Prince Albert, Saskatchewan... in a can.

One of my favourite descriptions of the Canadian prairies is that 'it's so flat and boring in the prairies you can watch your dog run away for two days'. From the airplane I could see that the flat part was right but I was hoping that I could find something more exciting than dog watching to look at during my four day visit to Prince Albert, about 400 kms north of Saskatoon.

The small Pronto Airlines plane bumped down at 6pm, about six hours after I left Toronto at 2pm. Time changes confuse the hell out me and when my blackberry didn't reset itself properly in either Winnipeg or Saskatoon I was thrown off for the next three days, constantly asking people what the real time was. Being in communication with people across the country often adds to my confusion and I've missed more than one flight because I misread/misunderstood what time it was.

For once I had assembled my whole team in town the day before the work project began, and with one member of the team leaving after this job I had planned on sending her off with a night out to remember. We checked in at the hotel and then met at Rogues Tavern across the parking lot for a couple of pints of Great Northern beer. Rogues is a local bar, with a hard working blue collar clientele. In other words, a shit hole.. but the sun beamed down on the patio and the company was excellent and we talked and laughed for a couple of hours. Nicely lubricated by the sun and the beer we later headed to dinner at 'Amy's On 2nd', a restaurant that was highly recommended by the locals.

I've come to appreciate the wonderful restaurants that exist in small outposts across this country and northern towns, whether Ontario, the Prairies or on either of our coasts, constantly amaze me by outclassing the restaurants found in the larger cities of the south. The pickerel special at 'Amy's' had me salivating by the end of the waiter's description but sadly, when it arrived almost an hour later, did not live up to the reputation that preceded it's late arrival. We washed down our meals with several bottles of Chilean wine and a decadent cheesecake and toasted the boss back in Toronto for approving the ridiculous expenses that might accumulate during the week. About 11pm local time our we (I) paid the bill at Amy's and walked around the corner to the Northern Lights Casino. I quickly lost the $20 I had in my pocket and sheepishly went in search of an ATM. The four of us then settled in at a blackjack table and proceeded to try, in our fairly inebriated state, to not act like a bunch of drunken city folk on a business trip in Northern Saskatchewan.

It wasn't long before we attracted the attention of the 'pit-bosses' (Pit-boss is a new word to me.. one I'm pretty sure I'll never use again.) We were warned about noise, cursing, late betting, jumping (in celebration ), hitting the table (in frustration) and god knows what else. We were not warned about over betting. Against all odds, literally and figuratively, my stack of chips continued to grow as everyone else's dwindled and after a bunch of hands I cashed in and realized I was up $100. We wrapped up the night later at the hotel drinking Crown and cokes out of tiny plastic hotel room cups, laughing and sending drunken e-mails and pictures to our colleagues across the country.

As always work duties kept me busy the next couple of days but the morning of the third day brought a few hours break in my work schedule and I grabbed the opportunity to head out to explore the wild streets of Prince Albert. Excited, as always, to see what the hidden jem was to be found in this small northern prairie town. I followed green lights around town for a half hour, seeing the same box stores, fast food chains and gas stations that I see everywhere until I saw a road sign pointing to River Street. Most places seem to have a River St or Front St or Lakeshore Dr and I inevitably gravitate to them. Water usually means public spaces and picture taking opportunities and this particular River St did not disappoint.

The Saskatchewan River, I learned on Wikipedia, is a pretty frickin big river. It runs from the Alberta Rockies all the way to Lake Winnipeg. It was cool to stand beside a river that I have looked down on a dozen times from airplane windows as it snakes it way 500 kms across the prairies.

The river allowed water travel across the country 'back in the day' and Prince Albert played a big part in the history of early exploration, the Hudson's Bay Co, Louis Riel's uprising in 1885, Canadian Conservatism, and countless other interesting events all depicted on various plaques and monuments along the river. I walked along the river for awhile and then headed into town to find myself in the older, and somewhat seedier district. It was so depressing to see the same obvious issues here as in so many other northern towns. Poverty, second rate liquor stores, shitty rooming houses, and pawn shops are the backdrop to men stumbling around in the morning or lying on sidewalks.

 (So often men of our First Nations,  still struggling with the same issues of the last hundred years. I've seen it in Winnipeg, Toronto, Thunder Bay, The Soo, Sudbury, Vancouver.. homelessness, unemployment, under-education.... alcoholism, drug abuse, poverty.  I feel shame when I encounter this face to face over and over again and wish the whole country felt the same.)

I wandered around the streets of Old Prince Albert, checking out the buildings down the sidestreets and finding little hints of what it would've been like in those historic times.Old painted advertisements on the sides of buildings selling chewing tobacco and O-Pee-Chee Chewing gum catch my eye and after I snap pics I see demolition signs on the front of the buildings.. another piece of history gone.

I headed back to my rental car, walking through the town square and checking out the original Town Hall (circa 1892) Opera House, Jail and Museum (closed as per usual) then drove 'uptown' to check out the house of our 13th PM, John G Diefenbaker.

(Way back in grade 6 history we had to pick a Canadian historical figure to do a project on. I don't know why I picked good ol' John G but I did and as a result know way more than anyone else I know about this mid-century PM.) 

 I felt like an Elvis fan approaching Graceland as I followed the road markers through the tree-lined, tony streets to the small-ish, modest house. I rolled down the window and snapped a picture with my BlackBerry® (don't even ask about my brand new already dropped in lake now abandoned on airplane camera) and headed back to the hotel to get ready for work.

One last dinner that night with the team at an amazing steakhouse called Sopranos where I ate the best lobster ravioli ever made wrapped up the trip for most of the group and we parted with full bellies and a slight wobble in our steps as the result of more than a couple of bottles of wine.

 (I highly recommend this Sopranos to anyone ever having the misfortune to find themselves in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan!!)

With most of the team having flown or driven out early the next morning G. and I planned on killing the last few hours in town wandering around the Historical Museum and the Art Gallery, both of which she had called to make sure they were open. The museum was surprisingly interesting and well stocked with artifacts of both local and national significance. It was well worth the two dollar admission and 25 cent per hour parking meter. We finished up at the museum and started walking to the Art Gallery when G realized that our plane was leaving two hours earlier than we thought (again that time difference threw me off!) The Art Gallery was out and we ran to the car then raced to the airport calling the rental company on the way to tell them they would have to pick up their car there. With no time to eat before 6 hour of flights ahead of me I grabbed vending machine snacks and stuff as much crap into my face as I could while the attendant tried to push me through security.

NorthWestern Airlines 'flew' us back to Saskatoon then 'chaffeured' us down the street to the 'real' terminal in a short bus that was quite obviously a castoff from the Korean War. I wouldn't have been surprised if the driver had asked us to hop out and give the bus a push to get it started. We arrived at Air Canada terminal a short ride later and ran for our connecting flight, hoping that someone remembered to take our luggage and route it on to Toronto. With luck we had a delay in Saskatoon and had the time to sit down for lunch, of course my meal came stuffed with chicken which I can't eat and I sent it back and got on the next flight still hungry. Turbulence prevented any food service on the 2.5 hour flight to Winnipeg and I got through the flight digging stale peanuts out of my backpack and pretending that it wasn't my stomach making all that noise.

A quick turnaround in the 'Peg and on to Toronto, the final leg of the journey. Food was served on the Air Canada flight but by the time they reached my seat they had sold out of veggie sandwiches and pizza so I once again tried to fill up on junk. Pringles, chocolate and beer served as lunch and dinner and my stomach churned and gurgled in protest.

Touching down in Toronto at about 10pm, six hours after leaving Prince Albert at 2pm, I waited an hour for my luggage and headed home. A ridiculous traffic slowdown on the highway extended the trip an extra hour and I was glad to finally hit my exit and be almost home at last. With my mind already focused on what I may have to eat in the fridge at home to make the by now epic rumbling in my stomach stop I was surprised less than a kilometer from home when the police car raced up behind me and pulled me over for an 'amber light infraction.' With my license and insurance nowhere to be found (bottom of suitcase) the cop was happy to write me three tickets totalling almost $300 .

Welcome home.

A last minute adventure in Killarney.

A couple of hours before I left for Sudbury for a few days on business, I decided to pack my camping gear and try to book a couple of days off at the end of the week to get back to the outdoors. A few quick hikes in the last month had proven that my still recovering ankle would hold up to a bit of exercise if I was careful and they had definitely whetted my appetite for a bit of solitude in nature.

Driving up the 400 through French River I spotted an outdoors outfitter renting canoes and kayaks and had a idea that maybe I could do some paddling instead of hiking. I hadn't paddled anything for many years but a lack of knowledge and experience doesn't often stop me, much to the chagrin of my parents and I spent some downtime while I was in town, making phone calls trying to get organized. I got the run around at the French River outfitters and the camping seemed a little sketchy so I easily switched gears and decided to head to Killarney Provincial Park for the three days off that I had finagled from work.

I was up early Wednesday morning and spent a few hours buzzing around the city picking up supplies (sleeping bag cold weather liner, water shoes, water bottle, food) keeping my eyes on the sky as I went. A massive spring storm had come through the night before and dark clouds and high winds this morning had me second guessing my plans already. If I could have put off leaving for one more day I would've but an extreme lack of hotel rooms in Sudbury was forcing me out and I needed to be back home by the morning of the fourth day for a much anticipated lunch with a childhood friend.

So.. down the highway I roared, the clouds in strong pursuit and indeed getting darker. I paused at the turnoff for the park (and looked for the missing "Where spirits come to play" sign) and one more time debated heading home but then continued on.

Checking in first at the park office for weather and site availability, I then headed to the local outfitters to see about renting a kayak. My plan was to spend the night at the campsite at George Lake and then have a kayak delivered the next morning to Bell Lake, an access point at the Killarney Lakelands and Headwaters about a forty minute drive northeast. I could paddle to a site several kilometers up the lake and camp there for the night. I could then either explore the lake by water the third day before heading home or stop and take the opportunity be one of the first to hike the new 3.5 km Lake of the Woods trail.

Campsite at Lake George

Back at the park I drove around until I found a secluded spot close to the lake. It wasn't quite back-country but as the wind continued to blow I was kinda glad not to be to isolated. I set up camp on the hard packed gravelly site, the only flat ground being the parking space which was where I set my tent. Creatively, and with the use of my car and a picnic table I was able to position a tarp and my rain poncho to create a wind barrier. The wind did nothing to keep the bugs away, mosquitoes and black flies were a continual nuisance, and as I collected firewood in the soaked forest they feasted on the back of my neck and my hands and flew into my eyes and ears as well.

I huddled through the late afternoon and into the night while fighting to burn a campfire that refused to be a fire. Any wood I could find was soaked from last nights storm and while producing enormous amounts of smoke, it produced very little warmth. At one point I stretched out in the back seat of my car to find a place to read and drink my beer away from the dampness, the wind and the bugs. (The one upside of car camping is the ability to drink cold beer, a luxury always missed when on hiking trips.)

Morning came early after a cold night in the tent and I got up, back sore from sleeping on a gravelly ground. With hat and gloves on I made coffee and started packing up the tent and organizing myself for the day.  By nine o'clock I found the turnoff to Bell Lake and headed down the 20km dirt and gravel road as it wound through the marshes, rocks and lakes of the Canadian Shield. It was my first time into the North-Eastern park of the the park and I slowed to a crawl as I drove deep into the back country. Animals moved across the road and I slowed for or maneuvered around chipmunks, a turtle and a bird that refused to fly away until I honked the car horn at it. My rented kayak was due to be dropped off at 10:30 giving me just enough turn to unload and repack my gear (I was prepared for hiking where everything crammed into or strapped onto a backpack whereas kayaking everything needs to be broken down into small drysaks to fit into the storage compartments in the hull of the boat.) I got everything out of the car and wandered down the trail to the lake. It had warmed up enough that I was down to shorts and a long sleeve but the I shivered in the breeze as it came across the lake.

Not long after I arrived the kayak did as well, and a few minutes later after thanking and waving goodbye to the guys from the outfitters I found myself alone at the lakehead, gear stowed, ready to go.

 (It's at this point that I should remind the reader of one thing.. I've never paddled a kayak before. Never even sat in one..

         ... I've been in canoes before, but probably not for at least a decade.)

I settled myself into the kayak and, with only a moments hesitation, pushed off and slid into the water. I took some tentative stabs at the water with the paddle and was surprised by how much the kayak rocked- and how close the water I was sitting.

I moved slowly, fighting the wind to stay along the shoreline, experimenting with the paddle until I got the hang of it and pointed myself towards a point some 3 kilometers away at the northern edge of the lake. The wind continued to blow across the lake pushing me further from the shore and as I adjusted the position of my legs to get some leverage into the stroke my feet touched the rudder pedals- the rudder!! I had completely forgotten the kayak had a rudder and had therefore, obviously, forgotten to unlash it. I turned and peered behind me down the length of the boat, almost tipping myself into the lake doing so. Not a good start, I thought to myself as I sat drifting 30 meters from where I started. With the waves getting choppier I paddled against the current to get back to the shoreline where I could unlash the rudder and adjust the foot controls. Paddling on one side, canoe style, to fight the current, the kayak tilted dangerously close to the waterline with every stoke.

 (Those of you who have read my past mis-adventures will assume I capsize and drown about this point of the story..

             ... that doesn't happen)

I managed to get to the shore and avoid a spill and get the rudder set, thankful there was no-one around to notice my stupid mistake, and get back into the water. The rudder made a huge difference and I quickly I found myself moving quickly through the water. I passed a private lodge, one of only a handful of privately held properties within the park and found myself alone at last. I explored the lake for a couple of hours, taking time to take in the stunning views from an entirely new perspective. As a hiker I've often gazed across a lake and wondered what was on the other side, or wanted to head off-trail to explore the next ridge or valley but have been restricted by the trails path. Being on the water was freeing- once I got the hang of it. I ducked into little bays and explored rock outcroppings and sat taking pictures, watching the birds swoop and dive around the lake  and generally absorbing all the peaceful vibes of the lake setting. 

I slid up to the shore about three in the afternoon and got out of the kayak, specifically choosing a site on the eastern side of the lake, hopefully facing the setting sun, and started unpacking my gear. I filtered water and made a lunch of soup and naan bread and sat by the lake. I ate and then puttered around camp, setting up my tent and hammock as the sun got warmer and the wind started to calm down enough for me to lay out on a rock and plow through the last thirty or so pages of my book (Neil Cassady's 'The First Third'). As I read animals scurried around the campsite, taking no notice of my prescence as they darted around doing the important things that animals do as I relaxed by the water.

About six o'clock with the lake calm and smooth for the first time I thought I would take the kayak out again in the water. Bereft of wind and the extra weight of all my camping gear, I wanted to see how the boat handled and maybe explore the northern edge of the shoreline before the sun started to set. I sat in the boat but just before pushing off I realized my new camera was in my pocket. I absently leaned towards the  shoreline to place my camera on the smooth rock and before I could even react the boat tilted to the side and dumped me into the cold lake. (Inevitable!!!)

I got the kayak turned right side up and climbed out of the water, then pulled the boat onto the shore and stood dripping wet, but thankfully alone. My camera made a sad whirring noise when I turned it on and water poured from behind the lens.

 Crap

Deciding I had enough self-guided kayak lessons I decided to stick to dry land for the rest of the day and do what I do well. Relax. I lay out in my hammock at the side of the lake and soaked up the sun with a book and a beer (Yes. I violated the can and bottle ban in the park.  I packed them all out and have no remorse!) The rest of the day passed slowly as I hung around camp being- well.. just being alone. I ended the night with a great campfire, and incredible starlit night and fell asleep to the sounds of loons on the lake.

I wanted to get an early start to the trip home so I wasn't disappointed when the heat of the sun woke me the next morning and I started pulling the tent down even before the coffee was ready. Before long I was settling myself in the kayak and pushing off for the return trip down the lake (rudder in place). The wind was calm and the lake smooth which made for a great ride back to the south end of the long lake and I think I made the trip in about an hour.

As I carried the kayak up the short trail at the lakehead I was greeted by a rather large, red-faced and obviously upset man who was yelling at me with a thick German (?) accent. I struggled to comprehend exactly what I may have done or might not have done to upset him but all he kept doing was waving a piece of paper at me and jabbing to his watch. I was puzzled but eventually put the kayak down and got him to let me look at the paper he kept waving at me. The paper showed, and the big yellow school bus in the parking lot substantiatied that his was due to pick a group of kids at 11:30 that were at the lodge and I guess he had been waiting awhile. He thought that I had something to do the group that he was waiting for and seemed disappointed  when he realized I wasn't to blame.

I made soup at the lake for early lunch and filtered water at the lake for coffee for the 150 km stretch before the first Tim Hortons and hit the road. Amazingly not 10 meters down the road a large black bear scrambled across the dirt road in front of my car, my closest ever encounter with a black bear in the wild and I was glad to have a car between us. Two cubs came out of the bush another 100 meters up the road, none of them paying me any attention. Not much further a deer darted into the bushes behind me, appearing in the mirror for just a second. Wishing my camera wasn't completely waterlogged I drove, very slowly, the 20 kms back to the main road and emerged from the park with a new set of experiences that I will build on over the coming months and I definately envision a longer hiking/kayaking trip in the future.

I hit the highway a half hour later and turned on my iPod. A loud punk rawk guitar punching loudly over blasting drums fills the car at the same time the Blackberry catches a signal and emails and messages from work come streaming in. It doesn't take long for me to transition from the zen like peace I feel spending time alone in the woods to the chaotic, hectic days centered around the realities of work and traffic and noise and instant communication. I get a kick out of both facets of life and was both happy with my last minute adventure in the woods and looking forward to getting back to the city.

I looked at the time a short time later and saw it was only just after 10. The mad German schoolbus driver was an hour and a half early. I didn't go back to tell him.

Fort McMurray

I had been dreading the four day trip to Fort McMurray in Northern Alberta ever since it appeared in my calendar. The small city is most famous for the massive oil sand developments but also has a reputation for bar fights, gun incidents, and highly carcinogenic air-pollution.

None of those things would be as worrisome as the fires.

A thousand meters above ground I caught the first whiff of the campfire smell that would cling to me all week, and as the plane broke through the cloud cover we could spot the plumes of smoke rising from two forest fires burning in Northern Alberta. Walking out of the airport 'terminal' in Fort McMurray the air hung heavy with smoke and tiny flakes of ash and the sun shone a dull orange in the afternoon sky. The fact that a forest fire at Slave Lake, only 400 kilometers away, had devastated the town several days before certainly had me concerned and when I turned on the radio in my rental (the only car in town that wasn't a pickup) I learnt there was a fire much closer that was classified as 'out of control.'

I made my way to my hotel, an older Super 8 that will hereafter be referred to as the Super 3 1/2, and was further put on edge by the note taped the the door warning of a bear sighting in the parking lot.

Seriously.. a bear!?! Oh my.

Work responsibilities kept me busy during the first couple of days, but as I commuted through the city I was staggered by the natural beauty of the area. I have now spent time north in Ontario, Manitoba and Alberta and I am always blown away by the beauty of Canada''s north. Forests and lakes and mountains provide such an incredible backdrop to some dreary days on the road and although I'm always glad to head home I consider myself extremely lucky to see the Canadian landscapes that I do.

After work the third night in town I had arranged, through a mutual acquaintance, to meet H for drinks. H is an engineer at one of the companies developing the oil sands as well as an avid hiker who lives part time in the city and I had a great time picking her brain about things to do while I was in town. I woke early, and with my first bit of free time coinciding with a beautifully sunny (and relatively smoke and ash free) morning I had a several things I wanted to do.

I contemplated visiting a park not far outside the city thata colleague had told me about. The area sits on a tract of processed oil sand land that has been reclaimed and is now home to a transplanted herd of buffalo. This seemed such a massive counterbalance to the negative feelings I have about the destruction of the land by oil companies and I would've loved to see it but it would've taken too much time so I had settled on a visit to a local artists shop that H had recommended and several hours of exploring the 200 kms of trails that are found in the vast parks within the town. I ate a pretty crummy breakfast at the hotel and headed into the city center on a 'blind tour' in the car.


Fort McMurray is different than any other northern town I've visited. Because so many northern towns have a forestry based economy they mostly in decline and I see so many boarded up buildings and 'for sale' signs that I wonder how much longer the towns will exist. Here though I found myself in a northern city, with an oil based economy and it was booming. Construction was everywhere, with roads and housing in every stage of completion everywhere I looked. The extreme high cost of living was evidenced by one block of 'stacked housing', essentially 2-3 bedroom apartment complexes, were under construction and advertising for almost 1/2 million dollars. Higher end chain restaurants have all claimed their stake and new retail areas are in development.


On the way to the artists studio I passed a sign indicating a Heritage Park not far away and I decided to stop in quickly to see what was to be seen. Unfortunately the park was all fenced in and didnt open for another hour which was too bad because it looked like they had some neat artifacts of the early days in the existance of the town. I scrambled around the outskirts of the park, sneaking peaks and snapping pics through the chain link fence until a school bus pulled in out front and I got dirty looks from a woman I assumed was the teacher.


The gallery had just opened when I arrived I wandered around looking at the paintings by local talent depicting the area in and around Ft McMurray as well as some stunning recreations of the Aroura Borealis, a spectacle that I have long wished to see in all it's glory. The shop belongs Kelvin, alocal resident who has been painting all his life and he took the time to show me some of his work and talk about it even though it became obvious very quickly that I couldn't afford the price tag on even the smallest work. We had a bit of a chat and when I left telling him I was on my way for a hike he suggested a couple of locations that would be worth the climb.


With hundreds of km's of trails to choose from I picked one from a map I had picked up at the visitor center that came with several warnings sheets about bears and forest fires. The eight kilometer trail followed a broad grass and dirt access road for about 1500 meters before ducking into a forest of poplars (?) and white birch trees. Birds called from the branches loudly as I walked and the sounds of traffic faded quickly. I followed the trail for about an hour through the forest until I came out on a lookout with a great view of the Athabasca River. After a short rest I continued along the trail as it started to loop back along the river. There was evidence of bears and deer along the way but I saw neither as I walked along whistling in lieu of a bell. I had chosen this particular trail because it ended at a spot i thought might be interesting and I wasnt disappointed.

/div>


Fort Mac has the largest outdoor excercise area in the world. Workout machines are placed every hundred meters or so along the trail and are free and available for anyone to use. The stations all use the persons on body weight and are safe for children as well as being accessible to the physically disabled. It was a really cool setup and made me think that this was a gym that I would actually use (during the summer)




Walking through forests gives me such a profound sense of peace and it had been many months since I had done so. Physically tired but mentally rejuvenated I got back to my car about an hour later and headed back to the hotel to get ready for work.


I woke up early but fresh the next day and got ready for the flight home. I took my time having breakfast (at least what the Super 3 1/2 hotel 'calls' breakfast) and still had time to take a scenic route back to the airport. I had anticipated getting some great shots of the Athabasca River but the smoke was thicker than it had been for days at there was nothing to take pictures of. Still taking my time I got to the airport and waited patiently for the absentee rental agent to arrive. Grabbing a coffee I headed to the check in counter and announced myself for the 10am flight to Toronto I was told there was no flight at that time.





Hmm.




I asked all the usual stupid questions that I sometimes have to ask. What day is it? Am I in the right town? The right airport? I pulled up my electronic itenerary and realized I had looked at the wrong flight and my intended flight had left 15 minutes ago. Right about the time I was waiting so patiently at the rental counter. Booked on a 2pm flight I now had 4 hours to kill in a very small airport. With my phone and laptop both low on juice I went and searched for an outlet.





Nine hours later I stepped off the plane in Toronto and breathed my first breath of clean air in days (how strange to think of Toronto air as being clean but at least it didn't have ash falling from the sky) and turned my phone back on. A stream of emails, texts and bbm messages flooded my phone and as I skimmed through them it became apparent that the senior staff in Fort McMurray had all resigned after my team had left.




Four days wasted in the Ft Mac and it sounds like someone may have to go back.. thankfully my schedule has already been filled up with trips to poular destinations like Prince Albert in northern BC, Orangeville and Timmins Ontario.

Exploring the Soo.. to the best of my ability.

I had flown into Sault Ste Marie three days ago and had essentially been confined to working in a dingy second rate mall during the day and drinking copious amounts of beer at the Water Tower Inn at night and with less than 24 hours until I flew again out I was itching to spend the little down time I had exploring a bit. I had visited the Soo a couple of times before but this time I was determined to find what, if any, culture existed there beyond the worn out chain restaurants and seen-better-day malls I had been exposed to so far.

I know there are amazing day trip possibilitites in the area, Northern Ont is always beautiful, and the land around the Sault no different and filled all sorts of outdoor adventure but I had work responsibilities later in the day and was confined to town. I decided to do what I never do- research. I spent a few minutes online and browsed through the phamphlets in the room and noticed the location of a few sites with the potential for interest. There is a 6.7 km Downtown Heritage Walk that I could follow and hit a lot of the 'hotspots' and would take me close to a local diner/restaurant/hole in the wall that an uncle had recommended for lunch.

I hopped in a borrowed car and cruised south through town on Great Northern Rd heading, as is so often the case while exploring, towards the water. St. Mary's River serves as the international boundary and I walked for about a kilometer along the boardwalk reading plaques and historical signs. I've found it's a good idea to stop and read plaques when in smaller towns and cities. If someone has taken the time to erect a historical monument there, it usually means something fairly important or interesting actually happened, not like in Toronto where we slap plaques and designations on every other building (but never the right ones it seems). I learnt a lot about the history of the area and the importance of the city and the river and the locks that were constructed to allow passage to Lake Superior.

Tributes and memorials to heros like Roberta Bondar, who made it all the way to space, explorers like Etienne Brule who made it all the way from France and local 'musher' Billy Orazietti, who did not make it all the way across the lake all added to the experience of the 'heritage' walk.

The boardwalk leads right into Clergue Park and my next destination, The Sault St Marie Art Gallery of Algoma. I wandered through the park stopping to check out the various sculptures that adorn the grounds, mostly welded steel sculpture that I'm sure takes skill and strength to create but doesn't generally do much for me in terms of 'artistic' accomplishment. Hoping that the art on the inside is better than that on the outside I head towards the gallery only to find it closed and undergoing renovations. Renovations I assume only beacause of the number of hardhatted overall wearing type dudes clustered around the front- I'm only assuming they were there for a different reason than I was.

The front doors of the gallery were locked with no posted hours which was a disappointment andeing quite finished with the outdoor 'art' I grabbed a coffee and headed back along the lake, making one last stop at the 'quarter for a minute' binoculars to peer across at the American side of the river. The US city of Sault Ste Marie, Michigan has had a strong military presence since the war of 1812 (when First Nation warriors kept taking British troops across the river to burn anything they could find that belonged to the Yankee's) and in my 60 second spyglass tour I could take in several historical forts and the American Soo river lock system that allows passage between Lake Michigan and the other great lakes.

I walked away feeling I had got my 25 cents worth.

Bypassing the 2km hike to the far end of the boardwalk I head back to the car and drive to the next stop of on the tour. The SSM Museum is supposed have a huge collection of Voyageur/coir-de-bois artifacts that I was looking forward to seeing but again I found the doors closed- strike two. The Bush Plane Museum was next and although I had now plan on going in I decided to walk over and see if it looked interesting. Guess what? Closed. Although it was wicked that they were advertising that they were open for brunch on Mothers Day.

Hey Mom. Its your special day! Lets go look at bushplanes!

Getting disillusioned by the city's attempts to lock me out I made one final attempt to expose myself to the culture and history of the Sault. The Ertimger-Clergue Historical Site is the last stop on the 'Downtown Heritage Walk'. A small grassy area close to the Bushplane Museum contains 2 historical buildings. Although the gate was closed (what the hell??) I climbed over a small fence and wandered around the property. The Ertaminger House and the Block House are pre- War of 1812 constructions, surviving that war to become two of the oldest stone structures north of of Toronto. The site also has an area dedicated to native plants and First Nation farming that showed how the early settlers first learnt to use the land and what crops to plant. It was pretty neat but only took about 4.5 minutes to see.

Now finished my tour of downtown Sault Ste Marie I had planned to the Fort Creek conservation area. For once I had brought appropriate shoes and regardless of the fact I was still nursing a sprained ankle and slightly broken foot I had been dying to get some sort of a hike in. Wandering around the city though had already left my foot throbbing and swollen so I decided to skip the hike and headed to get some lunch instead thinking although it was cool and grey it would be nicer sitting in the park to eat rather than going back to the hotel. The restaurant that I was looking for had, in fact, gone out of business a few months back and much to my chagrin I ended up settling for some fairly suspect sushi.

Slighty bummed out by not getting into either the Art Gallery or the Musuem I headed back to the hotel. Thinking I knew where I was going I didn't bother turning on the gps and ended up taking the wrong road back. I decided to keep going for a bit, not in any rush and before long a passed a little strip mall with a roadside sign advertising used vinyl and books. Being a sucker for both I did a quick u-turn and headed in. 'The Rad Zone' was a pretty cool shop, a huge selection of used vinyl that I flipped through withought finding either of the vinyl gems that I'm currently on the hunt for (BB King 'Live in Cook County Jail' and the self titled first Stone Roses LP). They had a huge selection of top 4o stuff from the 70's and 80's, as well as some early punk rawk/thrash stuff that was in pretty crappy condition so I didn't bite on anything.

A used book store called 'Hole in the Wall' was through an open doorway in the back of the record store and I headed back to browse. The bookstore was a maze of shelves and boxes and stacks of books. History, philosophy and literature sections far outspaced those shelves reserved for pulp fiction and I found an impressive 'collectable' section that had some very old and early edition classics. The disorder made it hard to browse but I was quickly taken by the quality of the selection that I hadn't expected in a used bookstore thorugh a door in the the back of a used record store in a faded strip mall on a backroad in Sault Ste Marie.

I stopped when the guy behind the counter said hello and I remarked on how glad I was that I stopped. He asked if I had found anything and I told his I was disappointed that I hadn't but that I thought it was a really great shop. We talked for a few minutes as he unpacked boxes of used books. Just as I'm about to leave he puts a stack of soft covers on the counter and on the top is the jewel...

A copy of Neal Cassidy's 'The First Third' stares up at me. I've been searching for this book all over Toronto for months and grab it off the counter quickly. Neal Cassidy could safely be called the first member of the beat generation. He's the hero of Kerouac's classic beat novel 'On the Road' (my favourite book) and became the busdriver for early Hippie culture. 'The First Third' is his autobiography essentially and I've been dying to read it. I agree $6 is a fair price and I'm out the door knowing he could've charged five times that much and still be underpricing the book.

The rest of my team were all scattering across the country so the rest of my day would be consumed with work. I ended the trip with a evening in a loud blues bar at the hotel where the band were forced to compete with the Stanley Cup playoffs on the big screen for the attention of the audience. I had a great time sharing road stories at the bar with a guy from Ottawa who travels for an naturla gas company. I mentioned I was off to Fort McMurray in a few weeks and his first comment was that I should get in and out of Fort Mac as quickly as I can. He said it's a hard working, very hard drinking town with Roadhouse style barfights and Fightclub type attitudes.

My northern Ontario trips are coming to end and I'll soon be being getting my first look at the North Alberta. I'm already scared.

The Timmins Airport, Moonbeam and Kapuskasing

I slept the whole way to Timmins, closing my eyes before the plane took off and not opening them until the plane bumped down at about 10am. The perfect flight. Looking out the window I saw nothing but snow and pine trees covered with snow. With a yawn and a sigh, I zipped up my coat and headed into the wind and snow and across the tarmac and into the terminal. At the Bearskin Airlines counter (no.. I didn't make that up) the attendant informed me the flight was delayed, probably about an hour, and she would come and let me know when she had more details. I sat down in the coffee shop and ordered some breakfast at Boogy's Diner, regrettably the only food option available.

90 minutes later the agent strolled over to find me in the restaurant and explained the situation. Although the weather was clear in Timmins, all the regional airline's planes had been grounded or rerouted away from Sudbury, where my plane was needed to land before it could pick me up. The agent suggested I rent a car and make the 250 km drive to Kapuskasing, my final destination. With winter storm warnings all around the area I was almost relived when there were no cars available so I settled into the small, 50 year lounge, tried to get comfortable and waited and see what would happen..

What happened was I slowly went crazy over the next nine hours as I gracefully and with a smile was re-scheduled four time and had each flight cancelled, ate three coffee meals at Boogy's, wore out the batteries on all my electrical devices, listened to the life stories of three Bearskin attendants and learned the history of the local Placer Dome mine as depicted by muralist Ed Spehar on the wall of the airport lounge.

All this while weather deteriorated outside.

When the last possible flight out of Sudbury was cancelled at about 7:00pm the Bearskin attendant and I looked at each other and we both realized I was screwed. 'How about you call me a cab?' I suggested and was suprised when she said that was a possibility. Several phone calls later I was belingerantly demanding 'alternative or emergency ground transportation' under Section 12 of the airline charter, which the attendant had kindly supplied and highlited for me.

A half hour later, I'm throwing my bags in the trunk of a taxi, the driver not offering to help, perhaps in retribution for being forced to drive 250 kms north to Kapuskasing and back again at 8 in the evening. As we pulled out onto the deserted and snow covered highway the driver turned on the radio to a french talk program, this was my first hint that I was on my way to an almost entirely French speaking town. Over the next two and a half hours I heard the word 'Dieu' combined with waht I can only imagine was every conceivable swear word in the French language.

Hours of unlit highway cutting through the dark pine forests of northern Ontario followed. The cab's headlights illuminated massive snowflakes rushing towards us out the dark, creating a tunnel vision effect that I hoped wasn't affecting the driver's vision as much as mine. The road was getting more and more treacherous and I could feel the car sliding from side to side. The only other traffic we saw was massive trucks carrying heavy equipment and the occasional 18 wheeler. When they passed us the windows were instantly covered with thick heavy slush that shook the car on impact as the wipers struggled to keep even a small portion of the windows clean. The driver turned to me at one point and in broken english and hand gestures admitted he wasn't sure which side of the road he was on.

After many kilometers I could see a dim light way off in the vast darkness, blinkingly reminiscent of a lighthouse spotted from the sea. We were headed directly for it and for the next 20 minutes I watched the light grow stronger and as we got nearer I realized there were many lights and multi coloured. We got closer and closer and finally as we sped by I swear (in french by this point!) there was a spaceship sitting next to a sign that read MOONBEAM. Odd. Now I had had a long day and was tired and a bit loony from the day in the 'airport' but as I craned my head around and watched the lights recede behind us I was, indeed, sure I was looking at a spaceship. We pulled into Kapuskasing a half hour later and I contemplated asking the hotel receptionist about MOONBEAM but I didn't know the french translation forpaceship or stupid english city boy so I decided against it and went directly to my room and to bed.

I had doubted my sanity for a moment but was glad to find this proof the next day.. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moonbeam,_Ontario

Three days later, with work responsibilities taken care of and a few hours to kill before we flew out of town, my colleague T. and I went for breakfast at a quirky little bistro called 'Back to the Grind' and then got in the car for a 'blind' tour. After being in the small town for a couple of days we didn't expect to see much of interest but what we found was quite memorable. The town seemed to have something to look at on every corner (there aren't very many corners). Sculptures and public art and an insane Cristmas display keep us wandering around for almost an hour. There is a large park in town with walking paths and public areas, I'm sure its a beautiful park in the summer bounded by a lake and river on two sides but currently it was quite covered with Christmas displays of every imaginable type. Nativity scenes next to plastic snowmen, kitschy angels and multi coloured strands of lights. We wandered about for a bit giggling at the the displays and then headed for the airport.

The Bearskin plane was sitting outside the airport when we pulled in and as T. and I were two of only three passengers we took off as soon as the pilots got back from lunch. A short, bumpy 30 minute flight back to Timmins gave a great view of Kap and the surrounding area and made me realize exactly how isolated it is. I shuddered a bit walking back into Timmins Airport but was soon on a real airplane heading home.

I get to sleep in my own bed for a few weeks as I work close to home in downtown Toronto and will enjoy that immensely but as I write this thinking how glad I am to be home I from Kapuskasing I see the name Fort McMurray looming ominously on the calendar in a few short weeks.

Flashback to Betty's Bog

So I haven't had any interesting travels lately but feel the need to post something to keep in the habit of writing... The week I spent in Ottawa wasn't terribly interesting in terms of exploring. I did spend a couple of hours wandering around Parliament Hill one cold afternoon looking at sculptures, statues and monuments but having already spent so much time in that city I kept the exploring to just the one day. The week (aside from a bit of time spent working) was more about visiting with friends and colleagues in town.

I had travelled with J. several times in my previous position and when I let her know I was coming to town she agreed to keep me company. J took me for dinner to a local pub one night and a wine bar that was excellent another night. I miss the craziness of my old job sometimes and J gave me scoop on what had been going with that group. It was fun catching up and J is great company.

 After making it home for a few days I was back on the road to Cornwall.

 Where, you ask? Exactly.

 An hour west of Montreal and across the St Lawrence River from Vermont. I tried to write about the few days I spent in Cornwall but there isn't really much to say. They renovated the Pizza hut since the last time I was there but that hardly seems worthy of a blog post.

 So... I'm posting a story from last summer. It makes me chuckle when think about it now and suprisingly, I laughed at the time it happened as well.. beacause sometimes all you can is laugh.

 I had been cruising along country roads between Parry Sound and Bracebridge on a gorgeous fall afternoon with the tunes dialed was up and my arm hanging out the window. These were exactly the kind of days I had envisioned when I took the job. It didn't seem fair that I was getting a pretty good paycheck (plus mileage and expenses) to spend my days touring around the province and I took a moment to appreciate that as well as the great views, warm sun and punk rock blaring out of my car. Farmland had given way to wet forest and paved road to hard packed dirt and when my blackberry buzzed with a conference call reminder I pulled over and turned off the engine and dialed in.

It was a few minutes into the call when I noticed across the road a sign, hand painted and nailed to a tree, reading..

 "BEWARE BETTYS BOG".

 Strange, I thought.

 Almost spooky. I realized how dead and dreary the woods looked. Had it been dark it may almost have had a Blaire Witch Project feel to it. The conference call ended about 45 minutes later and I started the car and pressed the gas, the engive revved, the tires spun and rocks and mud flew past my open window- the car rocked gently. Hmm. I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to see both tires sunk 4 inches into- wait for it....

BETTY'S BOG! I looked at both sides of the troad and see now plainly see the dark, miasmic, swampy, mucky bog. I was truly in some deep shit. Goddamn I thought, but started to grin a bit. I had been distracted by the somewhat ghostly overtones of the sign and the forest and hadn't realized the actual warning the sign was intended to provide. With my phone battery almost dead after the conferance call, and my gps having trouble maintaining a signal I managed to contact a local tow truck and convince him to come and help me out. Two hours and 75 bucks later I was back on the road, feeling 100% like the city boy that I am. Just another wicked day on the raod. Tomorrow I fly to Kapaskasing. Where, you ask? Exactly.

Cornerbrook, NFLD

Cornerbrook

An hour long stopover in Halifax was just long enough to grab a bowl of chowder and a bottle of Keiths at the restaurant in the airport and then I boarded the sixteen seat turbo prop for the 90 min flight to Deer Lake in NFLD. The smaller planes fly lower than the jetliners and with a clear sky most of the way I got a great view of Bay of Fundy and the mountains of NFLD. I had been developing a cold over the day or so and as we started to descend the pressure changes in my ears was extremely painful. The woman next to me must have thought I was nuts as I alternated sticking my fingers in my ears and plugging my nose and blowing as hard as I could to try to release the pressure. I looked at her and said ‘I hab a stubbed up nose’. She didn’t respond.

We bounced down into Deer Lake and walked across the tarmac in the start of a blizzard that would dump almost a meter of snow overnight and I would fight the wind throughout the 90 minute drive from Deer Lake to Cornerbrook as the road wove though the Marble Mountains. The single lane snow covered highway with steep climbs really made me wish I had upgraded my car to something larger... like a tank.

The scenery was breathtaking as I drove through the mountains, absolutely incredible, mindblowingly beautiful... this I was told after the fact. Snow and fog obscured any view that extended beyond a few meters in front of the car and I had white knuckled the steering wheel for the whole drive, thankful that the few other cars on the road were driving as cautiously as I wanted to.

I did make it to the hotel in Cornerbrook eventually, and to the Glynmill Inn, an almost 100 year old building that had been built to service the forestry industry at the turn of the last century. Rumours (the Inn's website) told of haunting of some of the rooms as well as the bar in the lower basement. I experienced no evidence of these haunting unless you count the wailing voice from the room next door that sounded ominously like Rita McNeil.

The restaurant at the hotel was certainly reminiscent of the last century, with ornate chandeliers, velvet-covered chairs and oil paint murals of hunting parties on the walls but the food was excellent. Lobster bisque followed by maple glazed salmon steak.

(Several bottles of wine were also on the tab, which the newest member of our team is now hoping her expense report is approved.)

Day Two is typically the day for exploring and this trip was no exception. I had about four hours to kill in town before I was due at work and I decided to do what I’ve come to refer to as ‘the blind tour.’ The blind tour means I just get in the car and start driving without goggling local interests or knowing what I might find. Today’s drive took me through town down narrow winding and hilly streets. It seemed that most streets were one way but the town had decided not to use signs to indicate this and my tour almost stopped (abruptly by way of collision with snow plow) before it started. In some places the snowbanks rose seven or eight feet at the side of the road making navigating even trickier. I picked my way through a residential area of what seemed to be mostly simple pre-fab housing and saw many roofs being shovelled off from last night’s snow. I pulled off the road at a public area that had trail signs but, as per usual, didn’t have the right footwear to explore further. (My parents have been suggesting to me for years to buy boots.. why don't I do this? ) I did have a good view of the town and realized that the town of Cornerbrook is nestled in a valley dominated by mountains on three sides with The Humber River running west eventually to the Gulf of St Lawrence. Back in the car I continued to drive the streets, mostly aimlessly but generally heading towards the water. The river was dominated for several kilometres by industrial buildings, lumber yards and abandoned buildings, very reminiscent of some of the Northern Ontario towns I’ve travelled to over the last few years. Eventually the area opened up and I found a driveway that let me get close to the river, which was definitely the coldest looking water I’d ever seen. Icy, slushy grey blue waves surged against the concrete pier against a backdrop of mountains and a waterway that opened up into the bay beyond. The view was quite amazing and I could imagine how stunning it would be in the summer or fall. My exploring continued as I drove along the coast for a half hour and passed signs for places named Indian Cove, Trout River, and Bonne Bay. The area was getting snowier as the road started looping back and up into the mountains that surround the area and as much as I wanted to continue I was worried about the rental car getting stuck somewhere so I turned around and let my GPS to take me back to town.

Coming back into Cornerbrook from the east this time I drove through what must have been the older area of town, it definitely had the feel of a fishing village with weather beaten wood buildings housing tackle shops, diners, and local craft shops. I spent my last free hour wandering (with a massive Newfoundlander dog constantly padding next me and drooling as I browsed) in an antique/thrift/book store called, most appropriately, Barnacles and Drift. Knickknacks relating to whaling and fishing mixed with locally knitted ‘sea-sweaters’ and iconic yellow rainhats.

Work took up most of the remainder of my time in Cornerbrook and with winter storm warnings getting more urgent and snow continuing to fall, the likelihood of getting stuck in town was increasing. I started the drive back through the mountains to the local airport in Deer Lake, this time in the company of two colleagues also heading back to Toronto. Shut out of a standby flight we gathered in the airport diner and sat watching the number of flight delays and cancellations get more frequent by the minute. After a few hours but we were boarded with a connection in Halifax for home. Although it was probably the roughest flight I’ve ever taken we bounced down in Halifax safely and raced to catch our connection. After a surprisingly brief delay we were airborne again and headed home.

Seated across the aisle from me was a quiet, bald, round headed guy that looked just like Carl Pilkington (from ‘The Ricky Gervais Show’). I smiled to myself at the likeness and forgot about it until he spoke to the stewardess later and I heard that familiar soft British voice. I was quite sure it was him. I decided to ask him and got up my nerve.

‘Is your name Carl?’ I asked leaning across the aisle.

‘No’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sort of cleared his throat and went back to looking at the back of the seat in front of him fairly intently. I’m pretty sure he was lying, or mistaken.

Two hours later and we land in Toronto, unfortunately my luggage didn’t. My suitcase takes another three days to finish the trip. I wonder if Carl got his.

Exploring Vancouver

Vancouver

The 5 hour flight from Toronto was delayed an hour for de-icing and then we sat on the runway for another hour because of a backlog of flights waiting to leave so by the time we arrived in Vancouver and I picked up my luggage and found my rental car it had already been a long afternoon. Rolling down the windows as I pulled out of the garage and and into the warm Vancouver evening I was anything but tired, I had been looking forward to my first trip to the west coast and was anxious for my first sights of the city.I craned my head to see part of the city skyline as I passed over the Fraser River and then turned down Granville and headed downtown to my hotel.

I checked in and headed up to my home away from home for the next few days. The room had a small balcony that gave me a great view north of a sparkling line of condos and east towards the downtown core. Due to the time difference I had a few extra hours in the day and decided to hit the streets and explore at least far enough to find something to eat. From the hotel lobby I could see what turned out to be Robson Square, a public area with a skating rink. The area was under construction with many areas blocked off with caution tape but I wandered where I could and snapped some night time photos.

The next morning I met two colleagues at the hotel restaurant for breakfast where we made plans for the morning. Steve had spent time in the city and volunteered to take us on a tour down to the docks so we ate quickly and were on our way. We walked north through several blocks of high end retail shops, office towers and condos until we turned a corner and were stopped dead by our first glimpse of the mountains. The mountains! I had forgotten about the mountains. I had flown in after dark so I hadn’t seen them coming in and now they appeared before me and I stood with my eyes wide.

Holy shit that was something... majestic- I was totally gobsmacked by what I was looking at. We continued towards the water until we were looking across at an incredible vista that included the famous Lions Gate Bridge, the soaring trees of Stanley Park, those majestic Rocky Mountains and the mouth of the Fraser River. We continued along the waterfront, public spaces mixed with quaint shops and although the the soaring condos were omnipresent, as in any major waterfront city, they weren't a barrier to the waterfrount. Toronto would've been smart to visit Vancouver before we made such a mess of our waterfront. One amazing example of eco-building we saw was a massive convention/adventure center featureing a roof covered with growing grass. Steve had to head back as he was on-shift at noon while Lisa and I had until four so after walking back to the hotel we agreed the two of us would meet in a couple of hours to drive over to Stanley Park.

If I didn’t get to do anything else while I was in Vancouver I wanted to see the totem poles in Stanley Park. We pulled into the park after a short drive from the hotel and followed the road for a couple of kilometers until we could see them rising through the trees. Then we somehow got lost. Following one sign for parking took us right back to the entrance, on our second attempt and following a different sign we ended up at a utility shed. We then drove down a one way road until we got stopped by security so I decided to park where we were and we hiked about two kilometers through an amazing forest of massive trees to the site where the poles had been erected. The totems were very cool although having them all in one small roped off area made it seem a little to touristy.. seemingly removing some of the allure of the monuments. The weather was amazing, such a refreshing change from the dreariness of Ontario in February, so we continued our walk down to the water and spent some time looking at sea shells and the mountains on the horizon.

With the afternoon slipping away we hiked back to the car and started into town for our afternoon shifts. Driving crosstown we passed through what locals referred to as the ‘street of lost souls.’ Hastings St is a magnet for the homeless, the unemployed/underemployed, and the addicted. Literally hundreds of men and women clogged the sidewalks along the road, possessions piled in corners and shopping carts. It was a real counter balance to the beauty we had experienced earlier and sobered our thoughts as we headed to work.

The next day after work I wanted to take advantage of my last night in Vancouver. Most of the group I was working with had already scattered to their homes across the country so I headed out alone. I explored more of the city, this time wandering through areas containing clubs, the famous Orpheum Theatre, tattoo parlors and tourist shops. I walked for a couple hours and then stopped at a local, and very authentic Mexican restaurant for dinner. I headed back to the hotel where I ate on the balcony in a t-shirt and sampled some local beers. Relaxing later as the sun set I sighed at the thought of returning home the following day. I’ve spent time in dozens of towns and cities across the country and there have been many times that I’ve got the sense that no matter how long I was to spend in town I would never feel at home- but after just a few days I felt completely comfortable in Vancouver.

The flight out of the city and over the Rockies was absolutely astounding. The clouds and the snow and the water merging into some very surreal landscapes. I love flying because of the amazing scenery (shots of incredible cloud formations and brilliant sunsets take up many megs on my various computer drives) but I don't think I've ever seen such natural beauty as that ascent from Vancouver.

24 hours later and I'm stepping put of Pearson airport in Toronto and back into a typical night in February. Wind almost blows off my hat off and I curse, remembering my gloves packed away in my suitcase. It has snowed and the highway is down to one lane, creating a backup even after midnight. Welcome back to Toronto.

My next trip is across the country to Cornerbrook, NFLD. Here's hoping someone offers to 'screetch me in!'