Westward ho(e)!

Have a listen to Sarah Hepola's interview with CBC on traveling alone.

With too many waxing on about how travel has reordered lives and given them new found direction, travel has, in too many ways, unshaped me.

I was willingly and quickly pulled out of the "go to university, spend money you don't have studying something vague very few give a rat's arse about, meet a partner, get married, spend way too much money again, buy a house, make lots of body wrecking babies that will drain your time, income and energy for the next 18 years while eking out a career from an expensive liberal arts university that no one's heard of and you're still paying for."

Blah.  Twenty-seven, debt free and recently re-unemployed, I couldn't be more pleased.  A mild uncertainty accompanies me like a case of lice as I pour over provincial and world maps while anxiously glancing at my bank account.

While I don't have sponsors like similarly named Sherri I take great pleasure that we're doing it simply because we can.

Where ever we can.  Tonight I'm leaving for a 10-ish day tour with the fella westward along Highway 16.  Fishing, hiking, hanging out, grizz bear spotting and cheap American beer await!

Hepola's full essay here.

Booners and berry creations

Thomas, Chris, Dan and I and bulging suitcases enroute to G.P. 

Just as I'm getting used to surprise weekend day(s) off, my exit is coming up. Usually the first one out, summer gems Thomas and Angie have already (and grudgingly, I think) left the north for school in southern locales.  Final night celebrations and ultimately tear-filled goodbyes around the fire, dessert table, sushi bar, and orgasmic Alberta pub served as a tiny tribute to true friends.  Their genuine East Coast hearts, smiles and kindness will be sorely missed.

Keen to show Dan a smattering of what I do, I packed him into my pickup for a journey down to one of my favourite areas, the Murray.  A Chetwynd resident for three years, Dan had yet to make the trip into Monkman Provincial Park to see Kineuso Falls.  Blown away by their late season volume, jealous of the river boaters at the base of the falls and curious about the fishing downstream assured me there'll be further visits.  

Dan's blueberry haul

While I zipped around the blocks checking for lammas growth, Dan grabbed an empty water bottle and collected as many blueberries as he could on the sandy pine flats.  Cleaned and sorted the following morning, he whipped up knock-out blueberry pancakes - nearly as good as my Saskatoon berry muffins.  

Saskatoon muffins turned out fabulous!

Rounding up another boat and another angler, The Mink made another appearance in a northern lake.  

Shaun captains while Colin fishes

A bit of running around on puzzle-like hydro roads eventually delivered us to Pete Lake, 38 kilometers up the Moberly.  Constrained my another engagement in town, it was a fast fish, but a good one!  Dan hooked up with a Rainbow but the wiley fella jumped the hook.  

Stern man Dan with the catch

I hooked into another, larger cousin of the escapee and was able to maneuver it into the waiting net.  My first trout as far as I know!

My Ragin Rainbow! 

Summer score: Sheri 8, Dan :0

Baldy's berries

Finally a bumper berry crop after two consecutive years of disappointing yields pulled Dan, Angie, her Mom and I onto Baldy's slopes to fill any available vessel with my personal favourite, Saskatoon berries.  

A mere hour of picking yielded 4.5 liters destined for the freezer for future baking and breakfast projects.    

I've spotted an orange oat Saskatoon berry muffins recipe that I'm keen to to try these days off.   



Dan's parents popped up for the August Long weekend for a northern visit.  BBQs lasted long into the night as friends new, and newly old dropped by for a beer, burger or a twilight giggle.  Popping in to Bulter Ridge Provincial Park hopping to cruise up to its namesake ridge for views of Williston Reservoir and surrounding Rocky Mountains, we spent the entire time in the trees along ATV trails catching up and marveling at nature's wonders.

My own mother will be visiting the north next month as I wave farewell to a summer job I've been keen to see in the rearview mirror since July.   

                            

                                     At the lookout                                           Cleaning our bumper berries!

Purple mouth

  

Clearly accustomed to the Ruiters' new Edge, Wednesday was at ease in the trunk after an afternoon jaunt into the woods.  We were easily able to persuade her out in to the car.  

Mystery schrooms dotting the path

Photos lately

For all my world-class whinging, I truly have been fabulous places this summer.  Places that facilitated campfires early into the northern twilight, places that have yielded estimated 8-10 pound lake and bull trout, places more spooky than graveyards, places that unite and segregate simultaneously.  

It's a beguiling sensation to be places surrounded by people yet feel so isolated.  In such close physical proximity to one another with none of the intimacy or expected closeness.  

The woods truly are an unforgiving place for contemplating losses and longings.  

Munching moose

                                       
                                      Red Columbine                                                 Toilet bowl cleaner

 Usilika Lake

 Yup, I work here

 Oh, here too

 Even here

 Monkshood

Fireweedy

Boreal buddy

Mackenzie, vol II

The super team strikes again.  While pleased to be leaving Mackenzie earlier than projected (exactly on time by our 10 day shift standards) I was bummed that meant our shift wouldn't reset with some weekends off.

Lack of weekends off with friends gifted the coveted Saturday and Sunday off accompanied by raised eyebrow decisions, frustratingly long hours, swarms of mozzies invading our trailer and more-than-expected time away from Chetwynd is souring my summer and raising urgent personal questions about future summer employment plans.  I don't live here in the home owning sense yet I'm constantly homesick for it.

It's a classic case of wanting what I don't have.  I love not having a fixed address that I pay for in any real or imagined sense, having post sent to a work address or the box of wherever I happen to be resting my head lately.  The freedom to move around at my leisure/where my wallet demands I go to fill it coupled with the desire to (temporarily) settle.

Fellow wanderer Jen maintains the home is where her feet are.  I'm tempted to agree.  Out in the bush, let's go home means let's go back to our trailers in the moz breeding depression.  When hitching up those trailers, home is Jaana's house in Chetwynd.  Returning from an international foray, home is Calgary where I tend to fly back to and have smiling family that picks me up on delayed flights from the airport. Home has been Edmonton, Red Deer, Meekatharra, Bimini, a beach hut in half a dozen countries. I continue to wrestle with this reoccurring theme of who, what and, less importantly, where home is.

Fleur de Peace

It's odd to pack my bag and be displeased about the destination.

As I prepare for another foray to Mackenzie, I'm disappointed to be leaving Chetwynd at the height of summer.  Teachers friends are off school, wildflowers are doing their thing, late days call for lingering, the rivers are clearing up and I'm off to bushcamp under the guise of making money

I continue to confront "what the H am I doing with myself?" whether on a recent heli show, up the reservoir days and days from Mackenzie or seated in my backyard enjoying a novel.  While I wait for a lightening bolt moment and not overly concerned to be questioning my life's path, meaning, meandering journeys, I've taken to enjoying those who do this every year - the flowers.

  This one is new to me.  

                                    

                                                  Poisonous                                           Pokey

A personal and perennial favourite

I adore this flowering arrangement

 Such delicate flowers

 More often seen as an ornamental than in the frorest

Waiting for our pickup, it rained, sunned and I found these rain drenched gems

Trout trials

Trout are tricky, Dan, Warren and I learned yesterday as we tried our luck at Heart and Azouzetta Lakes in the Pine Le Moray Provincial Park.

After a botched attempt with all three of us in the canoe that almost had us swimming fully clothed alongside the children, Warren and I paddled off leaving Dan to try his luck with his fly rod from shore.

 
Popular with day trippers and long weekend campers, Heart Lake was crowded by northern lake standards as children searched for shoreline frogs, fished from sinking docks and floated on tubes while the adults wisely stayed out of the chilly lake in favour of the lakeside picnic tables.

 Skunked there even after seeing a wee fry, we lunched, packed up and moved on to Azouetta.  A private lodge dominates the lake and restricts access.  We managed to find a Civic sized launch.

Learning our lesson that the Clipper has a weight/occupant restriction at Heart Lake, Dan and I had first go.







Flanked by stunning mountains and sandwiched between the highway and railline, it was gorgeous but hardly peaceful as transports and cargo laden railcars plodded past.

Tempting us with their acrobatics, the trout continued to elude us as we eventually accepted defeat and vowed to return another day.

Wondering where the fishies are

 Ahh, Azouetta

Stern man Dan 

 The Clipper precariously balanced on a dodgy launch

 Dan and Warren returning