Rockies.

The hike begins at the tiny little "outpost" of Clova, just inside the boundary of Cairngorms National Park. It is here that the Scottish terrain begins to take your breath away - literally. Leaving the trailhead and the Clova Hotel, the ascent is steady as you rise in elevation, the views becoming increasingly dramatic.

What's not to love about a Garmin 305 - it's just such great company!

Looking down into the panorama below us, we could see the River Esk, winding its way through the ice-carved valley towards the North Sea, amidst fields of cattle and sheep. Every so often we paused, not only to catch our breath, but to take in the vast beauty before us...and to listen to the calming music of the wind as it brushed the terrain.

The slopes are covered in heather and the peaty moorland "oozes" with the weight of the recent and ample rainfalls. We shared the lonely slopes, once again, with only the sheep, the wild goats, and soaring birds.

A couple of locals - so lucky, they get to live up here!

When you finally reach the tarn of Loch Brandy, the world becomes suddenly silent. The water is dark and still. The towering slopes bring shelter from the wind - and you feel the warmth of this magical place.

Loch Brandy and the ridge above and beyond.

You try to take it all in and capture the vista, both in your mind, and "digitally".

And then it is time to go higher.

It seems the top of the ridge will never come - but we are just impatient, for the scenic reward that we know awaits. The winds increase again - and it is time to add another layer of clothing from the backpack. Finally, reaching the top, the view is as promised - stunning. The neighbouring peaks of Dreish and Mayar, two "Munros", beckon from the west - perhaps another possibility before we leave this marvellous country.

Looking west from the ridge.

Above the sheltered and quiet loch, it is time to pause...and connect.

High above Loch Brandy...a source of wholeness, health, and joy.

And then it is time to complete the ridge walk, descend the steep path, and return to the trailhead. It was a time of "connection", of healing...and a source of renewed strength.

192 minutes, 8.74 kilometres, 684 metres of elevation gain - and a "taste" of what has to be the finest "Brandy", anywhere.

That's my kind of "spirits". :)

Duncan.

PS Applying a little common sense, we found some nice light hiking boots at Tiso for these sorties. Sure made life a lot easier on the feet - there were some steep and rocky places to negotiate. Tiso is the UK's answer to MEC and REI - pretty nice.

The reason we wore red, and found a reason to smile...on the Summer Solstice of 2011.

2011-06-23T15:05:00.000-07:00

Mary Frances, wearing a splash of red, on her 90th birthday.

This past Tuesday, June 21st, was the day of the Summer Solstice. In the northern hemisphere, it is the longest day, the day of more life-giving light than any other time of the year.

It was also the day that my mother passed away.

Mary Frances, was an extraordinary woman whose life reflected gentleness, generosity, and remarkable strength. The warmth of her ever-present smile and the sparkle in her eyes was her trademark. Although she had not been well for some time, I believe that she chose her day, of that I am sure. When she took her last breath, surrounded and embraced by the love of a close friend, we were 7000 kilometres away, on the other side of the world. My mum never wanted to be a bother, to anyone. She never was. The fact is, it was always a privilege to be in her presence. We had spent a part of most days with my mum for many years - because we wanted to - but at the moment of her transition from this world to the next, we were not there.

It was just like her. Rather than have us around fussing, it would have been her wish that we be somewhere else - preferably outside, somewhere beautiful, breathing fresh and pristine air, being thankful for life...with all its challenges, valleys, and peaks.

When we received the news, there were tears, even though she had lived a full life of 93 years - with a good many outstanding outdoor adventures of her own with my dad! We needed to do, therefore, what she would expect us to do. We hiked back up into the solitude of the Scottish glens. It was there, in the midst of the pouring rain, the wind, and the swirling mist that we felt her spirit embrace us with warmth and love - and that brought a smile to our faces, in the midst of the sadness we felt. We knew, as clearly did she, that this was where she would expect us to be.

Back up in the heather in Angus, Scotland,
Summer Solstice 2011...with a "splash" of red.

As for the "red". I can't tell you how many times my dear mum would tell me that if I wanted photographs to amount to anything at all, someone should wear some red. :) Well, I figure she's probably right.

Your spirit of generosity and love will remain with us forever, mum.

And we know that the adventure continues...love, peace, and happiness, now and always. As a special friend said, "She flies on."

With deepest affection for a special mother,

Duncan and Joan.

"Exercise" in solitude...the experience of "aloneness" in the Scottish glens.

2011-06-17T06:52:00.000-07:00

On a well-travelled path, Joan nears the Airlie Monument.

The truth be known, I enjoy solitude – we both do. Never much of a “joiner”, sea kayaking, hiking, or running with a club is not something that I have done much over the years. (Having said that, I quite envy those who clearly enjoy and engage in the company of a group of like-minded folks!). I always figured that my poor performance in team sports was due to having very little athletic ability. In fact, it was probably more to do with an aversion to doing anything in a large group – not to say I have much athletic ability except for a burning desire to “move” – outside.

The door was locked - good thing as it probably kept us out of trouble.

Odd as it may seem to some, especially given my vocation, I am also not particularly gregarious. Perhaps it is an innate shyness or whatever, but I find that being extroverted, often out of necessity, is the most exhausting "exercise" in the world for me. Thankfully, Joan has more natural talent in that area and often covers for her more introverted partner.

The monument now behind us, and the "path" becoming increasingly less travelled.

Since arriving in Scotland, we have looked forward with great anticipation to hiking in the glens - those marvelous "U" shaped valleys and hills carved by ice and water over a period of ten thousand years. Yesterday, mid-afternoon, we had the opportunity. The Angus Glens feel mystical and remote, and on the ridges above the trees and beyond the well-travelled paths, you can experience the wind-swept solitude of the heather and the other sturdy, ankle-deep flora, which I have still to identify. The gathering storm clouds above, served to heighten the sense of nature’s raw beauty.

The view from the high ridge was timeless...and breathtaking.

We shared this magnificent solitude with only the occasional “red” deer and several sheep who kept a careful eye on us as we shared their grazing places. We searched out in mud holes, some still soft and moist, and others dry, for any evidence of human passage as we traversed the ridge. The only other footprints we could find were those of the deer, and possibly the sheep. At no time, did we see another person in the almost three hours that we hiked.

And then we ran out of "trail". but the little map was astonishingly accurate.

Although as with most folks, I would never invite the gnawing pain of loneliness, “aloneness” is another matter altogether. For me, it is in the solitude of such beautiful places that I feel most alive, and most connected to my being – and perhaps, in some strange way, to others.

Was this simple marker built last year...ten years ago...a thousand years ago...?

There is a fine balance, however, and those who seek places of solitude must be careful, less we fail to nourish ourselves in the company of others. For we humans, that, perhaps, is the most essential of all engagements in life.

From the wind-swept Angus Glens, just outside Forfar, Scotland, peace be with you…wherever you find its deepest expression.

Duncan.

PS: For those interested in minimalist footwear:

In the interests of packing “light” for this time in Scotland, we each brought only one pair of “dress” shoes, one pair of Vibram FiveFingers (for running), and one pair of Merrell Trail Gloves (for everything else).

We had wondered if we might need to go out and purchase some light, hiking boots but elected to try the outing in the “glens” in the lightweight Merrells.

Like VFFs, they provide no cushioning, no support, no heel rise, and very little protection. They have amazing ground feel and are virtually “weightless”.

Conventional wisdom (and sure, perhaps, common sense) would suggest that far more sturdy footwear would be the responsible choice.

That’s probably true if all your current worldly possessions didn’t have to fit into two duffel bags on wheels. The Merrell’s performed just fine.

And, they "roll" into small places when you're packing!

Wisdom from an ancient castle...

2011-06-14T03:43:00.000-07:00

You cannot plough a field...

by turning it over in your mind.

- Anon.

Two "fields of Forfar", seen from the trail around the Loch.

We came upon that Scottish saying, when we visited Glamis Castle yesterday afternoon. And early this morning, on our run "around the loch", the fields in the image above seemed to speak clearly to those words of wisdom. Although, both fields and people benefit from "fallow" times, it seems we must always make effort in order to grow and learn and be enriched by new experiences.

The next best thing to running in bare feet.
It takes a little effort at first, but worth every bit!

The effort may be as mundane as preparing a field and then tending to its growth until the time of harvest.

It may be something as simple as questioning "conventional" thought and risking to try something old - like running without enclosing the feet in manufactured cushioning, padding, and "stability control".

It may be building a rough, fortified, hunting lodge and, over 600 years, transforming it into a magical castle - not much "instant gratification" there! But in the long run, breathtaking beauty.

It seems that effort is always a big part of any adventurous endeavour...great or small. I must confess, there are many times when I struggle to make the required effort - staying "fallow" feels safer and I perceive there to be "comfort" there. But then I begin to feel that I've passed my "best before date" and know that effort must be made to remain fully alive.

Glamis Castle, the ancestral home of the Earls of Strathmore
and Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.
Story has it that Shakespeare's Macbeth
murdered Duncan here - yikes!

Truly, the field doesn't change much when it's simply "turned over" in the mind. It's the willingness to make the effort that makes possible the Fall harvest.

Even making the effort to build a sand castle counts! :)

Duncan.

An early run around a loch, a warm St. Margaret's welcome, and yet another reminder that the world is full of wonderful people......

2011-06-13T15:45:00.000-07:00

The gentle mist on Forfar Loch, Angus, Scotland.

The best way I've found to deal with a little mild anxiety is...get up, get outside, and get running. As soon as the heart rate is on "cruise", which is about 132 bpm for me (on the flats), life begins to mellow. It was our first Sunday of the five week exchange at St. Margaret's Church in Scotland and, well, a run was important before engaging in the day's activities.

The town was quiet at 6 am and the skies were clearing - it looked like we'd be seeing the sun again! We had both looked forward with great anticipation to "running around the loch" - and it was marvellous. The soft trail felt therapeutic beneath our Vibram FiveFingers - I was so thankful that we have learned to run without shoes. The connection with the earth is so energizing.

We shared the trail, through the magical forest, with rabbits the size of small deer (well, almost), a variety of birds, several swans, and a most impressive snail who was clearly on a "mission". The loch was shrouded in a soft mist - it was a bit like running through a fairy tale. As the gentle mist slowly lifted, a boathouse appeared, the masts of sailboats revealed themselves, and a buoy reflected the warm rays of the rising sun.

St. Margaret's Church, Forfar, stands tall in the centre of town.

Refreshed from the run and feeling like we could actually spell our own names again - after a couple of days of exhausting jet-lag - we left for the church. What would these folks at St. Margaret's be like? Would we fit into the "culture" of the Church of Scotland? Would they even understand me? Would they be phoning my exchange partner, David, and asking him "What in heaven's name have you gotten us into here?!"

Cutting the delicious "welcome cake".
(The "wedding" cake was 38 years ago!)

Well, I needn't have worried. The folks of St. Margaret's were wonderful. Just like our special parish family back home, they were as excited about whatever was going to happen as we were - it was an "adventure for us all"! And I'm rather partial to folks who are up for an adventure...whether it's in a sea kayak, on the running trails, or in an international exchange such as this.

All went well, as it did for David back in Canada. Here are two, progressive, generous, and high-spirited families of faith that are making the world a better place with laughter and love - and a willingness to move into the future with confidence and hope. Both communities are daring to move beyond the usual "comfort zones", and in so doing, will continue to spread their warmth and hospitality far and wide.

The proverbial "icing on the cake" came at the end of the day when we finally mustered the courage to take to the roads with David and Catriona's superb VW Tiguan - the transition was smooth. Thankfully! :)

We're heading out to visit Glamis Castle, just five miles down the road - should have some pretty cool images to post next time!

Duncan.

Our (new) home and (my) native land, and..."flying" a high performance, vertical lift umbrella"!

2011-06-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

Somewhere over Greenland - which sounds rather like a Jimmy Buffet song!

As with many great adventures, ours "took off" with a take off - first from our long driveway in our Linda's highly polished Pontiac Vibe, followed by another inside a DeHavilland DHC-3 Turbine Single Otter seaplane from Nanaimo Harbour, followed by yet another in a MD-11 wide body jet from Vancouver International - and, last of all, in a Boeing 737 from Amsterdam to Glasgow, Scotland - my birthplace.

At YVR, it was great to meet our exchange partners, David and Catriona, who I know will be welcomed with enthusiasm and embraced in their new home and parish for the next five weeks.

After the first nine hours of flying and at least "10,000 steps" at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, we completed the last flight, to Glasgow. Curiously though, my place of birth did not seem (at first) inclined to have me back! A recent change with the UK Border Agency meant that for the purposes of this particular exchange, a work visa was normally required in addition to a passport. The officer in charge, however, was very gracious. Upon seeing our faces pale into several "shades" of surprise and after checking with the chain of command, he allowed that this was an instance where the "spirit" of the law should supersede the "letter" of the law. We were, therefore, permitted to enter the United Kingdom - whew!

Joan and Mike and Stirling Castle on Castle Hill.

My cousin, Mike, who had waited patiently at the airport while we dealt with our small "situation", shared wonderful hospitality with us at his home in beautiful Bridge of Allan. Revived by dinner and his kindnesses to us, we enjoyed an evening walk from his home along a pathway that brought into view the Wallace Monument, ancient Stirling Castle, and so many reminders of life in years gone by.

Once-upon-a-time, in a day long past...this was home sweet home.

No day, of course, is complete without a morning run. Totally jet-lagged and turned around time-wise, we were awake and ready to go at 3 am - we resisted, however, and didn't risk disturbing the neighbourhood peace (and the neighbourhood dogs) until close to 0600.

The castle in sight...and perhaps in the footsteps of Sir William Wallace?
Note the Merrell "Trail Gloves" - really nice minimalist footwear to supplement VFFs.

Running along the peaceful early-morning road, with the castle in sight, gave us goose bumps - the awareness of the local history alone, more than breath-taking. "Braveheart" himself fought for Scottish independence here at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, September 11, 1249.

After breakfast and a walk around town, Mike kindly drove us to our new home, in the town of Forfar and delivered us safely into the warm and welcoming hands of the folks of St. Margaret's who we will tell you much more about later.

Yes, this is the Forfar of the famous Forfar "bridies"!

Duncan, attempting to exit the "Wee Bake Shop" - unnoticed. Nice try.

Resisting the temptation to drive on the streets and highways of Scotland until we were completely over jet lag and with the required sense of situation awareness, we have elected to walk, for at least the first few days. The constant rain, however, meant that we needed to make use of a large, "high performance" umbrella so kindly left on the back seat of David and Catriona's car. You must have known! :) Much can be learned when the uninitiated carry such a device - even those from Canada's "wet coast" and Vancouver Island. For example:

Umbrellas, sufficiently sized for two, can be hazardous to other pedestrians - although we didn't actually make physical contact with all that many folks.
Umbrellas can develop lift. Having flown small aircraft, I know how important "lift" is - ah, well, not so much with umbrellas.
Wide umbrellas don't always fit through narrow spots, hence the need to perfect the "lateral avoidance manoeuvre" on narrow passage ways.
Umbrellas can serve as effective camouflage cover - when leaving bake shops.
Umbrellas are like Golden Retrievers - they love long walks in the rain.
Umbrellas are totally cool and really very practical.
Real men carry umbrellas!

Joan, performing an absolutely textbook, "lateral avoidance manoeuvre"!

Watch out folks, high-performance umbrella coming up behind you!

So there you have it, just the first couple of days - and the adventure definitely continues.

Got a busy day tomorrow with the folks at St. Margaret's and better get in just a little more preparation. :)

So from rainy (but beautiful) Forfar, Scotland.

Duncan and Joan.

Added note: It's now Sunday evening, and the skies have been blue over eastern Scotland all day!

Are our bags packed yet? Well, um, sort of...

2011-06-03T19:59:00.000-07:00

The bags may not be packed, quite yet, but the beach rocks..."rock"!

Folks have been asking, "Just five sleeps left, have you got your bags packed yet?" Given my time as a military padre, and all that I learned about "P and P" (planning and preparation) at officer candidate school (albeit, many years ago), I'd like to say, "Of course!" But the fact is, we're, um, not packed yet...but we do know the location of our passports - at least I know Joan does.

A lot of the important stuff, however, is done. The eye-turning "HMKTV" (High Mobility Kayak Transport Vehicle) is serviced and polished. We have cleaned out the sea weed, shells, and sand and it is ready and waiting for our Scottish exchange partners. (Oh sure, it might look like a older model Chev Geo Tracker, but believe me, it is an awesome all-terrain "HMKTV" - never visited a launch spot or boat ramp that it couldn't navigate with grace, style, and superb 4X4 traction!)

The landscaping around our place also looks mighty welcoming - heck, it's amazing what a truck load of Vancouver Island beach rocks will do to deter the resident deer from eating our previous attempt to establish a "real" garden.

The Vibram FiveFingers, Garmin 305, and the rest of the running gear have a few more Canadian early morning sorties until they are "unleashed" on the roads and in the back-country glens of Forfar, Scotland. (OK, so "unleashed" was, admittedly, slightly overstating our running ability.)

A good friend and colleague will transport us to the local seaplane terminal for the flight to YVR and, at the same time, pick up our special visitors.

The parish family is "pumped"!

The new "sky blue" bike rack is now operational in our church parking lot - just in time for "Bike to Work Week". (And it looks incredibly cool!)

No the bags aren't packed quite yet, but a lot of the important stuff is definitely good to go.

Duncan.

On why "sitting" should be reserved for kayaks, bikes, and really fast jets!

2011-05-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

"Trust no thought arrived at sitting down"
- George Sheehan MD, Running and Being

Paddling off Gabriola Island's cliffs.
Can you spot Joan's tiny "sliver" of a kayak?

I can't think while sitting still. Seriously, it just doesn't happen.

No, it's not a pat-your-head-while-rubbing-your-stomach issue. Not at all. I simply don't like sitting still. Second, I'm just not inspired much...while sitting still. Thinking is easier when the mind is set free by self-propelled motion. Thoughts flow, solutions are found, meditations are written, peace of mind is recovered. I suppose that's why paddling, running, and most recently, cycling, works for me. Joan too.

When we are together on the trail or on the water, sometimes we talk. Sometimes we communicate without talking. Often, we just enjoy the solitude of our own thoughts. The ~~older~~ wiser I get, the more I appreciate the "liberation" that comes as a result of self-propelled motion. It is always "time away". It's a "60-minute-vacation" or a six hour "sabbatical".

Most of you who read this little blog will probably agree that "motion is lotion" in more ways than just as a contributor to physical well being. It seems pretty evident that we human beings require and thrive on physical movement. Further, we are enriched in body, mind, and spirit when we are attentive to that need. The fact is, the folks I have known over the years who are the most active in terms of regular physical activity are also the happiest people I know. They are also amongst the most patient and forgiving. Go figure, eh? It could be that they have learned to live with a connection to the pace of nature and, in addition, provide appropriate response to what our bodies yearn (and need) to do.

Running on Mount Tzouhalem's trails.

In just over a week, Joan and I will engage in an exchange in Scotland with our partners from abroad, David and Catriona. For all of us, it will be an opportunity to meet and work with interesting and welcoming folks. (Bless both home parishes for their sense of adventure!) It will be an opportunity to experience and discover new and different ways of doing things. In Forfar, we look forward to listening to stories of their rich Scottish history, sharing in some of their current activities, and learning of their dreams for the future.

We also look forward to keeping up with our own daily regimen of "movement" while we're there - after all, that's when a lot of the "thinking and pondering" goes on. Hmm, perhaps an early morning run out to Glamis Castle or on the trail around the local loch. There may not be an opportunity to paddle but it sure would be fun to "taste" the North Sea - paddlers we've connected with over there make it look like a pretty cool venue!

I will admit that there may be occasions when "sitting" can be OK - but mostly if it's in the kayak cockpit or on a bike. Come to think about it, I did spend a good amount of time (many years ago) sitting - well secured in the "Martin-Baker" back seat of some pretty fast jets. That's about the only place where "sitting" has ever brought on both adrenaline and endorphins!

And yes of course, "sitting" does work rather well for typing blogs! :)

Here's to movement.

Duncan.

Just simply...be

2011-05-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

"When words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain."
- William Shakespeare

Reflecting on being on the Salish Sea last night,
I realize that sometimes...

...a lot of words,

just aren't necessary.

How good it is for body, mind, and spirit...to be outside.

Be outside, just simply be,

Duncan.

Warmth and paddling passion...

2011-05-14T07:08:00.000-07:00

Imagine - hangin' out around the fireplace, dreaming up adventures...

So, what do you think of the new fireplace? Ah, just kidding. It's actually the "centre of warmth" at REI in Seattle. It's a pretty nice piece of work. If you're in the city, REI is a bit of a "destination" should your heart (happily) skip a beat in the presence of some very fine outdoor equipment. We had to be south of the border, in Seattle, for a couple of days and no time there is complete without a few hours of "browsin' time" and the mandatory veggie bean wrap with extremely hot sauce at the in-house, resident "World Wrapps" restaurant.

We also had the opportunity to visit with George and Barbara Gronseth at the Kayak Academy, south of the city in lovely, rural Issaquah. As many paddlers will know, George is the co-author of "Sea Kayaker Deep Trouble", a regular columnist at Sea Kayaker Magazine, and clearly one of the finest and most knowledgeable paddlers anywhere on this planet - and possibly any other planet out there that has liquid water and self-propelled sports minded beings! From a photo on their office wall of Mt Blanc (France), Barbara has done some incredibly serious mountaineering and climbing over the years...as well as being a highly qualified paddling instructor!

George and Barbara have a huge passion for the sport and for their desire to provide the finest instruction possible. The Kayak Academy is, indeed, an "elite school for kayakers" - in every way. I think they spent close to three hours with us as we asked question after question about how we could enhance our current paddling experience, especially during winter months. If you yearn for adventure, love to paddle, and can find your way to George and Barb's place in Issaquah - you should. The warmth of their passion, their expertise, their generosity of time, and their engaging personalities will simply inspire!

It's folks like this that help the rest of us "get a feel for this planet" - and keep us safe while doing so.

Duncan.

Mother's Day, and the special Mum who became an intrepid kayaker...

2011-05-08T19:33:00.000-07:00

Mum and Joan at the Ladysmith Paddlefest - she loved these outings!

Today is Mothers' Day here in Canada, and today we celebrate a special "Mum" whose gift of laughter and love has gently nurtured and touched us over many years. I've always loved the image below. It is from a staff party at the BBC, where my Dad worked, in Glasgow. My mother was always a very beautiful woman, with an engaging and effervescent personality - and she loved to laugh.

My Mum and Dad (on the right) at a BBC party...many years ago

Mum was always one that put the needs of those she loved above her own. Knowing how much my Dad wanted to move to Canada, when I was very young, she left friends and family behind in Britain, game for and open to whatever adventure was to come. Despite not being particularly keen on water, she and my Dad built a cottage on a beautiful, but often stormy lake, in Ontario's picturesque Madawaska Valley. The cottage was on a tiny island - every rough crossing undoubtedly brought her no small degree of anxiety! As if that wasn't enough "adventure" for someone who couldn't swim, she was the first to paddle my Dad's new sea kayak - much to the surprise of the nervous souls on the beach!

Aboard the MV Lady Rose heading for Bamfield

My mother had a spirit of generosity and gentleness so necessary in this world. She cared deeply, forgave me frequently, rescued me countless times, and has supported us over the years in every way imaginable. Her spunk and my Dad's spirit of adventure launched my love for the outdoors and the passion for the self-propelled pursuits so often shared here in this blog.

As I write this, my Mum is now 93 years old and struggles to make sense of a world that becomes increasing difficult to understand with each passing day. We visit with her daily, and will share this "journey" with her, all the way. I have told her that in a few weeks, we will depart for a short exchange in Scotland. I know that she would be excited, beyond words, if she was able to understand. Alzheimer's is an extraordinarily difficult and debilitating illness. It has not, however, taken away her beauty. And although her laughter is no longer something we can hear, the wonderful memories ring with immense joy in our hearts.

Bless you, Mum, this Mother's Day.

Duncan.

Ambushed by a hostile vine, and slowed down by a troublesome Achilles...

2011-04-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

Just metres from the actual coordinates of the "incident".

Yep, I changed the picture! Instead of having to look at the previous pic of the vine-induced leg wound, it's much more pleasant to view the approximate scene of my little "scuffle" with mother nature. :)

On a muddy post-Easter trail run this morning, a rather nasty ground-level, creeping vine "grabbed" my lower leg - no warning at all. It's tensile strength clearly outweighed my feeble attempt to break free - and almost resulted in a rather dramatic (and humbling) tumble. Carefully unwrapping the stealthy and unnecessarily hostile veridiplantae from just above the right ankle, I discovered it had left a bit of a "friction" mark. Oh well, a small price to pay for a good time out in the woods.

I had actually been thinking about another, more troublesome injury at the time, and had perhaps, simply failed to observe the natural hazard that lay in waiting. Of more concern than the creeping vine, has been a rather frustrating problem with both Achilles tendons this past month. Strange, inasmuch as I can't remember doing anything unusual to cause injury or aggravation. Some might say, clearly this is a consequence of minimalist / barefoot running. I don't think so since I've been happily running this way for almost two years now - without any problems at all. It's a bit of a mystery. In order to give them a chance to heal, I've been doing some indoor cycling for the past couple of weeks and running for a shorter period of time and then only a couple of times per week.

I remembered this morning that one way to possibly minimize injury while running can be to take care to maintain a relatively low heart rate. This ensures, especially on hills, that "over enthusiasm" doesn't lead to an injury or further aggravate a damaged muscle or tendon. I decided that I would not exceed 130 bpm, which means walking up some of the hills. Now I'm really holding my running partner back - but, thankfully, she's totally understanding. The good news is that in keeping an eye on the heart rate this morning, I did not experience the discomfort in the Achilles of the past weeks. This is clearly going to require some patience but it's worth a try.

As for the action of the "hostile vine", well, I'm sure it wasn't intentional.

D.

Bringing the sun's rays to focus...

2011-04-19T21:48:00.000-07:00

"Concentrate all your thoughts upon the work at hand.

The sun's rays do not burn until brought to a focus."

- Alexander Graham Bell

On the Salish Sea...

Pics like this bring back great memories. Having said that, when focusing on taking home a good "action shot", one can become oblivious to the possibility of losing your camera, or worse, finding yourself in the water beside your kayak - wishing you had paid a little more attention to the oncoming swell! No problem this time, however - got a cool shot of Joan and kept the camera! :-)

For whatever reason, achieving focus can be challenging for some of us. I'm certainly one who knows what it is, all too often, to have a "scattered mind". There's been lots written about "attention deficit" in recent years and what is coming out is really quite exciting. There is compelling evidence, for example, that children (and adults) with attention deficit disorder (ADD) find that their symptoms are much relieved if they are given the opportunity to play outside. That's true for me and that's why tomorrow, we will take some time to be and play...outside.

...and amongst the "waist-high ferns".

It's the week before Easter, Holy Week, and that means some necessary focus for folks in my vocation. It's going to be a busy time with extra services and the need to try to interpret the ancient stories in a way that is (hopefully) fresh, meaningful and helpful to a contemporary and progressive faith community. For me, the very best preparation is "trail time". There is nothing like the feel of the soft, damp earth under the feet, the brush of waist-high ferns, and the smell of the nearby ocean air to renew the spirit and refresh the mind. It is this activity that will best concentrate all thoughts upon the important work at hand in the days ahead.

Need focus? Try a "nature treatment" - pretty much guaranteed to bring some wholeness and health to body, mind, and spirit.

And, of course...breathe deeply.

D.

In my "mind's eye"...sea creatures!

2011-04-15T16:12:00.000-07:00

How tiny Joan looks as she paddles ahead of me and alongside one of our favourite landmarks - or, perhaps, "seamarks". Paddy's Milestone is exactly one nautical mile from our usual home-based launch spot in Maple Bay. It rocks! And not just because it's a "big rock". It rocks because every time I see Joan paddle by it with Mount Maxwell on Saltspring Island in the background, I'm humbled by how small and fragile we are, and how relatively brief is our time here on earth.

That rock has been there, perhaps, for countless millennium. Indigenous people paddled by it, just as we do...maybe a thousand years ago, or longer. It was a different time, a different world, and, perhaps they too wondered about it. Who knows how it got there? I can't begin to imagine. It could well be that the ancient paddlers had a clearer sense of the answer to that question?

How wonderful it is to "imagine", to wonder, to form fanciful images and pictures in one's mind. It's a "childlike" activity to engage the imagination - for nothing is impossible, the need for "good order and discipline" and the expectation for rational explanation are yet unborn - and quite unnecessary. To imagine, like a child, is to be liberated from "adult" cynicism and doubt. It is to live with wide-eyed-wonder and to embrace the only "moment" we really have - the present one. It is to appreciate those around us and live without judgement of others.

As we paddle by Paddy's Milestone on our way to Octopus Point and across the Sansum Narrows to a simple breakfast on the beach in Bourgoyne Bay, in my "mind's eye", I imagine the giant sea creatures in the ocean depths beneath us. The very "thought" makes me shiver - but it's a shiver of excitement, for the imagination is engaged and a flood of deliciously scary images come quickly to mind.

I simply can't imagine the finest High Definition, wide screen, digital, home theatre system...coming even remotely close.

D.

Ah yes, so what about the "covert recce mission" of the last posting? It was a success, but nope, still can't talk about it - you'll just have to use your...imagination. :-)

Sometimes it takes a "covert recce mission"...

2011-04-10T19:45:00.000-07:00

Mt Maxwell on Salt Spring Island - and "intrigue", straight ahead

Today had lots going on...but, there was a brief window of opportunity for a quick paddle in between events.

Desperate for a little time on the water, and with a "covert recce mission" established to justify the launch, I paddled into the swirling mist and rain towards Salt Spring Island. Nope, I can't talk about it. The preliminary intelligence gathered, however, looks interesting. Let's just say that the anticipated "end state" may well be accomplished within hours. More to come? Uncertain. The mission may have to remain classified.

Bottom line: It was sure nice to be on the water - always refreshing, for body, mind, and spirit! :-)

D.

A source of deep refreshment...

2011-04-08T20:35:00.000-07:00

One of the many Arbutus trees that grace the Island...and our running route.

You don't have to be particularly good at trail running to gain immense benefit from just being outside on the many local trails and pathways. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, a really good run isn't to be measured in such variables as time, speed, calories expended, average heart rate etc. As much as all this data is fun to track (and I have for many, many years), it's just data. Having said that, the numbers make it easy to establish fitness and to graphically demonstrate if you are improving - or in need of a little more "commitment". :-)

For us though, the true value of trail running, and simply be-ing outside, is the way this activity refreshes the body, mind, and spirit.

By the very nature of our vocations, we both have opportunity to spend time with individuals who are struggling - for all kinds of reasons. Some folks we see during "office hours". Others, we may find the connection at the other end of the telephone line, sometimes late at night. We both feel humbled when folks entrust to us their stories - stories that are often filled with heartbreak and angst. Some have lived with immense personal challenges. Others struggle with illness - sometimes their own, sometimes a loved one's. Many live with uncertainty in the face of changing circumstances. Some struggle to be caregivers, never knowing if they are doing enough and fighting the guilt that seems to accompany the best, and even heroic, efforts. Some have nowhere to call "home" and no one to call "friend". Many look back on their lives and share stories of accumulated regret.

Of course, we want to "fix" everything, but we have learned that this is rarely possible. We can, however, listen. We have learned, over the years, that the gift of being "listened to" is a gift of immense value to receive. It is something we can all do. Certainly, we have all had those times when someone has taken the time to listen to our story. It is a priceless gift...and it is liberating. To be listened to is to be given the gift of refreshment and renewal.

I think that "listening" is fundamental to the spiritual life and a love and appreciation of the natural world "outside" is part of the necessary depth and breadth of the human experience. I love to meditate and contemplate while sharing a run along the deep forest, Island trails with someone I love very much. It is there, between the deep breaths of oxygenated air that we both feel the Creator is listening. In fact, in the solitude, and in such natural beauty, one might imagine that the whole universe is "listening".

That, for us, is a "spiritual practice", and it is one of many sources of refreshment and energy...for body, mind, and spirit. And, what is gained is available to share with others.

May you find such sources of deep refreshment...and perhaps share them with us here?

A tough slog on the "Chicken Run"!

2011-04-04T13:52:00.000-07:00

One of a "thousand" trails on Mt. Tzouhalem!

Nearby Mt. Tzouhalem is one of our favourite places for being outside. There are countless trails in a natural environment that has been described as "gorgeous and magical" - enough trails, in fact, to get turned around occasionally. Having said that, we've never had to "camp out" overnight!

The most recent outing on the trails was, um, a little humbling. After allowing us their usual 24-hour-period-of-grace, calves and achilles, unaccustomed to the generous supply of up-hill routes, registered their complaints this morning. Who would have thought that a trail named the "Chicken Run" would have such consequences!

But you know, I never mind these rather predictable aches and pains (especially when you're a little "older"). It's proof positive that you pushed yourself. It means that, admittedly, the body was nudged into a zone of slight discomfort - but for the sake of a larger goal. The muscles will recover and the good news is that they won't be nearly so surprised when you take the same route again! In fact, they'll take it in "stride". Canadian endocrinologist, Hans Selye, wrote about eustress - the healthy and positive form of stress that actually enhances function. That's pretty much what this is all about.

Growth always comes when we push ourselves - carefully. Equilibrium and a "new normal" is established - and we're better for it. The improved health and strength that we may pursue may be for body, mind, or spirit - or all three! You can bet that it will come when we make that extra effort.

Now, for some ice! :-)

D.

Mistaken for a Sasquatch - made my day!

2011-03-15T15:38:00.000-07:00

Ahh, it's nice to be back here at "OCEANPAX Paddle / Run / Be". We've added the "Be" to the blog title (or we will, when we remember how to do it) because that's a lot of what this is all about - taking time to be and connecting with the natural world.

Do you think? Have we finally found indisputable evidence?

So, where to begin? OK, well how often can you say that you have been mistaken for a Sasquatch? Think about it - after all, the illusive, shy, bipedal humanoids that are "rumoured" to live deep in these rain forests have been "reported" to be six to ten feet tall and weigh in excess of 500 pounds! So yeah, for me at five foot seven and a hundred and (oh, never mind) pounds, that kind of "mistaken identity" is hugely good for the ego! So here's the gist of the story:

At this time of the year, we get lots of rain. That, of course, means that the forest floor is often saturated with water which means lots of muddy spots that you simply can't avoid. Yippee! (Some of us never outgrow mud!) If you're running in conventional running shoes, well, that's one thing but if you're running in Vibram FiveFingers - you can leave some very interesting "tracks" for others to find.

Last week, we were running on one of the enchanting forest trails on Gabriola Island. It was wet - really wet! As the pic below indicates, the "trail" was even floating in some places! It was pretty cool!

This part of the trail was literally floating away!

As we neared the end of the 8.37 km route, we came upon a couple of women, also enjoying the deep forest and the pouring "wet coast" rain that was the source of much of our fun. As we passed, one called out with a big smile on her face, pointing at my footwear, "Oh so you're the Sasquatch we've been hearing about!" (Please note that she didn't say little Sasquatch.) Beaming with pride, I grinned broadly in acknowledgement of her suggestion that I might be taken for the purported "wild man" of the forest - Bigfoot himself!

A pair of very happy feet!

You know, there might even be a lesson here. It may be that we're all leaving larger "tracks" with our lives (in a good way) than we could ever imagine. Sometimes it takes a total stranger to remind you that your life is making an "impression". So yeah, on those days that you're not so sure, believe in yourself. Chances are, if you find meaning, value, and satisfaction in "playfulness", you're probably making a difference.

Duncan.

PS For barefoot and barefoot "form" running folks, Vibram FiveFingers don't have much traction on muddy trails but, at least in our climate, feet are warm even when wet for runs of an hour or two.

Setting a "way point"...it's been a great adventure, and more to come!

2011-02-02T13:59:00.000-08:00

"Way point" - an intermediate point on a route or line of travel.

Small scramble on Mt Tzouhalem - between a rock and a hard place can be cool!

I must say, writing this blog has been a very pleasant project over the past two and a half years. We both did sometimes wonder if it had become an "exercise in us" but always hoped that at least some of the reflections and accounts about time on the water or on the trail might touch the occasional reader in at least some way. After all, every time we launch our sea kayaks or head out for a run, there is the promise of new adventure and new lessons to be learned. Of course, being able to share an adventure with folks far and wide is the icing on the cake! :-)

Neither Joan nor I particularly excel, in any competitive sense, at either of these two activities but we've loved both running and sea kayaking for many, many years. We've found that the connection to the natural environment is life-giving and life-enriching. To not avail oneself, at least so far as one is able, of the nurturing quality of "wild places" is to miss out on something very, very important.

In the last posting, I pondered the necessity of being willing "to suspend doubt and disbelief". I could never have imagined, when I was sixteen and feeling a more-than-intense-dislike for "Mr. B's" weekly high school physical education classes, that well over three decades later we would finish a marathon. Nor could I have imagined, four decades later, that we would meet a guy called "Barefoot Ted" and discover the incredible freedom of running "barefoot" on the asphalt or along deep forest trails. Who'd have thought it, eh?

When my father and mother introduced us (shortly after we were married) to the sport of kayaking at our cottage on beautiful Papineau Lake, in Ontario's Madawaska Valley, neither one of us could ever have imagined the amazing paddling adventures that were to come. Suspending doubt and disbelief is the equivalent of "yes, we can".

It has been in the context of these self-propelled activities that we have enjoyed sharing some reflections in the past 154 posts at "OCEANPAX paddle / run". At the same time, we have enjoyed so many of the excellent, informative blogs that are out there. Often, we've thought how good it would be to meet "such and such" and do some paddling or running together. The avocation of "blogging" may be seen by some as lightweight and maybe a little self-serving but I believe it is a medium that is rich in the "shared experience". There's something very fundamental to our "humanness" there. It is in the telling of stories and the sharing of experiences that we so often connect to one another at a deep and meaningful level. Hard to see the downside of that!

As much as we've enjoyed all of this, it's now time to investigate some different venues for making these kinds of connections and sharing these experiences.

A favourite trail on Gabriola - leads somewhere new every time!

So, where to now? Who knows but in the meantime, there are lots more awesome trails to run on and secret beaches to discover along the sandstone shores of the Gulf Islands. Change is a good thing and, in the process of change, we discover exciting opportunities for fresh challenges and adventures. And heck, who knows, we may end up full circle one day so don't take us off your bookmarks!

For now, however, we are setting a small "way point". To those who have expressed their pleasure in this little blogging project in so many ways, thank you. You gave us motivation. To those whose regular comments and notes always energized us and affirmed the value in what we had shared - bless you. ("L", from Vancouver Island, you rock!)

There is, indeed, the promise of many more shared adventures to come!

Again, thank you all, wherever you are on this marvellous, island planet, for being part of this little "chapter" - it's meant a great deal. Bless you!

Duncan and Joan.

How so wonderfully liberating...just imagine!

2011-01-22T19:20:00.000-08:00

Why, sometimes, I've believed as many

as six impossible things before breakfast.

- Lewis Caroll (Alice in Wonderland)

We couldn't drive past this old building in Calgary, a couple of weeks ago, without going back 'round the block to take a pic of this sign. How true it is, we need more such determined "specialists" in this world!

But, how does one "specialize in the impossible"?

I'm convinced that it is in the willingness "to suspend doubt and disbelief".

We do hold on tight to such things, don't we. Whether it's about the possibility of world peace, the benefits of less meat and more veggies and whole grains, the energy in chia, running without shoes, completing a marathon, learning to roll a kayak - it all boils down to whether or not we are willing to suspend our doubt and disbelief. And it may just have to be for a moment or two.

Doubt and disbelief lock down the possibility of exploration and discovery. They cause us to cease to grow and wonder and dream. Suspending our strange loyalty to doubt and disbelief, however, opens wide the doors to unimaginable opportunity.

How so wonderfully liberating - just imagine! How so worth investigation.

How could one not resist the idea? :-)

Could it be that we are becoming flaccid, febrile, and feckless? Can you feel it?

2011-01-14T22:02:00.000-08:00

From a newspaper ad in 1890...

"Men wanted for hazardous journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, and safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success."

From near the Canmore Nordic Centre, last Monday

There were 5000 responses to this ad placed by explorer Ernest Shackleton for the first Antarctic expedition. 5000 responses.

Between the very cold weather we experienced in Alberta earlier this week, and the foot of wet snow we returned to here on Vancouver Island, we have not run all week. After reading the above ad, which I had quoted in a paper a few years ago, I began to question our, um, "sense of adventure".

And then there are these words, written by Mark Jenkins in the July, 1999 edition of Outside Magazine:

"Two million years of running naked across the veld, hardwired us for life in the wilderness. Keep humans inside a cage, physical or psychological, and like every other creature on the good earth we become flaccid, febrile, and feckless."

Are we, indeed, spending too much time in "cages"? Indoors? Safe, content, warm, and secure? Tethered to our digital world? Are we losing our connections with the world "outside"? Are we losing our nerve? Are we losing our...selves?

Mark goes on to suggest...

"On the inside, whether you can still feel it or not, your soul is trying to claw its way out."

Can you feel it?

I know I can.

Duncan.

A journey of "epic proportion" - Part 1: Sea kayaking and running...in two worlds.

2011-01-07T19:04:00.000-08:00

In less than 48 hours...

...we will find ourselves in a frigid and unforgiving terrain, in a land that will challenge our island-softened and climate-pampered bodies.

From the predictability of this mild, Mediterranean climate of Vancouver Island, we will travel to a meteorological environment of fickle unpredictability - a potential "death zone". Temperatures are known to rise and fall dramatically, in what seems like mere moments.

Exposed skin, accustomed to the soft caress of moist, salt-infused, seaside air will face the dry, biting, tortuous winds that cascade down the precipitous slopes of high alpine ranges and wash, like a tidal wave, into the barren plains of an almost mile-high settlement. Lungs that are used to drawing deep inhalations of oxygen-rich air, will struggle in what will seem to us, a thin and oxygen-deprived troposphere.

This will be a land where, in January, sea kayaks will only be found in the fond and longing memories of paddlers and in tiny, temperature-regulated, chlorinated, indoor "pools". From running with feet that are free and unshod in this verdant island valley, we will need to wear protective and insulated footwear, requisite for the protection of toes and feet in the desperately cold, sub-zero temperatures.

To heighten the drama of this transition from one "world" to another, we will begin the day by launching our sea kayaks in the darkness of the early morning hours to paddle on the Salish Sea. We will then travel to - the "Continent". Upon arrival, and again in darkness, we will attempt to run a ten kilometre route. The forecast is for bleak and unforgiving conditions - falling atmospheric pressure, snow, a "blowing snow warning" and a wind chill of minus 27 degrees. We will conclude this run before the strike of midnight, local time - if we survive the stormy blasts of arctic air and the precarious conditions under our feet.

Will these island-softened, climate-pampered, west coast bodies survive to tell a story? Will they, indeed, face up to this challenge and to this opportunity for "epic" adventure? Or will they, instead, be tempted indoors by the Starbucks "Siren" and her seductive, delicious, and difficult-to-resist promise of a steaming hot and nicely caffeinated soy latte and the satisfying texture of an oat bar? All this, of course, remains to be seen.

"End state" hint: launch accomplished

We are sure that you will await the next report from this epic and audacious "journey"...with bated breath and eager expectation. :)

Until (with some luck) the next time,

Duncan.

Illustration: Kanji symbol for "adventure" (At least that's what I hope it is).

January sea kayaking, Vancouver Island...a "cool" mix of sun and icicles!

2011-01-03T21:31:00.000-08:00

Paddy's Mile Stone and Mount Maxwell on Saltspring Island

Today was a "stat" holiday and the weather was perfect to be on the water. The temperature was a nice even "zero" degrees C when we launched but the sun was delightfully warm. We left Maple Bay and headed out for Paddy's Mile Stone - exactly 1 nautical mile from the beach. It's hard to imagine how that "stone", got "tossed" to where it is!

It reminds me of a miniature Ailsa Craig, an island in the outer Firth of Clyde in Scotland. Although I was born in Scotland, I've only ever seen Ailsa Craig from the air, so fellow bloggers and family across the "pond" will please forgive me if, in fact, they see no similarities at all!

Mt. "Max" and the "stone"

Following the rocky shores, we turned towards Octopus Point and, en route, are reminded that, indeed, it is winter - even here! In the shade and without the warmth of the low January sun, the cooler air is invigorating.

A small reminder, it IS winter...icicles!

It's amazing how productive the active body is when it comes to producing heat. The layers of clothing capture it - we're really quite as comfortable in our boats, as if it were a summer day.

Back in the sunshine, we reach Octopus Point. Apparently some of the largest octopus, anywhere, are swimming beneath our kayaks. I can tell you, we won't be checking that out, anytime soon!

It's a bird...it's a plane...yes, it's a plane!

You know how cyclists and cars need to learn to "share the road"? Well, here, kayakers and float planes have to occasionally share the "narrows". Yup, that's why paddlers (should) wear highly visible colours!

Landing at shaded and frosty Burgoyne Bay for a warm lunch

Faithful "hot pot"

There is something rather special about Burgoyne Bay on Saltspring Island. Perhaps what we "feel" is related to the significant number of documented sites of spiritual and cultural significance to our local First Nations people. We are privileged to be here and deeply respect the thousands of years of human activity that existed on these islands so very, very long before us.

It is also a great place to stop for a late afternoon lunch, and if there's energy to spare, to take a hike...right to the top of Mount Maxwell. Today, there was neither time nor energy to spare - nor daylight hours!

Seaside dining - "window seats" always available this time of the year!

Following a quickly prepared lunch of veggie lasagna and a short exploration of the beach, we repacked the kayaks and headed for the nearest sunshine, where our fingers warmed up considerably.

Back in the sunshine

Crossing back over Sansum Narrows brought us back into Maple Bay, just as the sun was dropping behind Mount Tzouhalem. An excellent early-January paddle...and yet another reminder of the breath-taking beauty of this fragile, island-planet and how such connections with the natural world can bring such peace, deep within.

Cheers all.

The first run of 2011, a little "humble pie"...and renewed resolve for future goals!

2011-01-01T19:34:00.000-08:00

On this very first day of 2011, we hardly stirred when the alarm went off at 5:30 am - well, just enough to push the "snooze" button for another half hour of blessed sleep. Of course, I had tossed and turned all night, trying to come to grips with the fact that we had come up short in meeting our running goal for 2010!

How, I asked Joan, could we face anyone today who might inquire as to the reasons for this statistically blatant shortfall? What rationale (excuse) could I offer after the bravado of the previous months? How could I put on a brave face, in light of such clear and present insufficience, or even set a new goal for 2011 with even a scintilla of confidence? And what about our credibility as (late-ish) middle-aged runners trying to defy the odds!?

And some folks had been so positive, so encouraging, in their belief that the goal would be met. A friend even emailed her good wishes last night. While others were celebrating New Year's Eve with abandon, she trusted that we might be out on the cold, darkened, lonely roads, heroically trying to make up at least some of the shortfall of 197.83 kilometres...by midnight, Pacific Standard Time.

Why, we even considered the propriety of giving ourselves an additional three hours, by explaining that we were basing the "midnight hour" on WST (West Samoa Time), which as some may know is UTC minus 11 hours - and is the last time zone to the "right" of the International Date Line. Even with this rather cunning (even devious?) strategy, we knew we would not make it. There were all too many kilometres...and all too little time. Even our "magical" and minimalist Vibram FiveFingers and Injinji toe socks could not help us here.

Joan, however, was able to take all this in stride (so to speak). "There there, Duncan, the way you are feeling now will pass." she offered in her usual comforting tones. "There's always next year. We can set a new goal. We'll just have to get up earlier and stay out longer." Earlier? Longer? Groan...not likely.

Of course, as I have learned over many years, Joan is always right. So on that note (and having a little fun with it), a New Year began in the early morning darkness with an acceptance of the past (shortfalls) and renewed optimism and resolve for the year to come! Seemed like the very best way to begin! :-)

So, here's to you! Wishing everyone health, happiness, and much success in their "resolve" for 2011!

The last paddle of 2010, and it was sweet...

2010-12-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

High tide at the Maple Bay Rowing Club launch

Despite the "frigid", bone-chilling temperatures...

(I'll pause here until paddlers in most other parts of the country stop laughing...come on guys, it was minus 1 degree C when we launched - and this is Vancouver Island. Remember, our cold is a damp cold not the cushy dry cold that you have at minus 30 C! And hey, we don't all have dry suits - Joan says that I shouldn't be so overtly covetous about such things. I can't help it.)

...anyway, we paddled out of Maple Bay, just glad to be on the water on this second last day of the year. It was great to meet a couple of fellow paddlers on the shore, David and Richard, but they elected to head up to Ladysmith. Hey guys, I hope it wasn't something I said? ;-)

Joan out in front, Saltspring Island, Mt Maxwell, and Bourgoyne Bay (right)

Leaving Maple Bay we look out over Saltspring Island, the largest and most populated of our Southern Gulf Islands. Mt Maxwell is the second highest point on the Island, rising to around 595 metres - great panoramic views from the top!

Vancouver Island Arbutus tree dipping into the sea

Turning the corner, we head up Sansum Narrows towards Crofton, a nearby mill town. The arbutus trees reach down to the water, their full , green, leaves mocking winter (and, of course, the "frigid" conditions!). The Arbutus is the only broadleaved evergreen tree in Canada - it's pretty cool. Happy in the "Mediterranean" climate, they lose their leaves and red, flaky bark in the middle of summer. We have lots of them around our place, so yeah, we rake a bunch of leaves in late June.

Eagle...and "breakfast", on the fly

Paddling along, we spotted an eagle on the shore, chowing down (and that's putting it mildly) on "breakfast". Clearly, he decided there wasn't room for all of us in his seaside dining venue. He opened his bone-crunching talons, picked up the left-overs, spread his massive wings and lifted off - a rather "nasty" looking breakfast flowing in his slipstream!

Fisherfolk

There were a few folks out fishing (maybe crabbing?), and just enjoying this rare sunny December day.

The solar-powered light at Grave Point

The crossing back home to Maple Bay

At Grave Point, we crossed the channel over to Erkskine Point, on Saltspring. The sun was low in the sky but the warmth felt wonderful! We paddled south to Maxwell Point and then back across the channel and into Maple Bay. A relatively brief, three hours on the water, but all in all, a great way to wind up the year - despite the "frigid, bone-chilling temperatures"!

Best wishes to all in this New Year to come!

Duncan.

PS The anticipated night paddle planned for yesterday came and went - with us warm and snug at home. The clear, starlit skies looked wonderful but the wind came up and it just didn't seem like a good idea. Ah, but there's always another day (or night).

"Dreams of happiness and visions of hope", and a night paddle coming up...

2010-12-28T22:54:00.000-08:00

The "Gear Room" - ever-present "good vibes" - 24/7/365 :-)

There is something Zen-like about the process of organizing and preparing the equipment. When I say, "Zen-like", I mean there is a contemplative or meditative component to checking everything over, and checking it twice, even three times. After the busyness of Christmas, the quiet focus feels good. Our next paddle will be a night excursion into Sansum Narrows, and everything has to be in order.

Wet suits (dry suits would be really nice...ahh, maybe one day), paddling jackets, spray covers, and PFDs need to be checked, pockets emptied of the last paddle's odds and ends and refilled with energy snacks. Headlamps, sea lights, emergency strobe light, and VHF radio must have a battery check. SPOT satellite messenger is ready to record our track over the water. The kayaks were washed today, inside and out - yes, the excitement is building. Preparing to launch is exciting - every time, and it's been way too long since we've been out.

"Energized", and ready to go!

Going through the equipment checklist, I kept thinking about an extraordinarily beautiful poem that I came upon just before Christmas, and have shared at a number of occasions since. Turned out that several folks were familiar with the words of Kālidāsa, the Sanskrit poet and dramatist of around the 5th century.

His words, in Salutation to the Dawn, reveal an essential key to the experience of happiness and inner peace. It's all about living one day at a time, cherishing each day, and living fully in the present. That means letting go of perceived past failures or hurts and refusing to feel the debilitating anxiousness for a future that really doesn't even exist yet. I've discovered that regretting the past or worrying about the future does little more than make us sick - often in body and mind. Anxiety "sucks", in more ways than one! These are the words from a poem that Kālidāsa wrote: "Today well lived, makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope".

Here's the poem. I hope you find it meaningful too. The words are really quite remarkable. (italics mine)

"Salutation to the Dawn"

Look to this day

For it is life, the very life of life

In its brief course

lie all the verities and realities of your existence.

The bliss of growth

The glory of action

The splendour of beauty.

For yesterday is but a dream

and tomorrow is only a vision,

but today well lived makes every yesterday

a dream of happiness

and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day!

Such is the salutation of the dawn.

Just imagine how wonderful it would be if we could look back into the past and see that time as a "dream of happiness". Imagine looking into the future and seeing it as a "vision of hope". The thing is, it is within our grasp...if we just determine to live this day well.

We'll report later on the night paddle.

Duncan.