Mamquam Icefield (April 4-6)

https://www.ubc-voc.com/2021/04/26/mamquam-icefield-april-4-6

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

"Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul." - Edward Abbey

O Captain, My Captain!

The New York Yankees had been my team since I was a teenager in China. The glorious decade from the late 1990’s was certainly one of the reasons. I remember running out of classroom during my high school lunch break and biking the fastest home to witness the heartbreaking 2001 Game 7 9th inning when Mo gave up the game-winning looper single to  Luis Gonzalez and the World Series to the Diamondbacks. 

In recent years, the Franchise is still historical, but the glories no longer come as frequent as that exciting era. The players I grew up watching stepped out of the spotlights one after another. The memories close to date were mostly saying goodbyes. There was the old Yankee Stadium; there were Tino, Bernie, and Paul (remembering the thunderous chant of  “Paul O’Neill” from the entire old Yankee Stadium during the 2001 WS?!); and there were the “Big Four”: First Jorge Posada, then Andy Pettitte (with a Cinderella ending) and Mo, There was only one remaining at the start of this 2013-14 season. When the great Mariano Rivera came out of the Yankee bullpen to the familiar tune of “Enter Sandman” for one last time last year, we all said quietly to ourselves: “The next (and final) one will be the captain, Derek Jeter.” Wasting no time, at the beginning of the season, Derek made it clear this was going to be his last one. 

Among all the great players and legends Yankees created from that golden era, Mr. Jeter had always been my favourite. He is Captain Clutch; he is always at the right place at the right time; his blue-collar work ethic is unparalleled; he leads by example and always says the right thing. It seemed like he was the perfect role model who never did anything wrong. So when he announced that this was going to be his retirement year, I instantly checked the Yankees’ schedule and had my eyes on the final home game at Yankee Stadium: September 25, 2014 vs. Baltimore Orioles. At that time, I was laughing at myself and thinking it must have been an adrenaline rush — when I calmed down, it would certainly sound like a silly idea; so, I put that thought aside. However, with the season went on and embracing all the Jeter’s final season tour saga unfold, that thought never disappeared in my head. When it became clear that the Yankees probably wouldn’t make to the playoffs again this year and that game would for sure be his final home game ever, I started seriously considering going to New York to witness history. I struggled with the plan, because it would involve more than $500 for the flights, $300+ for that game, and, above all those things in cash value, I would have to miss the person I love’s birthday. For some reason, all these didn’t matter in the end, being there for Captain #2’s last game was what I wanted. I bought the flight ticket, contacted my friends in New York, and finally got a good price ticket after searching for a month — here I come. 

I arrived in a raining NYC after an overnight flight on the morning of September 25. After a short walk around Times Square to tell myself I was in the Big Apple for real, I took a short rest before heading to the Bronx. One could easily notice that day was for Derek Jeter: from the streets of New York, to the subway, to the Stadium, it was full of #2 Pinstripes. A lady didn’t hide her envy spotting my Jeter’s jersey in the subway: “Going to the game? Must be expensive… Good for you!” I smiled back and nodded, feeling a bit ashamed of how much money and effort I paid to be there — but proudly nonetheless. When I arrived around 5:30pm, it was already a sea of people and media. Since it was my first time to the new Yankee Stadium, I took some photos, found my seat, and did a quick tour around it. Immediately, seeing half of the crowds wearing #2 shirts, I had the feeling that it was going to be a great night and all I paid for it was going to be well worth it — everyone was there for one purpose: to say one last goodbye and thank-you to a beloved person.

To everyone’s please, the weather god cooperated and the rain finally stopped about an hour before the game time. The ground crew took off the tarp signalling the game would start on time. Most people took their seats already when the teams came out of the dugout for the warmup, that was also when the first roar of spontaneous standing ovation started for Derek. The lady sitting next to me arrived a bit late, but as soon as I saw her, I knew she was not just another Yankees’ fan. She was wearing full Pinstripes gears: from her outfit, to  jewelries, to manicure, to iPhone home screen, and the list goes on. Crazy! She didn’t wait long to start talking with me, with a heavy New Yorker’s accent: “You bought the ticket from TicketExchange?” “Yes,” I replied and realized right away she was the person who sold me that ticket. It turned out she was, like most others in that audience that night, a life long Yankees fan. She had been a season ticket holder of those two seats since 1998. She witnessed all the greatest moments in recent Yankees history, including David Cone’s perfect game in 1999, the last game in the old Yankee Stadium, all those farewell games for the great players I mentioned in the new Stadium, and the first games after 9/11, etc. She knew the answer to every quiz about the history of this team with a beat of her heart. She had also been to so many other major league stadiums, and her favourite one outside Yankee Stadium was Camden Yards in Baltimore, same choice as the other woman sitting on my other side — also a diehard Yankees fan for life. The three of us chatted like old friends who hadn’t met for a long time — with a same language of this team, and one player. When I told her I came all the way from the west coast for this, she was very grateful her ticket ended up in a good hand.

The game had a strange start. With the emotion high, everyone was standing and chanting Derek Jeter’s name, many with tears in their eyes. Then the Orioles opened the game with back-to-back home runs, the first while the Bleacher Creatures were roll calling the captain’s name — talking about bad timing… The atmosphere took a wrong turn, from cheering to booing. The fans who caught those two home run balls had no choice but to throw them back, much to the crowd’s pleasure. Good thing was that the Yankees tied the game right away in the bottom half of the first inning (including a hit from Jeter) and the starting pitchers both settled down afterward. With the game ground into a pitchers duel, the atmosphere became more subdued. However, every time following Bob Sheppard’s  iconic voice of “Now, batting for the Yankees, Number 2, Derek Jeter, Number 2”, the entire stadium would stand up and do the chants with cheers for the captain’s every at-bat. Throughout the game in between innings, the Jumbotron played tributes to Jeter, from fans to players, from coaches to managers, basically every walk of life involved with baseball. All of us soaked in those moments for one last time. Then, came the late innings. When the fans realized this whole episode was approaching the end for real, spontaneous chants became more frequent, one section easily led to one stadium-wide chorus: “D-E-R-E-K J-E-T-E-R. *clap* *clap* *clap-clap-clap*”. Everyone, from 5-year-old’s baby voice to 60/70s’ seasoned tone, from the heart of the Bronx to the Island of Hawaii, from the loud and wild enthusiasts to the quiet and teared soft hearts — almost 50,000, no one was sitting anymore. Waves of thunderous chorus echoed inside and beyond the Baseball Cathedral— for that evening, it was the House Jeter Built. The chants went from “Derek Jeter”, to “Thank You Jeter”, to “Thank You Captain”. By then, everyone was doing their best to fight back emotions, including #2 himself. In the bottom of the 7th inning, with the game tied at 2-2 and the bases loaded, Jeter hit a soft infield ground ball — maybe it was the distraction from the fans’ noise, maybe because it was Derek Jeter, Gold Glover J.J. Hardy threw a routine double play ground ball into the outfield; two run scored and Jeter reached safely. The Stadium went wild: this had to be the ending now — Derek bringing in the go-ahead runs in his final game and final at-bat. The Yankees added another insurance run later that inning and carried the 3-run lead to the 9th. This surely had to be it. The entire stadium was standing and shaking. Derek fought back tears and tried to concentrate and finish the chapter. But the Orioles (or God) had other ideas, they tied the game with another back-to-back homers (one was a two-run shot) off Yankees closer David Robertson. “Seriously?!” “WTF?!” “The script was so perfect but now we will have a sour ending?” Questions were raised, and boos were thrown to the poor Robertson. The stadium went from ready-to-celebrate to shock. What’s now? Sometimes, the greats write history themselves. When the top of the 9th was done, the due-up list showed Jeter was coming up 3rd to bat. I’m sure everyone, like myself, had a quiet prayer for an even more perfect ending. Will it happen? José Pirela hit a single to start the bottom of the 9th. The rally bell was officially on. Brett Gardner safely bunted Pirela to scoring position, as expected. Then, came Captain Clutch — if all that drama was for this, it would all be worth it — history was in his own hands. We kept our fingers crossed, and like almost every time in the past 20 years, Derek Jeter delivered — first pitch, the other way — Did anyone have any doubt?! The crowd went wild again, probably even wilder this time because it was the real ending, yet in such a surreal fashion. Teammates ran out from the dugout and mauled him together, his families watched on from the sideline, the greats who went through all these years with him (including Jorge Posada, Andy Pettitte, Mariano Rivera, Tino Martinez, Bernie Williams, and Joe Torre) waited by the side, and fans threw their hats out onto the field. It was an unbelievable moment I will never forget. 

When the on-field interviewer asked Derek: “What was going through your mind in the game?” He replied, “Don’t cry.” So simple, yet so true and so Jeter-like. He carried the same demeanour throughout his 20-year career, always said and did the right thing. He said the most emotional moment for him in the game was hearing the fans thanking him, he said he was “just doing my job.” When asked what message he wanted to leave to the next generation, he said “I worked harder, or as hard, as anyone else who played this game.” How could you not respect a person like him?!

 

Derek took a final walk to his shortstop position and saluted the fans, who simply didn’t want to leave. When it was all said and done on a windy September night in the Bronx, all that was left was the posters in the Stadium, the memories in our heart, and the echoes of those chants in my head. 

THANK YOU, CAPTAIN!

Der Kapitän

Massively underrated, a quiet leader, touted by Pep Guardiola as "one of the most intelligent players" he'd ever come across with (maybe biased as Bayern's coach, but speaks volume considering the players he had played with and coached). 

Interestingly, before this WC, I had the urge of spending some extra bucks on a #16 jersey - probably because as we all knew, this was possibly the last chance Lahm (and Schweinsteiger) would have to make a shot at an international trophy in their careers. Also, as superstitious a sports fan as I am, buying Team Canada's 2010 Olympics sweater ended up good fortune, so why not try it again. To add on another personal connection: I am a similar small figure as the "Magic Dwarf", playing same positions as fullback and defensive midfield - he easily became one of my role models (along with Schweini - I was wearing #16 inside and #7 outside for the final). Now, I can proudly/luckily say I did it. 

It was a shocking decision for the world. I was really hoping the duo could finish the circle and bow out with a Euro in 2016. But, as they say, you never know... Better to seize the moment while you have it.

Philipp Lahm, my captain, you will be dearly missed!

Fußballgott

This was the last play in Sunday’s World Cup final: Bastian Schweisteiger jumped high up, headed the ball out of danger, and got knocked down by an Argentina player. The referee called a foul and free kick for Germany first. Basti mumbled something in his mouth, Toni Kroos hugged his vice captain’s head, seemingly telling him “We got the free kick, I think this is it…” Then, the referee blew the final whistle. Kroos and Lahm dropped to their knees; Thomas Müller fist pumped; Schweini? He was like a battered warrior at the end of a war, struggled to get up and relish the victory.

At the final whistle of the WC final

It was a war for him: minutes before the final started, Schweinsteiger learned that his midfield partner Sami Khedira was injured in the warm-up. Not too long into the game, Khedira’s replacement, Christoph Kramer, had to be subbed off due to a concussion. With his comrades down and out, Basti had to not only take care of the best player in the world but also command the entire defensive midfield for Germany in front of the back four (we all know Özil or Kroos can’t track players well). Like all great leaders do, he stepped up and lived up to the message inscribed on his boots – “The Chosen One”. He tirelessly ran up and down the field (15.3km in total), dictated the pitch box-to-box with 90% passing completion, and hustled his teammates when everyone’s physical condition was stretched to the limit. He was knocked down time after time, his knees hyper-extended/sprained, his legs cramped. About 10 minutes before it all ended when there was still no winner in this match, Sergio Agüero clawed his face and cut under his right eye open. Blood streaking down his face, he did not waste time complaining – he knew they wouldn’t allow him to continue playing with an open wound – he needed a quick fix because his team couldn’t afford playing with one-man short for too long at this critical stage of the match. Coach Jogi Löw had Kevin Großkreutz ready on the sideline, but there was no way Schweinsteiger was going to let anyone take over for him at this pinnacle moment of his career – he had been this close many times so he knew how it hurt without finishing, he would for sure be one of the penalty takers if the match went there, he knew his body wasn’t going to get any younger – it was now or never for him. The medical staff stitched up his face and #7 stood up again, howling to get back into the match. That was the 111th minutes of the World Cup final, 77 seconds later, Mario Götze put the ball into the back of Argentina’s net with a sublime finish, and history was written.

Inscribed on Schweinsteiger's boots in the WC final: "the chosen one"

Too much emotion in this picture... Those 3 knew what it took to get here

While the world saw the childish smile from the 22-year-old who lifted an entire nation, it was the tears in Schweini’s (and Lahm’s and Klose’s) eyes that brought them here. Started his career as an attacking midfielder, Schweinsteiger was seen as a flashy player not down to earth. It took a genius coach, Luis van Gaal, to see more in this young kid and developed him into a holding midfielder. The party boy image was long gone, and a true leader was born. Nevertheless, his career path was not easy. On the international stage, he was close but had no trophy to show in 2006, 2008, 2010, and 2012 – he took those defeats harder each time. What got even worse was in 2012, when he missed that final penalty in front of his own 70,000 Bayern München fans at Allianz Arena and handed the Champions League final to Chelsea – 3 runner-ups in one season… Many would never come back from that low again, but not Bastian Schweinsteiger. He may not be the most skillful player, he may not have the slickest movement, or the fastest pace; but he has the strongest willpower – a true German virtue that always makes them winners. He and Bayern completed the incredible treble in 2013. The 2013-14 season was not a smooth sailing for him, just when he needed it to prepare for the World Cup. Multiple ankle injuries, knee problems at the end of the season and close to the tournament, many pundits deemed that he had passed his prime and should be a peripheral figure on this Die Nationalmannschaft. Jogi Löw sacrificed his vice captain on the bench to start the tournament – one thing was to give him more time to recover from those injuries, the other was to have a chance to test out a new system without relenting his team’s harmony (which he desperately needed to have any chance to go far in this tournament) because he knew Schweinsteiger would not make a fuss about the benching. As expected, Schweini did not say a word about it, and partied with the lads after the 4-0 thump of Portugal. However, when the team was in a chaotic moment trailing Ghana 1-2 in the second half of the second game, he (and Klose) came on as a saviour – he only needed 15 minutes to prove that this was still his team. On Sunday, he fought with his heart and soul in a game of his life. The rest was history.

After standing up from that final knock on the final whistle, Basti let all his emotions out. Why not?! He had given his all, there was nothing left to play. He was leading his team up the stairs to raise the World Cup. He is Weltmeister.

He is the Fußballgott.

A Dollar and A Suitcase

I always like knowing the background stories of a musician writing a song — it makes me understand and appreciate the song better. Recently, I caught this one on the CBC Vinyl Cafe and it hit me deep. 

In introducing this song, Ann said her grandmother immigrated from the Netherlands to Canada shortly after the Second World War and had a difficult life; so she developed a tough personality and had very little tolerance for people who are not tough. Her mother is a tough woman as well, but cries often. When her mother left home for university for the first time, Ann’s grandmother said to her mother: “If you don’t cry when you leave, I’ll give you a dollar.” Her mother tried really hard not to cry when they were saying goodbye and managed to make to her car without crying. However, as she was driving away, she started to cry. Then when she reached into her pocket for some Kleenex, there in her pocket was a dollar bill. In remembering this story, she wrote this song for her Oma.

From the BCCA 2012 Conference

“The secret of the care of the patient is in caring for the patient.” - Francis W. Peabody
“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.” - Helen Keller
“Education can sometimes educated the heart out.”
“I lost another battle, but the war is not over.”

Eva Grayzel, an oral cancer survivor as the keynote speaker for the conference, ended her emotional speech with this folklore:

There once was this good guy who did all the nice things in his life helping others. When he reached his time, he was given the choice of ending up above, or down below. He wanted to check out both places before making his decision. Over down below, he saw a big bowl of soup in the middle, all the people there were sitting around far away from the bowl and each had a very long spoon in their hands reaching the bowl. However, all of them looked frail, terrible, and suffering. Then he went up above, it was almost the same as he saw down below - a big bowl of soup in the middle, people sitting around far away from the bowl and each had a very long spoon in their hands. But the people there were happy, healthy, and jubilant. He wondered why... Then he noticed something different: the people down below all tried to get the soup with their long spoon to their own mouths, but the spoon was so long that by the time the soup reached close to them, it was all gone; the people up above did not try that, they simply scooped the soup out of the bowl and fed each other. When he was given the choice of where to go, you know what decision he made... 

Make a difference!

"Remembering today, and everyday."

Every year, the Remembrance Day services all look the same; but I want to be there, because they are also different, in small ways. No matter where I stand in the crowd, close or far from the cenotaph, I felt I was there -- like in a war. I saw people holding portraits of young men/women in front of their chests, I saw big man in Army uniforms weep, I saw veterans in wheelchairs in the cold rain -- just to be there. Today, the three men in front of me gave each other a pad on the back after the moment of silence, while fighting back emotions on their faces, in tears, and at the bottom of their hearts... Here is the poem from the Vancouver service today 11-11-2011:

THE WAY

by Hannah Naomi Williams

How dark the way is to me

I stumble, fall, grope and mutter

The sky above laughs at me

Birds peck, chirp, screech and whistle

Distant sounds to my ears

How dark my memories are to me

Of home, fire, warmth and faces

All whispering to me

Come back, come home return

But I cannot reach them where they are

How dark the land is to me

The earth is dark and cold beneath me

Frosty, unknown, foreign soil

My own country of trees and lakes

Far buried in my mind

How dark this pain is to me

It aches and overtakes my consciousness

Blood and thunder are well known

The Stench of rotting, life in death

When it’s quiet my ears still ring

How dark the fighting is to me

Courage has evaded me

I have no anger left for my enemies

I aim my gun in hope of life

But death is all that finds me

How dark the way is to me

I press on, my heart straining

I still live a miracle

Every breath is precious

So I wait and dream and pray for life

And this is the Vinyl Cafe Remembrance Day edition this year.

Crazy Ones

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” -- Steve Jobs & Apple

“Sometimes they were really dopey. Sometimes they were truly dreadful. But sometimes they took the air from the room, and they left us both completely silent. Bold, crazy, magnificent ideas; or, quiet simple ones, which in their subtlety, their detail, they were utterly profound. Just as Steve loved ideas and loved making stuff, he treated the process of creativity with a rare and wonderful reverence. He, better than anyone, understood the wild ideas ultimately can be so powerful - they began as fragile, barely-formed thoughts, so easily missed, so easily compromised, so easily just squished.” -- Jony Ive, talking about ideas in his tribute to Steve Jobs.

Will This Be The Day

Before Game 1 of this Final series, Ron MacLean was on ice level, one knee down. He talked about the quiet content guys choking in the corner celebrating after winning, soaking in all the emotions (like Dirk Nowitzki yesterday after winning his first NBA Championship.) He talked about how bad all of them want the ring that Glenn Healy and Craig Simpson have, not many others.

"In this life, we learn by example far better than we learn by words. And the learning by example runs deep. It's just a game. But you play it. Oh, you play it."

Best Sign from Game 5

Quotes from 50-Hour Wilderness First Aid Course

“Legally, you meet the standards. Ideally, you exceed the standards.”

“Pain never kills.”

“An expert is someone who made all the mistakes in the book, and learned a lesson from each of them.”

“It doesn’t matter what you know. What matters is the decision you make.”

“When something (bad) happens in the mountain, have a smoke.” -- German/Austrian

“Building an arm splint the fastest is not the best first aid. Assessment first!”

“How’s the pain, on a 1 to 10 scale, on your broken leg?”
“About 2. I’ve given birth to a couple of children.”

"The difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that in a democracy you vote first and take orders later; in a dictatorship you don't have to waste your time voting." - Charles Bukowski

Shane Goes Against Current - It's Mean To Be

To celebrate the Super Natural, Best Place on Earth, Beautiful British Columbia Day, I decided to kayak around Gabriola Island in the Northern Gulf Islands area. A couple of videos shot by my friend Eric on his ferry to Salt Spring Island of whales playing around their boat fuelled extra motivation to me.

I left early on Friday afternoon, and surprisingly found a not-so-busy #257 bus going to Horseshoe Bay with almost no traffic on Georgia St. “It is a long weekend, right?!” I thought. Nevertheless, before boarding the ferry, I realized that I forgot to bring the fuel for my stove. What a disaster, especially with the fire ban across the province! I re-calculated what I brought and felt I could still survive with the cold food I packed, albeit starving for sure. So, I calmed myself down and the trip continued; hoping to get some fuel somewhere on the way. It was a pleasant ferry ride (without sighting of any whales...), during which I got into a conversation with a girl from France. She was visiting her boyfriend who works in Strathcona Provincial Park. She saw me studying the map and asked where I was going. She works for MEC, and told me all those benefits they have as employees. What a great place to work at! Arriving at Departure Bay in Nanaimo, I found the kayak rental place, Alberni Outpost, right by the ferry dock. I quickly finished the transaction, told them my trip plan, and loaded the boat. Since I didn't have too much daylight left, I paddled in calm water, with the sun setting behind me, to the nearby Newcastle Island. After setting up my tent and sighting some deers casually feeding on the lawn, I went out for a night paddle. The water was soothingly tranquil while the moon was rising. I could see the Coastal Mountains on the mainland, and the industrial waterfront in Nanaimo. My trip started beautifully.

On Saturday morning, the sun shined straight into my tent and woke me up. My plan was to paddle across to Gabriola Island and visit my friend, Ranza. Before leaving, I got into some problem with my tent: I drilled one of the anchor stakes too deep when I set it up the night before and it got stuck inside some tree roots. (Don’t ask me why I did that in a quiet windless night.) No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't come out. Eventually, when I got mad and started being manly, I snapped a tent string and broke the stake. That’s when I gave up. The short distance (about 5 km) across to Gabriola wasn't easy. The wind was strong and I was constantly hit by 3-foot swells. After an hour, I arrived at Descanso Bay. Three bald eagles circling above in the sky welcomed me when I got out of the boat. I walked into the village, saw the local arts market, and luckily, found a building supply shop to buy a bottle of Methyl Hydrate as my fuel -- yay for hot food! I tried to call Ranza but the cell phone signal was very weak around the village. So I asked a friendly guy at the shop: “Where can I get some better cell phone signal close to here?” He looked at me, seemingly saying "where were you from" and "what do you want", and answered: “Nanaimo?!” Thanks, Island folks! I finally got through to Ranza’s home phone and she wasn’t there. It took us back and forth a couple of phone calls to set up the meeting at Descanso Bay Regional Park. After moving my kayak from the private property I invaded when I first landed on the island, I enjoyed a relaxing afternoon in the sun, reading my book before Ranza arrived. She took a swim in the water and we chatted for an hour. It was a short reunion but I was glad we met. In the evening, I headed out around the northeastern corner of Gabriola to my planned camping site at Sandwell Provincial Park in Lock Bay. On the way, I checked out the Malaspina Gallery, a stretch of unique sandstone formation that carved in at the bottom of the cliffs by water erosion. Many people jump from the ~15 feet high cliff above the eroded sandstones into the water. The water in the evening was flat and I made up the ground/water easily around Entrance Island into Lock Bay. It was a beautiful site for my tent right on the beach, looking east toward the mainland. After having a hot meal, I sat on the beach by my boat with the wine I brought. I could see the lights up on the ski hills (probably Cypress), and I even caught the fireworks in English Bay that night. After coming back, I heard it rained in Vancouver for about 20 minutes that evening before the fireworks; it was clear sky with stars and moonrise for me on the other side of the water. I dozed into my sleep listening to the waves pounding on the shore.

Sunday morning, I embraced some light drizzle as a refreshing taste from the blazing sun. A woman walking her dog on the beach greeted me: “Not too bad a place to spend the night, eh?!” Knowing that the majority of my trip was only starting, I set out on the water before 10:00, the destination was Pirates Cove Provincial Park on De Courcy Island, more than 20 km away. As expected, I was against the current and wind going southeast along the western shoreline of Gabriola Island. It took me more than 3 hours to reach the turn at Commodore Passage into Flat Top Islands. The reward was three seals lazily lying on the rock to welcome me at the entrance of the Passage. I found a beach and took a lunch break. Before going across Pylades Channel to reach my destination, I had to paddle through Gabriola Passage. The warning on my map said: “Max current 9 knots. Rips, turbulence.” Not until I reached that point did I realize waves might not be the biggest concern in sea kayaking. The currents were so unpredictable in the passage that no matter how hard I paddle, I was not moving forward. I was constantly being spun around in the whirlpools and pushed to different directions. Even when I thought I was out of the passage, a strong current knocked me back in and almost pushed me onto a concrete navigation light. It was a hard battle. Having enough of paddling for the day, I just wanted to finish, so I aimed straight to Pirates Cove across Pylades Channel, not 100 per cent sure if that was where I had to go. Gladly, after another 1.5 hours, I reached the point I was aiming at, and it was Pirates Cove Provincial Park. There was already a group of kayakers, two dads and daughters, when I arrived. One of them, Tony, was originally from Manchester and had a Solskjær United jersey on. That got us into a “friendly” conversation dating back to 1999 since I am a Bayern München fan. Of course, he wouldn't leave me alone without a few extra jabs replaying the 91st minute at Camp Nou in 1999 to me. The other father, Ken, was a seasoned kayaker and had good knowledge about ocean and currents. So, I consulted him about my route plan going back to Nanaimo the next day. It was a pleasure meeting them. I had to say the $5 remote camping site was a lot better than those $16 popular ones one can drive to. The outhouse was clean, it was quiet, and even had tent pads. Plus, to get fresh water, you need to use the hand pump -- when was the last time you used that?! The view? It’s BC view and BC wine -- You gotta be there!

Monday was my last day, but also the longest day. I had to paddle from Pirates Cove back to Nanaimo and catch the ferry back to Vancouver. The grand plan was to hit the water early in the morning and catch the current and wind with the high tide. I hit the water shortly after 8:00 as planned, but Mother Nature didn't want to cooperate. As soon as I turned around De Courcy into Stuart Channel, the wind picked up, into my face. To make things worse, I missed the turn (I thought it was too small between the rocks when I saw it from far and didn’t get close) going to east side of Link Island and Mudge Island. I was planning to take the longer, but safer route through False Narrows. Reluctant to turn back, I decided to challenge the notorious Dodd Narrows. Ken told me the night before that he wouldn't recommend going through there because when traffic was busy, it was like a “laundry machine”. My speed was OK against the wind and reached there around 10:00. I had to stop before going into the channel because I forgot to put on sunscreen in the morning before I left. Around 10:30, I ventured into the Narrows. That was when I perfectly understood why the veteran didn't want me to go through there alone -- it was such a narrow one-way traffic with all the boats wanting to pass through. I was lucky there were only a couple of boats crossing when I was there. So, I waited for them and had about 5 minutes for myself to crazily battle through the bloody currents and whirlpools. The Narrows was not that long, but I had to give my all. It was interesting that there was a guy relaxing on the rocks on one side of the Narrows watching me battle through it like a mad cow. I was happy to come out of that part safely because I thought the worst part of the long day was over, so I had a little snack break on the water. However, just when I restarted paddling, the wind picked up again in Northumberland Channel. And this time, it only got stronger. I was on the Gabriola side of the channel because I didn’t want to go through the industrial waterfront. When I needed to cross back to the Nanaimo side after the cliff area on Gabriola, the gale pulled out in its full strength, leaving me in 3-5 feet side waves to cross the channel. Then, everything I didn't want happened to arrive. First, a freight tow boat came into the harbour; good it saw me from distance and I made it clear that I would cross before it came in. Then, just when I had a clear view of the open sea, the Duke Point ferry arrived -- couldn't be better timing! I paddled close to it after it docked, and had to wait for about 20 minutes in the waves when I was very tired. The last few miles was excruciating. The gale wouldn't let up and gusted from northeast, pushing giant side waves onto my boat while I was going into McKay Channel. It wasn't even getting better after I entered Nanaimo Harbour inside Protection Island. Whenever I wanted to take a break and stopped paddling, the wind and current would push me back out. I was swearing constantly and had no fun in the end. When I finally docked at Brechin Boat Ramp around 14:45 after 6.5 hours straight in the boat, I was completed exhausted and had to pump significant amount of water out of the cockpit. I returned the kayak and took a quick shower from the water hose to wash out the salt accumulated on my arms.

I caught the 16:40 ferry back to Vancouver and bumped into a friend on the ferry. The chat made the journey shorter. When I went to a real washroom for the first time in 3 days, I saw the sever sunburn under my eyes that made my face like a panda. Looking back to the vast shorelines around Gabriola Island, I was proud of myself to achieve what I had been through in the past 3 days. Good there is a thing called effort and reward. Plotting my route on Google Earth, the total distance was about 56.7 km; with the zigzagging on the water, it should easily be above 60 km. Guess I could say to myself: BC Day well celebrated.

Epilogue: Combing back from this trip, I watched Andrew McAuley’s tragic story Solo: Lost At Sea again. I had more respect for the guy trying what he wanted to. I cannot fathom what he had been through in those 30 days; to make it worse, defeated in sight of land after 1600 km in the roughest sea. To put it into perspective, he was separated from his kayak 35 nautical miles away from Milford Sound in New Zealand; the 2-hour ferry from Tsawwassen to Duke Point is 38 nautical miles. Did he succeed in his mission? No. Did he cross the Tasmania Sea? Absolutely! When I get to Milford Sound one day, I will remember there lies a lost soul somewhere in that water where he loved deeply.

"I don't necessarily fear being afraid." -- Andrew McAuley

That Was A Year Ago...

Yesterday, I went to HI-Vancouver on Jericho Beach and we welcomed the Israel-Palestine United Co-ed team to our VISF. We didn’t speak the same language, but we played the same game and shared the same smile. (Kudos to them for that energy just after 14 hours of flight. Plus, they were very good football players.) I met some travellers at the hostel.

Today, while I was on Main St. for the Car Free Day festivities and checking out the clock, I suddenly realized it was exactly a year ago this time I was on the plane across the Atlantic. Then, a few blocks later, I met a photographer selling her works. I randomly asked her about one photo she took that reminded me something and she told me it was taken in Naples. So we started talking about our travel experience in that spooky city for a while.

Ahh... that travel bug starts getting itchy again...

I Love My Friends!

"A guy and a girl can be just friends, but at one point or another, they will fall for each other... Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever." - Dave Matthews Band

Since 10:00 Sunday May 23, 2010

"I'm so hollow baby

I'm so hollow

I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow"

A Message from George Carlin

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stock room. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or not.

Remember: spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember: say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember: to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved, but most of all mean it.

Thursday, July 2 - BASTEI (and road to Berlin)

In the morning, I stored my luggage at Bahnhof Dresden-Neustadt so I didn’t need to go back to the hostel to pick it up when I went to Berlin that evening. The place we were going to hike was in a forest region on the border of Germany and Czech Republic. When I enjoyed the river, the forest, and the sandstone towers from the window on the train to Prague, I was already in love with it and said to myself I wanted to visit this place, only not knowing it was the one Caymin talked about. This region was climbers’ haven with big walls on those unique towers of distinct formations and rock features. It was where “free-climbing”, a “true” style of climbing when climbers do not use any equipment assist while scaling up, was invented by those crazy Europeans.

Mitchell and I took a regional train along River Elbe to Kurort Rathen. Then, we took a small ferry across the water to the side where the famous Bastei Bridge, a sandstone bridge connecting the top of a few pinnacles, located. We had a few trail options, and since we both had free-roamer’s spirits, we started wandering along the river hoping to find a less popular trail going up the mountain. We were so engaged in enjoying the tranquility along the river and in our conversations about the Pacific Northwest back at home that we walked a bit too far. On the way turning back, we randomly picked a trail and started heading up. While the forest felt like we were back in the trees on the west coast, the rock and earth certainly felt different. The trail of vegetations formed on top of sandstones felt a lot softer. The higher we went, the closer we were close to the rocks, the more sand we sank in. It was almost like walking on soft sand beach on some parts of the trail. Unfortunately, the trail became increasingly narrower, steeper and less distinct with almost no fresh footprints. We started being a bit worried of our route choice. After a brief discussion, it was to both of our interest and safety that we decided to head back on the main trail and find the crowd. Although reluctant to turn back, I realized where Caymin bivied for a night in a cave around this area - what a peaceful place she had! On the way down, while exploring some small side trails, I had the chance to be closer under those 500 feet sandstone walls. How could you blame the climbers for their love for this place! Back on the highway, we decided to check out a couple of main tourist destinations in that area: a waterfall and the Bastei Bridge on top. The hike was relatively easy except some parts were wet and muddy due to the recent rain fall. We walked by Amselsee (Blackbird Lake?) and reached Amselfall (Blackbird fall?) first. It was a tiny but cute waterfall with gentle flowing water-blind dripping down from hanging vines and moss. The rocks were carved by water into artistic shapes, from which one could tell the age of nature. Behind the fall, there was a house with exhibitions showing the geological background of this area. There were boxes of different kinds of stones. And they were selling some posters and calendars of photos of some of the world elite climbers spidering on those sandstone towers in that region. One interesting story of this waterfall was that the amount of water flow could be controlled by the people there. So if you paid them some donation, they would switch “on” the fall and a sudden flood of water would shoot out from behind the rocks. Mitchell and I took a break and had some sausages and fries (with Mayonnaise, European style) by the fall. Then, we headed up to the Bastei Bridge. Only by the time we reached the top did we realized that people could drive all the way up from behind the mountains to this place. Damn those cheaters. The view from the top of those towering stones was magnificent: River Elbe sneaked through the forest valley like music notes singing on green canvas. Adding more drama to the scenery, cloud thickened and a storm was forming not far away. I witnessed some of the most stunning lightnings striking from top of the sky all the way to the bottom of the valley, seemingly breaking the entire universe. I wished I had a capable camera and skills to capture those moments. As much as I wanted to stay up there enjoying those overtaking strikes, however, our safety became a concern with the storm closing in. Just after we walked across the Bastei Bridge on top, while Mitchell was chatting with her newly-met American fellows, a strike of lightning shattered the sky horizontally right above our heads, and seconds after, the most threatening rumble I had ever heard shook the sky, the ground, and all the way into my heart. It was so deafening that I felt the entire universe was going to collapse and suffocate us. Obviously, others felt the same. We only needed to give each other a stare in the eyes and we all knew it was time go get the hell out of there. We quickly descended into the forest and the thunders became wakening. As an adventurer, I was so regretted to escape those once-in-a-lifetime sceneries; but I had to be responsible for myself and the people around me. The descend through the forest was easy and pleasant. We were lucky the downpour didn’t arrive until we crossed the river and was back under the roof at the train station. When the rain came, it was like the sky just opened a hole. By that time, I was already used to the European summer thunderstorm, so it was more of an enjoyable event than a miserable encounter.

It was a great day with my new friend, only too soon that we had to separate to our ways. We said goodbye after getting back at Bahnhof Dresden-Neustadt and I picked up my luggage waiting for the train to Berlin. When I got onto the platform for the scheduled train, it was strangely empty. I only saw 2 or 3 other people waiting for this train to the capital. I was in the unfamiliar territory so I did not react to the situation. Suddenly, this German guy in a pair of sandals came onto the platform and talked to the couple of girls waiting on the same platform I was standing. Then, certainly noticed I didn’t understand German, he switched to English and hurriedly asked: “Are you going to Berlin?” “Yes,” I replied confusedly. “We had to go to Dresden main station. Come!” Already walking away, he waved me into the tunnel to go to another platform. I didn’t hesitate to follow him because the other two girls already took his advice and he obviously wanted to help. As we were running down and up the stairs to another platform, he tried to explain to me that the announcer at the train station just broadcasted that the thunderstorm had caused some damage on the power line, so the train to Berlin was to be rerouted and would no longer come to Dresden-Neustadt. They were not even sure whether that train was heading to Berlin, after all. We had to take a train to Dresden Hbf to find out. It was a panic situation for everyone as it was almost the scheduled leaving time for that train and it would take about 5 minutes from Dresden-Neustadt to Hbf. When we finally boarded a regional train, everybody looked confused, we could only kept our fingers crossed hoping for the best. Luckily, when we arrived at Dresden Hbf, that train to Berlin was still there. I ran frantically with that German guy who asked the conductor passing by to confirm the train was still going to Berlin. Seconds after we hopped on, the train left. Minutes later, the train stopped, and we realized that we were back at Neustadt. Nobody was on the platform because we were all rushed like hordes of sheep to take the train at Hbf! By that time, nevertheless, we were just glad to be on our way to Berlin and didn’t have any energy left to complain. After finally found our seats and settled down, I thanked that German guy, whose name was Stefan, for so graciously helping this non-German speaking tourist out of trouble - without his hospitality, I might still be waiting in Dresden wondering where the train was to Berlin. We chatted all the way on our ride; Unsurprisingly, Stefan was a backpacker and adventurer as well - who else would be so open and ready to help other travellers except one of his own?! He did have some crazy stories to tell, including driving a half-broken car, bought from his relative in Quebec, all the way across Canada to the West Coast, in winter! He told me how he and his buddy managed to go through the frozen Rockies with ice tubes hanging inside his car window, how they were gambling on their safety and health to sleep in the car under minus 20-30 degrees, how they climbed up a mountain (because they didn’t have enough money for the lift tickets) by a ski resort (probably Mt. Washington) to get some snowboarding fun, and how they met the beautiful west coaster who recruited them working for his fishing business on a boat - a true Canadian small town story. His stories went on, down the coast to San Francisco, across the world to Down Under (where he told me how travellers could buy and sell cars like a flee market transaction right outside the airport), and up in the Alps close to his home. Stefan was truly a living adventurer and we became friends instantly. Interesting enough, while we were on our sandals and hikers with wet dirty t-shirt under our backpacks, in the same cabin seated an English business gentleman who dressed in full suites and nice shirts with shiningly polished leather shoes. He had hotel booked and taxi ready for him in Berlin while I was going to find out a bus to my CouchSurfing host’s home. Stefan and I tried to engage him into our conversation of crazy travel adventures, but he was either confused or could not get our humor. With so many stories to share, the 3 hours train ride went fast enough not to be noticed. Since our train was delayed, Stefan had to run to his connection to Hamburg. We exchanged emails and he asked me to contact him whenever I was back in Dresden. I sent him an email later, thanked him again for saving my day, and asked him to give me a shot whenever he’d be back in Canada again. I was so happy to meet this amazing person.

Now, I was in Berlin! The day of hiking was so great, and accidentally, I met someone who made my day even better, how could it go to another level? It’s Berlin! I had heard so much about this city, nobody had told me a word of bad thing about it. Then, I was standing outside the state-of-art Berlin Hauptbahnhof. I caught a bus to Nordbahnhof, followed the instruction I was given and easily found my CS host Katja and Thomas’ place. The problem was, they didn’t give me their last name so I didn’t know which buzzer to call and let them know I was there. A friendly guy came out of the building let me in but was not sure which floor Katja was on. To make it worse, my phone died just when I turned it on and was ready to sacrifice a few dollars to Rogers to make a roaming international call. In the end, I decided to try my luck and randomly rang a bell. The odds were not on my side, the woman who opened the door with a baby in her arms (Who’s this sweaty Asian with a big backpack standing in front my door?) was not the one I was looking for. I felt so bad to randomly knock on a stranger’s door, yet continued to push my boundary. Luckily they spoke some English, so I asked if I could call Katja, a person who was supposed to live in this building. Nicely, she helped me dial the number. When Katja picked up, she was two stories up. I apologized for troubling the family and thanked them for the random help. Katja and Thomas welcomed me with open arms in their spacious one-bedroom spotlessly clean apartment, and served me a pizza after I took a shower. They were a bit worried why I hadn’t arrived till so late, so I told them the whole story with DB from Dresden to Berlin. It was getting late, so they set me up with the futon and we left our conversation to the next day.