But Of Course, Salt Spring Wasn't ALL Bad...

Lest y'all think my first trip to Salt Spring Island was all doom, gloom, and grumbling about the crappy hand drawn hiking maps, let me remind you what a wonderful and magical place it truly is...

Only on Salt Spring:

- Can you meet not one, but two people, who are members of the same chanting and meditation group as Marty and I (Siddha Yoga). In a span of 10 minutes!

- Can you search for mystical 'fairy doors' on a magical mountain hike. (Alas, Marty and I only found 5 of the 6 doors. But I did learn that one way to sound like a crazy lady is to ask an unsuspecting hiker, whilst huffing and puffing your way up the mountain, where the fairy doors are. Especially if they are completely and utterly unaware that there are 6 to be found on the hike...)


Me: (huffing, puffing, before we stumbled upon our first fairy door discovery) Excuse me, but do you know where any of the fairy doors on this hike are?
Unsuspecting Hiker: (genuinely perturbed) The what?!
Me: (more huffing, more puffing): You know, the F-A-I-R-Y D-O-O-R-S (saying it slow and all deliberate-like)
U.H.: (genuinely alarmed) The what??!
Me: (gaining a sudden awareness of what this interaction must seem like to Mr. U.H.) Oh, the woman at the Visitor Information Centre, at the Chamber of Commerce, told us that 6 small doors were built into the roots of the trees here. (trying to maintain a semblance of sanity and rationality. Tossing in big, professional-sounding words like "Chamber of Commerce".)
U.H.: (now genuinely afraid) I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about. (proceeds to give me an extremely wide berth while passing me. Disobeys numerous admonitions by B.C. Parks to "please stay on marked trails to prevent erosion and to protect delicate ecosystems". The bastard!)

Yes, the doors exist. I promise.

But only on Salt Spring can you look for fairy doors on one of your hikes!

Rejoicing on the top of Mount Erskine after discovering the 3rd of 6 doors!

Also, only on Salt Spring:

- Can you tour a beautiful lavender farm and dream of one day living on/owning such a sacred and serene piece of property

The orchard, with stunningly beautiful barn/log house in background. I want to live there:
Inside the yurt dedicated to yoga and meditation. I have a thing for yurts:

A close-up of the dream house:

And in the window of the dream house, a chakra light catcher:

This is how serene I would be if I lived at the lavender farm. And not just because of the lavender working its essential oil magic:



We came back from a mere two days on Salt Spring feeling like we had experienced a whole week's vacation... Simply put: it was amazing, and I can't wait to go back.

Note to people somewhere in the general Pacific Northwest area: July 6 is not only my dear mother's birthday-- it is also the day of the annual Lavender Festival at the Sacred Mountain Lavender Farm. Check it out!

Just a Thought

Dear Tourism B.C. and B.C. Parks,

There's something to be said about decent maps and trail markers. As a diverse and gorgeous province, you have a wealth of stunning hiking trails, most of which can be used as tasty bait to lure adventurous tourists inside the provincial boundaries. (And once they are in, they are sure to spend money.) However, the hikes themselves are not enough. You know what visitors really need? DECENT MAPS AND TRAIL MARKERS.

Not everyone who checks out the hiking trails in B.C. is navigationally savvy. And even those that are would still like to know a few critical details about a hike before embarking on it. For example:

1. How do I get myself to the trail head?

2. How long is the hike? (Better if this is measured in good old kilometres, rather than by time, because the last time I checked, not everybody hikes at the same speed)

3. Where will the hike take me? I.e. what is the route?

4. How do I get back to my car (or bicycle, or the road) when I am finished the hike? Is this a loop trail or an out-and-back?

Seems pretty simple, right? Then why, B.C., oh why, on one of your most beautiful Gulf Islands, can you not provide clear and consistent answers to these basic questions in any of your visitor information provided materials?

An example might help to illustrate this point. My dear husband and I ventured onto beautiful Salt Spring Island this past weekend. We were excited to take in the Saturday market in Ganges and to experience some of the hiking trails that Salt Spring had to offer. We were armed with a hiking trails guide book, and we also stopped by the Visitor Information Centre to retrieve maps of some popular hiking trails. We were prepared. Or so we thought.

One of the hikes we attempted was to Baynes Peak on Mount Maxwell. Our guide book provided the following instructions to drive to the trailhead:

"On Fulford-Ganges Road... turn southwest onto Cranberry Road to Hobbs Road. Swing left (south) at the T-Junction and take Mount Maxwell Road to the main parking lot. The pavement ends at the 4km mark. Parts of the 9km route may be rough. The road is not suited to trailers and RVs"
--- from Hiking Trails II: South-Central Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands

OK, so we were on Mount Maxwell Road in no time. As soon as we turned onto the road, the pavement ended. That must mean 5 km to the main parking lot, then? Sure.

Well, five or so kilometres later, we were indeed in the main parking lot, but said parking lot, unbeknownst to us, actually represented the end of the hike, not the trailhead. There were picnic tables full of families who had driven up for the day, and nary a hiking boot nor bead of sweat was evident on any one of them.

This is how we came to hike down a mountain, rather than up. If you are ever thinking of doing this one day, it's not really recommended. For one thing, nothing beats the exhilarated rush of scaling a mountain by foot and finally being rewarded with a spectacular view. Honestly, it's kind of anti-climactic going from majestic panoramics up above to dark moss down below tree level. Still nice, but anti-climactic. Secondly, going down a mountain from the get-go means you still have to go back up to return to your vehicle. So the pain and suffering of the whole ordeal gets moved to the end of the hike. Come on. You sweat on the way up (at the BEGINNING) and scamper all carefree-like on the way down (AT THE END). That's how it should go.


In any case, down the mountain we hiked, following our 'trusty' visitor information centre-provided map and also consulting our 'very concise and clear' hiking guide book instructions:


Instructions: "At Baynes Peak (4), you will find the best viewpoint... The main viewing area near the sheer bluffs is fenced. From here you can hike northwest to find more viewpoints. The walk back to (1) is clearly marked. You can pick a route through open forest (2) where there is limited roadside parking. If you follow the park road east about 300m you'll find a minor, sometimes indistinct, trail (3) which winds through salal mainly along the north boundary. There are no trail markers. You can estimate the boundary by the size of the trees within the park... Avoid the south side trails: some are extremely dangerous. Only the trails from (4) to (1) are maintained."

Um, yeah. "Surprisingly" (truly, I'm shocked), we got a little lost on the hike. We started off on what must have been the south side trails... not marked at all. Beautiful and well-trodden, but not at all marked.

Marty posing next to the "Extremely Precipitous Dangerous Drop-Off", which had so lovingly been written onto our hand-drawn map.

In 45 minutes or so, we came to a dead end and the road back up. We were so not going to "hike" the road back up (so rustic!), so we crossed the road and discovered another trail. This one was marked with neon orange reflective tape and sometimes with neon orange reflective tiles that had been nailed onto trees. We figured we must be somewhere back on the mysterious route from "(4) to (1)", but even when walking in a straight line on the same trail, we discovered that some of the tiles had the number 2 scrawled on them, whereas others had the number 1, the number 3, the number 5 (?), and even "Gary's Trail" etched in permanent marker on them. So where the hell were we?

Don't get me wrong: the trail was still beautiful, and we were pretty certain that we would get back to our van so long as we eventually hiked "up". But how long would it take? Did we have enough food and water? Would we make it to the lavender farm afterward in time to take a tour before it closed? How much longer was this trail? To all of these questions, we didn't have the foggiest idea of an answer.

More time passed in the confusing sea of randomly numbered tiles, and suddenly we came across this:


Some other hiker, it seemed, had clearly been frustrated in this forest before and had taken it upon himself to laminate a little card of directions and hammer it to a tree. How thoughtful. And then again, soon after heading in the direction that was so helpfully pointed out by Mr. Lamination, we saw another novel trail marker:


This just happens to be a lid from a yogurt container that has been scribbled on in permanent marker and tacked to another tree! Note to B.C.: when your hikers have to resort to guerrilla trail marking tactics, perhaps it is time to invest in some DECENT (and preferably topographical) MAPS AND TRAIL MARKERS. Come on now!

The laminated sign and the yogurt containers proved to be the most clear directions we had received all weekend. We instinctively trusted in these rudimentary signs, even though their directions led us through a jumbled sea of more tiles marked 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and now "Frosty Trail". Eventually, we ended up back at the top, taking in the majestic views (again-- and this time at least a little sweaty), but cursing our stupid, not to scale, hand-drawn map, and our convoluted guide book.

We arrived at the lavender farm exactly 4 minutes before they officially closed. Luckily, we were still able to tour the farm on our own time. But B.C, had we known exactly how long the trail was and exactly where it was going, we could have planned our hike accordingly and finished it up with oodles of time to spare. A novel concept, I know, but come on... all the other provinces are doing it.

Home of the Afraid of Everything

Before I begin: Yes, I completely ripped the blog post title off from the now-defunct The President's Blog. Just giving credit.

And now....

Back in 2004, Marty and I ventured up to Alaska.


We had been dating for 7 months by that time, and this trip, in many people's eyes (including our own), was the true test of our compatibility. Alaska had many things to offer: stunning scenery, challenging hikes, and both flora and fauna we had never even dreamed of in our tiny prairie-raised brains.


But it also had its fair share of things that might put strain on any budding relationship: limited opportunities to bathe or shower, giant mosquitoes that wouldn't hesitate to bite you on the most private of body parts, and ubiquitous backcountry dangers that made it impractical and unsafe to spend any time apart. The fact is, in Alaska, sometimes the choice comes down to "stick together and live" or "go it alone and potentially die in the remote wilderness". It's the truth, and for two people who both generally believed that they required extensive alone time in order to thrive, the idea of spending 6 solid weeks together was a wee bit daunting...

Anyway, after driving thousands and thousands of kilometres northwest, we finally crossed into Alaska and were immediately alerted to some of the many things we should fear in that great land:

1. Forest fires. Half of the Yukon on the drive up had been charred by a recent fire, and we were warned that sometimes fires prevented access to "the only road back to Canada". We prayed that the road would miraculously still be open when the time came for us to return home.

2. Subhuman temperatures.


Sure, on the ground it was sometimes in the 20s Celsius/70s Fahrenheit, but on the alpine ridges, there were glaciers and icy rivers that necessitated the use of toques and mitts. We were warned to not freeze to death, for heaven's sake. That would only inconvenience the already-busy (and for the most part, volunteer) rescue crews, having to fetch our frozen carcasses from the top of a mountain. 'Amateurs', they would mutter as they strapped our blue bodies onto a rescue sled-- 'We told you not to freeze to death. Geez.'

3. Tsunamis/Earthquakes!


Alaska has a sordid history of intense weather events, including tsunamis, earthquakes, and oh yeah, the Exxon oil spill (wait- does that count as a weather event? No?! Sorry.) And even though it's beautiful (and encouraged!) to camp on a spit that stretches into the middle of the sea, it's also important to be aware that, in the event of a tsunami, there will be no hope of running to safety like the little man on the sign. You will be the first to die. Nice!

4. Sasquatches. Of course. Who doesn't fear the mighty sasquatch?

5. Mosquitoes. They are jokingly referred to as Alaska's state bird, but the authorities there were adamant that we stave off the dreaded West Nile virus by dousing ourselves in safe, all-natural DEET. Right... BUT WE DID IT! And then hiked for hours every day. And then didn't shower for a week afterward because there were no showers to be found in all of Alaska. So we were caked full of dirt, DEET, stink, sweat, and sunscreen. So classy!

6. Bears.


And even for the people who were well prepared weather-wise, and who didn't need to get back to Canada on the only road out, and who put no stock in make-believe things like sasquatches, and who had a 'live-free and die-hard' attitude in the face of potential tsunamis, and who wore DEET like it was going out of style-- as a god-fearing being, they had better be afraid of bears. They were everywhere. And they petrified me.

Some of you might be aware that in my pre-Marty time, I had hiked a total of zero kilometres and zero metres. There were many reasons for this, but the fact remains that this Alaska trip was a super huge deal to me. a) I was excited to put my new and still-fledgling hiking skillz to the ultimate test (in Alaska!!) and b) I wanted nothing more than to impress the love of my life with my madd trekking skillz. I was more than head over heels for Marty at this point (perhaps I was heels over head over heels), and there was absolutely no way I would jeopardize his returning love for me by being any of the following: slow, unskilled, awkward, unprepared, or afraid. More than anything, I didn't want to be afraid, but did I mention the bears? THEY WERE EVERYWHERE!

I suffered through a great many things in Alaska: cuts, bruises, aching muscles, collapsed arches in my feet, mosquito bites in every place imaginable (including at least 20 ON MY ASS!), up to seven days in a row without a shower (the stench of it all!), and even a first-time (and scorching!) case of hemorrhoids (not that y'all need to know that... I'm just illustrating a point). The truth is, I had a giant smile on my face throughout all of those afflictions-- Alaska was great, and I was having an amazing time! But the bears... I had an extremely hard time working through my all-consuming anxiety about bears.

We were likely the only people in the entire state of Alaska who were not enjoying the scenery from the safety of a giant, fully-equipped RV. No. We were tenting it... every. single. night. And most of those nights, I would be worried about bears. Marty had an amazing knack for falling asleep the moment he closed his beautiful eyes, but I would stay awake most nights, gripped with fear until somehow I exhausted myself into a fitful sleep. Waking up to giant, fresh footsteps (like the ones pictured above) a mere 15 feet away from our tent did not help, nor did the ubiquitous pamphlets and posters that detailed in excruciating detail what you should do in the event of a confrontation with a bear (i.e. remember to cover the back of your neck when you're curled up in the fetal position so the bear's powerful jaws do not BITE YOUR HEAD OFF! BECAUSE THEY CAN!) In the end, I survived (and for the most part, LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF THE TRIP), but I must confess how deliriously happy I was to come home and sleep soundly, without fear of bears.

Moving to the island has been like a dream come true for this bear-fearing soul. Yes, I know that the island is still technically bear-country, but I like to think that it is bear-country in the same way that some chocolate bars could technically contain nuts or soy products. No big deal-- nothing to fear. Our hikes to date here have consisted of nothing but lush plants and stunning ocean views:




... and not once have I even been remotely afraid of a bear. Truthfully, they haven't even crossed my mind.

(cue foreshadowing scary music)

Yesterday, we jumped at the chance to soak in the first real sunshine of the year on the Coast Trail at East Sooke Regional Park. The weather was amazing, the views were delicious, and it was great to see Robertine again after giving her a mild anxiety attack when we finished our housesitting duties. (So sad!) We had a leisurely hike, choosing to sit on almost every sunbaked rock we came across (there were lots) and to simply stare at the ocean.

During one of the stretches we were actually hiking, we came across a HUGE pile of crap which was unlike any scat we'd ever encountered before. It was green, sludgy, and encapsulated in a jelly-like sac. (No photos to show, I'm afraid... who takes pictures of crap?) Upon closer inspection, we realized it wasn't scat at all-- it was a remnant organ (bladder? stomach?) of some sorry animal who had been taken down right on the trail. Tufts of fur and some (really pitiful) leg bones were off to one side, with most of the flesh eaten away. Surprisingly, me, the eternally-afraid-of-bears one, was not at all afraid at that point. Mildly disgusted, yes, but afraid? Not at all. I thought (rather naively, I might add) that some sick or old animal had simply crawled onto the trail to die and had then proceeded to be eaten by the crows and other non-threatening wild animals. We continued on the trail.

As we lounged on yet another rock a few dozen metres up, we gushed to each other about what a perfect day it was and how wonderful it was to be out on a hike. Then Robertine went completely silent and still. Barely breathing for a while, she stared intently into the thick forest and sniffed tentatively. A low and quiet growl came from her mouth.

Surprisingly, me, the eternally-afraid-of-bears one, was not at all afraid at that point. STILL. Who the hell knows what my mind was figuring then? That another dog-- a Yorkie, perhaps-- was hiding in the bushes, off the beaten path? That a chipmunk (the bane of Robertine's existence) was taunting her from a not-so-distant tree?! For some reason, it did not at all occur to me that something large and predatory, a cougar or even GOD FORBID A BEAR, was protecting what was left of its dead prey and stalking us for getting too close. Like I said, my mind has been completely wiped off all things bear or cougar-related since moving to the island. Blissfully wiped.

It wasn't until Marty, bless his heart, said something along the lines of us needing to keep moving so we could hopefully appease the jealous, hungry soul of whatever-it-was-that-killed-that-unidentified-animal-on-the-trail and let it know that we weren't at all interested in that leftover bladder that it hit me: THERE WAS A BEAR OR COUGAR ON THE TRAIL AND IT WAS POSSIBLY VERY UPSET WITH US!!!

Like a child who bears witness to a gruesome crime, my innocence was shattered. Suddenly I was afraid again. Very afraid. I did not want to die on that trail on such a beautiful day, or any day for that matter! I didn't want to curl up in any fetal position or to cover my neck with my hands! I didn't want to have anything bad happen to me, Marty, or especially Robertine! But most of all-- I didn't want to be afraid.

So I stopped. Consciously stopped being scared.

I was cautious for the rest of the hike, yes. But afraid? No. And sure, I felt more alert and more aware of any rustling sounds on the way back, yes. But I wasn't afraid-- not like I had been in Alaska. I figured: SCREW IT. Yes, I promise to be in awe of nature and to revel in the majestic and powerful creatures that roam in the forests. But no, I will not let fear of the unknown take control of me anymore if I can help it. It's simply too breathtaking out here to let the nagging 'what ifs' take hold of me. Screw it.

Snowshoe Sabbatical

We have lived on this glorious island for over a year now, but I'm (obviously) still pretty clueless about it. There are too many examples that I could use to illustrate this point, but allow me to select just one: this weekend we went snowshoeing, but up until that point (pretty much up until we pulled into the Mount Washington parking lot), I had no idea there was anywhere close-ish that boasted enough snow to merit us strapping on the snowshoes! This was despite the fact that many of my friends go up to Mount Washington to ski... I just assumed that the 'ski hill' they spoke of was a C.O.P. special-- full of freshly made 'snow' to attract all the hard core 'skiers'. I'll admit I was wrong about this. Very, very wrong. Sure, it was no 45 minute jaunt to Kananaskis, but even the 3 hour commute to and from the resort here was worth it- we love to snowshoe!!


Marty celebrated his big 3-7 yesterday, so snowshoeing was a perfect way to usher in his special day. It was also the perfect antidote to a less-than-perfect week, in which I grumbled nonstop about my job being boring and proceeded to take a self-proclaimed mental health day on Thursday. I literally walked into the door, signed myself in, paused for thought, signed myself back out and said 'SEE YA' to the non-profit world. At least for the day-- the next day I was back in my desk (but so productive! I should take a mental health day every single week!)


I could do this every day:

To the Dogs

Even though I grew up with cats (at times, many cats-- enough to qualify me as a cat lady, even-- except I wasn't a lady yet), I have developed a strong fondness for dogs. Big dogs, especially. And one big dog in particular:


Our part time dog, Robertina. Our current apartment building does not allow dogs (especially large, excited, always-so-happy-to-see-us ones like her), but it's OK: we get to take Robertine on a walk every single weekend, and we're loving it. She waits for us patiently until we come pick her up, she's into our new van as much as we are (points!), and she has so much fun on the walks, it would be impossible for it not to rub off on us, too.

Bounding down Lone Tree Hill!

It's a win-win-win situation for everybody involved: her owner has chronic fatigue and likes to know that her dog is taken care of while she catches up on rest, we get to explore our beautiful surroundings with our FAVOURITE DOG EVER, and of course, Robertine gets to run free, scramble over mossy rocks, chase squirrels, and hang out with her boyfriend:

Putting the moves on Marty-- I'd say 'back off, bitch!' in a horrible pun, but the truth is Robertina and I have made an agreement: she can be the girlfriend as long as I still get to be the wife. Besides, Robertine is the only one I know who loves Marty as much as I do, so I'm cool with that. We relate.

So far, 2008 is PERFECT!

Well, we are back from a quick jaunt into the temperate rainforests to ring in the new year. We spent a night camping at the illustrious French Beach, and for probably the first time in west coast history, it did not rain AT ALL on the 31st or the 1st! There's one for the record books!

It's amazing how different camping and hiking are here, compared to Kananaskis and Banff National Park, where we are used to spending time outdoors. In Alberta, there are plenty of things to be worried about when camping: bears, cougars, freezing to death, avalanches, falling through ice, getting caught in snowdrifts up to your head, etc., etc. Here, you still have to worry about bears and cougars, but most people say this tongue and cheek like there is only one Ogopogo-like bear that only the craziest people have actually ever "seen". Overall, though, for some reason, camping here never feels as dangerous-- it's like a gorgeous and inspiring Camping Lite.

This past holiday, we did discover something that you must absolutely fear here that you wouldn't even think about back in Alberta (aside from the tide coming in and swallowing your tent on the beach): FALLING TREES. Wind storms on the west coast, especially in winter, are commonplace and intense. Hence, we strategically put our tent in the mossy depths near a giant cedar tree and hoped to hell that it would shelter us in the event of a wind storm. Luckily, it did.

Unfortunately, the starfish weren't as lucky as we were in the overnight winds. We saw nearly 10 of these guys washed up on the shore, most of them already dead.

New Year's Day was spent hiking a mere 2 km on the epic 47 km Juan de Fuca Marine Coast Trail. What a beautiful hike!

Cozying up on Mystic Beach

Those measly 2 km (and back) made us hunger for more rainforest hiking, so hopefully I can book some time off of work STAT and make plans to do the whole thing-- finally!

I hope you have all enjoyed the 2 days of the new year as much as we have!