The Mountains in My Life

Every time I have some moment on a seashore, or in the mountains, or sometimes in a quiet forest, I think this is why the environment has to be preserved.
Bill Bradley

One of the greatest legacies of my childhood is my life-long fascination with mountains. I love to look at them, drive through them, climb them and visit them every chance I get. It takes me ninety minutes to drive to the nearest mountain from my home in Red Deer and it seems like they beckon from the moment I see them. On very clear days, I can see the outline of the Rockies as I drive to school. As a boy, our summer vacations involved either camping or fishing. Often, we were fortunate enough camp and fish in the mountains.

Banff, Jasper, Kananaskis, Nordegg, the Crowsnest Pass, Wells Gray, Kokanee Glacier, Kootenay, Yoho, Mount Revelstoke, Mount Robson. The list of places I learned to love starts with these places and could go on and on. The more I think about it, the more I realize how lucky I was to spend my youth visiting and learning about our natural and cultural history. At first, we camped in Vanguard camper that perched on the back of dad's enormous Ford crew cab truck. The windshield of this truck bore multiple green and yellow National Parks annual pass stickers - the ones with the beaver on them. Yearly admission was something like $25 for Canadian residents and we often spent all of dad's holidays camping, fishing, and hiking.

As I grew older, we began to backpack. We would leave my mom and sister behind at the truck and spend a night or two in the backcountry. It was then that I really learned what it meant to be a part of the mountains. For brief moments as we trudged down I path, I would allow myself to see the land the way the first explorers like David Thompson and Mary Schaffer must have seen this land. Our guidebook for all of these trips was Patton and Robinson's Canadian Rockies Trails Guide. I read this book voraciously, repeatedly and constantly. I owe a great deal of my appreciation for the mountains to these trips. As an adult, my best friend would join dad and one of his friend for a extended backcountry trip. These trips were an amazing opportunity to learn, push myself and reconnect.

When I was twelve, dad and I took a canoe trip up Maligne Lake in Jasper. There are two campsites on this lake that can be accessed only from the water. We spent five nights at one of the sites, which is approximately half way up the lake and two bays away from one of the most photographed spots in the Canadian Rockies, Spirit Island (the photo at the top of my post). Boatloads of tourists walk on and photograph this island because there are hourly boat tours to this spot. It took us five hours to paddle to our campsite and another 20 minutes to paddle to Spirit Island. I can only laugh and think of how many Japanese, British and German photo albums or slide carousels we must be in. Every time the tour boat would pass us, modern day voyageurs in a green Coleman canoe, the clicks and flashes would begin. The day we paddled to Spirit Island, we beached the canoe and took some photos. Just as we were about to have our snack, the tour boat pulled up. One British lady asked us if we were hired by the Parks to pose for pictures on the island. After three days of 30 degree weather and no shower, I imagine she thought we might be street folk who needed a few pennies.

As I have grown up, my time in the mountains has extended and changed. I still camp, hike and backpack. My wife introduced me to skiing, which gives me another excuse to visit the mountains every chance I get. Ski trips have added a new dimension to the mountain experience - visiting these fantastic places in the winter! Seeing the mountains blanketed in white is truly amazing and I cannot think of a better way to spend a winter day. Being outside, smelling the pines, riding a chairlift and racing down these hills is completely invigorating. Skiing is a nearly perfect family activity. It is expensive, but how can you put a price on spending an entire day visiting, exercising, and spending time with your spouse, children and friends?

I am writing this post from a hotel on Tunnel Mountain in Banff. When we checked in to our hotel, my wife said exactly what I was thinking for the last 15 minutes of our drive. Somehow, it feels different when you are in the mountains. It's better. You are closer to nature. I come to the mountains to be outdoors. I come here to spend time with the people I care about the most. I come here to exercise and challenge myself whether I'm camping, hiking, backpacking, climbing, canoeing, rafting, fishing, skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, tubing, or sledding. The Rockies really are special. They deserve to be protected and appreciated. For years, I really wanted to live a mountain community, and a small part of me still wants to. The more I think about it, though, I'm not sure if they would hold the same sense of wonder and delight if I got to experience them every day. I would never want to take a beautiful place for granted.

I can only hope that my children grow up feeling the same way I do. It could well be one of the greatest gifts I give my children. If we all felt as passionate about our wild places as I do, we wouldn't need laws and parks to protect them.

The Game I Love

Playoff beards. Dropping the flippers. Right skate first. Warm up tunes. Post game snacks and rehydration. Chirping the other team's goalie. Superstitions. Early morning practices. Freezing in the stands or on the bench. Riding the pine. Arena burgers. Going end to end. Road trips!!!

If you have played, watched or coached hockey, I'm sure you know what I mean. How does it get better than hockey? I can really remember the last 35 years of my life. I've been involved with hockey for each of those years. I've been concussed, elated, suspended, protected, selected, responsible, irresponsible. I've been a leader, a prospect, washed up, a coach, a teacher, a parent and a diehard fan. I've spilled buckets of blood and tankers of sweat. Hockey paid for my university education, but it still cost my parents thousands of dollars. It is full of paradoxes but it is oh, so perfect in so many ways.

With the possible exception of my family and fishing, nothing gets me more excited than hockey. The speed, the violence and the skill of the game set it apart from every other sport. Skating is not natural for the vast majority of people in the world. Anyone can throw, hit, or kick a ball. Very few can execute a pivot from forwards to backwards, throw a head fake and crank a tight turn on skates. Even fewer can pull off a toe drag at top speed, freeze the d-man and snap it over the goalie's shoulder. Fewer still can stack the pads, flash leather for a glove save and stretch a butterfly while doing the splits. Hockey is special. It is Canada's little secret that only a few people around the world really understand. Hockey is to sport what The Tragically Hip is to music.

I spent the past weekend watching the western Canadian Junior B hockey championship tournament, the Keystone Cup. The host team, the Sherwood Park Knights, is a team I captained and coached. I have many great memories associated with hockey and so many of them involve the Knights. As a good friend of mine pointed out, the young men who play for the Knights have no illusions. They understand what every kid who dreams of playing in the NHL eventually understands. Very few are selected and even fewer make a living in this game. When you play Junior B, you stop playing for yourself and your parents and really start playing for the guys beside you in the dressing room. You play to be around the game and hang out with the team. If you work hard enough, you get a chance to win your league, play in provincials or, if you are really fortunate, play for an even bigger prize like the Keystone Cup.

On Saturday, I volunteered and worked security for the tournament, which meant that I spent my entire day in the Sherwood Park Arena. I watched 5 games between 6 different teams. What struck me was that, no matter where the team was from, the differences were minimal. The language, the energy, the intensity, the look, even the smell of each team was incredibly similar. The players, coaches, fans and volunteers for each team were passionate about hockey. They grew up playing the game and they all knew that this tournament was, for the majority of the players, their last chance to win something big.

My nephew played for the host team like his dad and his uncle. The Knights proved they belonged in the tournament and made it to the gold medal game. The arena was packed and the energy was unbelievable. The host team scored the first goal, but was not able to hold on to the lead. They hit posts, crossbars, and had many chances to even the score. When the buzzer sounded to end the game, the cheers of the winning team were drowned out by the sound of hearts breaking throughout the arena.

When I got to my truck after the game, tears poured out of me like I was attending a memorial service. They weren't tears of sadness, though. They were tears of fierce pride.I was proud that two Alberta teams played in the championship game. I was proud to be a former coach and player. I was proud of the host team and the organizing committee for creating a first class tournament. I was intensely proud of my nephew and his teammates because I have watched many of them play since they took their first uncertain steps on skates. The Knights left nothing in the dressing room and poured their hearts into the game.

More than anything, though, I was proud to know that I am a hockey player. A hockey parent. A hockey coach. A hockey fan. Hockey makes me shout at the television, jump in the air, wake up at 5:30 on a weekend and occupies a great deal of my waking hours regardless of the season. It's the greatest game around and it's a huge part of who I am.

Ode to Puddles

Last week, we returned to school following our Spring Break. I drew outdoor supervision for the first day back, which, as usual, was full of fun. Kids wanted to tell me all about their adventures, friends made a beeline for friends they had not played with for weeks, and parents were extraordinarily happy to send their children back...

By Tuesday, however, the wheels on our happy return began to wobble. A crisis was afoot, for beneath the incredibly popular tire swings, enormous puddles had developed. We faced an incredibly difficult decision.... Do we dare shut down the tire swings until our school's version of the Great Lakes dried up?

As the Vice Principal, I decided that a proactive approach would be best. Instead of bowing down to nature, we would beat it at its own game. I took my class to the playground before recess and explained that only their ingenuity and effort would prevent a minor crisis - the closure of the tire swing!!! My true leaders emerged as we chipped ice, bailed water and moved sand to ensure the tire swings would not be shut down. I was incredibly proud of my class and its leaders for engineering a joyful day of outdoor recess.

If you know me, you will recognize that my tongue has been planted firmly in my cheek for this post. I love my school and the fact that puddles are as big an issue as we face. After all, who can resist the lure of a puddle? Even better, who can resist a FROZEN puddle?

I grew up on an acreage in Alberta's parkland. As a boy, spring held incredible promise and wonder. Only those who have grown up in the Parkland know the smell of spring amongst the poplars. As the snow melts, it releases the musty smell of leaves, smells prairie dwellers recognize from raking leaves in the fall. Spring means potholes in roads and frozen puddles everywhere. A large percentage of families make the trek to Canadian Tire, Macleod's, Saan, Zellers, Superstore, or UFA to purchase rubber boots because last year's pair is simply too snug. The trek is worth it, because, even though these boots are usually worn three or four times, they allow their wearers exclusive access to water resistance.

When you encounter a puddle, several questions rush through your head (unless you are a dog or a child under the age of 8.) How deep is the puddle? How thick is the ice that covers it? Will the water go over my boots? Is it cold? Will I get in trouble for falling in? How far into the puddle can I walk?

I grew up on an acreage next to Alberta's Highway 21. The ditches were deep and filled with water every spring. Like most kids who grow up on acreages or farms, mother nature provided us with built-in entertainment. We did not need a gaming system, PVR or extended cable. Our environment regularly provided us with levels of challenge and excitement. How deep is the puddle? How thick is the ice? How far can I send my little sister on the ice before she breaks through? What do I need to do to keep myself out of trouble on this one? One year, the melting snow next to the highway revealed a mint-condition Playboy magazine featuring Miss Nude Texas. God blessed Texas, indeed!

Last Saturday, I felt myself return to the joys of my childhood when I took our dog for a walk at the edge of town. There was just enough exposed grass and dead leaves to bring back the smell of a gigantic pile of wet leaves. Every step was an adventure. Sometimes, the snow would hold. Other times, I would plunge to the ground in a layer of white snow and dark, dank water. At one point, I walked on an ice shelf that darkened and shot water upwards with every step I took. I couldn't help but be transported back to my youth, cautiously testing the thickness of the ice as I made my way to the bus stop.

I know that some people cannot stand it when their kids come home wet and muddy. To me, though, it is a rite of spring that no Canadian kid should pass up.

The Cookie Fiasco

A bit of background is probably necessary, so here is what you need to know.

First, I am one of four men on a staff of about 30.

Second, I love to cook.

Third, though I love to cook, I have not made many batches of cookies. Until this week....

I'll create this post as a chronological stream of thoughts connected to my recent participation in our staff cookie exchange.

October 27

One of my colleagues sends an e-mail to see how many people are interested in holding a cookie exchange to get a jump start on holiday baking. My initial thought is, "I don't bake cookies and I don't really like cookies". Great idea, but not for me.

October 29

For some reason, I write back to my colleague and let her know that I'm interested in the exchange. My kids love cookies. One time, I even baked peanut butter cookies from a recipe. I've made lots of those Pillsbury cookies. I've even made the "Cookie Dough" cookies. I'm committed to the cookie exchange. Heck, I'm not the only guy in the exchange, either!

Mid November

The date for our cookie exchange is set.There are eleven people involved, which means I need to make 11 dozen cookies. I am excited. I tell my wife. She nods and says, "That's nice honey."

How hard can this be?

Early December

Much to my surprise, the staff room conversation indicates that people have begun baking their cookies. When asked if have started baking yet, I respond with a good-natured laugh. Once again, I can't help but think "How hard can this be?" After all, I've made cookies before.

December 4

It is Saturday and we have a busy day of hockey. I briefly think of the cookie exchange. Maybe I should find that recipe I made once upon a time. Was it on a peanut butter jar or in a magazine? No sweat - I don't think the exchange is for at least a week. Instead of buying cookie ingredients, I head to M & M to buy wings for the hockey coach's "meeting" we are hosting this evening. The cookies can wait - I've got lots of time during the evenings next week.

December 6

It's Monday. The cookie exchange is Wednesday. One of my colleagues asks if I have got my cookies ready yet. I laugh it off and so does she - "Ha ha, Ted, you are such a guy!" Before I leave school today, it actually dawns on me that I don't have much time left. Better find a recipe so I can buy ingredients. Thank goodness for Google! I find a super easy recipe that requires only three ingredients. On our way home from Cubs, I take the boys Superstore. As we walk through the aisles, my eight year old peers over his glasses and says, "Dad, we haven't been in the grocery store with you for a long time." He's right and it takes me forever to find all of the ingredients, so we don't get home until nearly 8:30. I still have to write my sub plans for tomorrow and plan a hockey practice before I get to bed. Oh well - the exchange is Wednesday and I still have another night to bake the cookies. I've got the ingredients, I've got the recipe. How hard can this be? My boys love cookies and will help me out tomorrow night, since my wife is working a night shift and won't be around to supervise.

December 7

It's Tuesday. The day before the exchange...

5:30 a.m. - Wake up. We have an early morning hockey practice today.

8:15 a.m. - Get to school, finish my sub plans, get things ready for the day.

9:15 a.m. - Run home, shower, change for my meeting, head to Central Office for the day.

3:30 p.m. - Stop by school on my way home from the meeting. Things are looking up - it's really quiet in the school, so I can head home. Maybe I can get a couple of batches of cookies made before I head to hockey tonight. Both kids have practice.

6:30 p.m. - On our way home from hockey practice, I pick up some "Winter Ale". It's the festive season, so I figure should have the beer to match. Besides, I usually have a couple while I'm cooking, so how can baking be any different? Better hustle - the Oilers game starts at 7:30 and I want to make sure I get the first 3 dozen cookies in the oven before the game starts. If I play it, I should be able to get all of the cookies baked over the course of the hockey game.

7:30 - Both boys are home from hockey. With their help, I should be able to get this taken care of. The hockey game has started, so I put the boys to work unwrapping Hershey Kisses. They take care of this quickly and want to help mixing the cookie batter. Finish beer #1.

7:49 - The first two dozen cookies go in the oven and the third dozen go on my wife's fancy stoneware Pampered Chef cookie sheet. Watch out, cookie world, I'm ready! Finish beer #2.

8:05 - The first two batches come out of the oven and I realize I'm not sure what to do next. how long should they cool before I take them off the cookie sheets? I really need to keep going.

8:10 - The first period of the Oilers game ends and I'm still mixing cookie dough. I rush a bit and don't make exact measurements on the next batch. Oh well, they are just cookies. Finish beer #3. In hindsight, maybe that is why I didn't pay as much attention...

8:15 - I realize that 11 dozen cookies is going to take up a lot of counter space. They won't all fit on the fancy cookie cooling rack. I ask for help from my cookie elves, but they are sound asleep thanks to our early mornings and hockey practices.

8:20 - The stoneware sheet comes out of the over and these cookies look different. Hmmmm. I let them cool for a longer time

8:34 - The fourth and fifth dozen cookies go in the oven. To save time, I don't clean the cookie sheets off completely. Between the darn stoneware batch, not letting the cookies coollong enought and "quality control" tastings, I have less than 3 dozen cookies ready to go.

8:50 -The fourth and fifth dozen don't come off the cookie sheets as well as I would like, so I completely clean them off. Once again, I "man follow" the recipe measurements.

9:15 - The "man follow" recipe batch go in the oven. In the interest of time, I decide to leave them in for just 10 minutes. Look in my beer box. Only 2 left. Hmmm.

9:25 - This batch of cookies looks different, somehow. Hmmm. Better let them cool.

9:30 - It's getting late. I still haven't watched any of the Oilers game. My cookie elves are sound asleep. My lovely wife phones about three minutes after I start trying to remove this batch from the oven. It's not going well. I'm not using good language. I haven't watched a minute of the Oiler's game and they are losing 2-0. Why couldn't we have a chicken wing exchange???? At least I know how to make wings!

9:31 - The Oilers tie the game. I'm washing the cookie sheets again. I know it's getting late, but I can't help it and I have to watch the Oiler game. No problem - it's not even close to midnight yet.

9:45 - The next batch of cookies goes in the oven. I'm much more careful with this batch of dough - I don't want to run out of ingredients...

10:00 - This batch comes out of the oven. The Oilers game goes into overtime, so I let the cookies cool a bit longer. I'm about half done my cookie commitment. I know because I've counted these cookies over and over. Maybe I can buy the rest of them at Sobey's???

10:30 - The Oilers game went into the longest shootout I have ever seen and the Oilers still found a way to lose. I decide I need to honor my cookie baking commitment. I would much rather be cooking up a batch of wings. I'm good at that... My wife calls me back. I decide I need to take the high road because that is what making a commitment is all about. Beer is gone.

12:00 - The final batch comes out of the oven. I let them cool and go watch tonight's episode of "Glee" on the PVR.

1:00 - The final cookies come off the sheets and get placed in the fancy cookie bags my wife keeps for special occasions. I flop onto my bed, reeking of peanut butter and winter ale.

How hard could it be?

Hard.

But at least my family has 11 dozen different cookies, because I'll never eat them.

What was I thinking??????????

Nordegg - Reason #3 to Love Central Alberta

Nordegg is an amazing place. In the words of one of it's most colorful residents, "there's not much happening, but it's all going on in Nordegg." As you wander around the current townsite, it is hard to believe that 3000 people once called this place home. There is a real sense of community in Nordegg. It has about 100 year round residents between those who work in the service industry, live in the north townsite or have other reasons for staying. In no particular order, here are the things that make Nordegg such a worthwhile place to spend a few hours or a few days.

• It is possible to climb several different peaks to get a birds-eye view of Nordegg. Coliseum Mountain, Shunda (Baldy) Mountain and Eagle Ridge are all quite easy to climb and there are few greater feelings than being on top of a mountain!
• Fishing is what first brought me to Nordegg. Within 45 minutes of driving, walking or hiking, you can fish for most of the major trout species (Rainbow, Cutthroat, Brook, Brown, and Lake Trout.) If you have the financial means, you can fly to a pristine alpine lake to fish for Golden Trout. My children have caught most of their fish in this area. It can be busy, but can feel wild and abandoned compared to the crowds you find in the Livingstone, Oldman and Crowsnest drainages.
• You can golf all day for $15 and it's even less for kids. The self-proclaimed Historic Nordegg Golf Course is, well, rustic, but it is perfect for a hacker like me.
• There are tons of trails for mountain biking. One of the most interesting routes follows the abandoned rail bed from the quarry entrance to the Beaverdam Campsite. I rode this route with my kids this summer and it was one of my best afternoons ever.
• There are tons of options for accommodations. There is a hotel in town, at least 10 campsites within a half hour drive, David Thompson Resort, Shunda Creek Hostel, Aurum Lodge, Goldeye Centre and COE (Center for Outdoor Education) are all great possibilities.
• You can visit a National Historic Site and ghost town - Brazeau Collieries
• The Beer Cabin
• The name of one seasonal business (my kids' favorite) says it all - Nordegg Rocks!
  

The Places I Love to Fish

Last week, I had the good fortune to spend five consecutive days wading, wandering and wondering. Fly fishing is a profound passion for me. As I have written before, "I can't help myself. I love to fish. If I could, I would spend all day, every day fishing." When I am on a river, hours and hours go by where all I think about is catching a fish. Where are they? What are they feeding on? When will they be feeding? Have I got the right fly? Am I presenting it the right way? Hours can go by where I think of nothing but the last fish I caught and they next fish I would like to catch.

However, this post is not about the act of fishing, it is about the places I love to fish. It is a reflection on very special places. Places I love. I have fished throughout Alberta, British Columbia and Saskatchewan. I have wet a line in Idaho, Montana, Washington and Wyoming. . In many of these places, I feel very spiritual. Often, I am awestruck and wide-eyed. I am always deeply respectful and thankful for the opportunity to spend my time in these places. No matter where I fish, the places I love have several things in common.

The first common denominator is the fish. The fish are why I drive, hike, scramble, swim, bum slide, or fly to a body of water. Usually, the places I love to fish are home to trout. Trout and fly fishing go hand in hand. I have caught pike, grayling, whitefish and even suckers on my fly rod. However, it is trout that I love more than anything else. Brookies, browns, cutties, goldens, lakers, rainbows. Each of the these species of trout can be caught on a fly rod and I have wonderful memories that involve each of these fish. They the "raison d'etre" of fishing. A common fisherman's cliche is "It's called fishing, not catching." This is often the mantra of an unsuccessful fisherman, but it does allow me to focus on the act of going fishing.

The second thing these places have in common is geography. Most of these places are surrounded by hills, foothills and mountains. These places are enclosed by forest, usually a mixture of aspen, poplar, spruce, pine, larch, cottonwood and willow. The banks of these creeks, lakes, rivers and streams are strewn with boulders, gravel, pebbles, rocks, sand and silt. The water is cold and usually clear. Every year, these places change. Snowfall, runoff, fire, flooding and storms can all dramatically change them. Things are rarely a carbon copy and every chance I get to visit them brings something new and interesting.

The final attraction is solitude. I don't like to fish alone, but I do like to have my own stretch of river. I don't mind sharing a fishing hole with wildlife. Birds like dippers, loons, mergansers, grebes, geese, pelicans, herons, ducks, plovers, kildeer and sandpipers are common companions. I come across frogs, toads and snakes on a regular basis. Often, I share a large pool with a muskrat, otter or beaver. It is not unusual to spot larger mammals like deer, elk, moose, goats or sheep. I have not come face to face with large carnivores like cougars and bears, but I know that I share these places with them. It is the cougars and bears that make me prefer fishing with a partner.

Most of the water I like to fish is not easy to get to. True, some places are clearly visible from the busiest highways. Some places are within major urban centres. Some places are littered with evidence of mining, exploration and human habitation. In general, though, it takes knowledge, effort and time to get to the places I like to fish. You need to drive gravel roads, hike paths, bushwhack, climb, slide, and follow unmarked intersections to find these places.

These are special places that I share with my family, friends and pets. Many of my very best memories are the result of fishing trips with my kids, my dad and my best friends. I love extolling their virtues. Sorry, but I cannot release names. I will not publicly share directions and locations. I have been shown many special spots and have shared many of my special spots, but I simply can't publish any more information. I won't tell you how to get there, but I'd be more than happy to take you there!

Centrality and Equidistance: Reason #2 To Love Central Alberta

Week 2 - Centrality

Living in this part of our province means that you have to travel. Fortunately, you never have to travel too far (unless you are going way north to places like Grande Prairie, Peace River or Fort McMurray). From my home, it takes exactly the same amount of time to travel to the airport in Calgary or Edmonton. In two hours, I can be in Nordegg or Kananaskis Country. A three hour (give or take 30 minutes) drive gets me to Lake Louise, Lethbridge, Medicine Hat, Lloydminster or the Crowsnest Pass. It takes approximately the same amount of time to travel to Jasper or Waterton. Six hours in the vehicle gets me to Cranbrook, Saskatoon, Great Falls or Revelstoke.

Even better, it takes the same amount of time to return home. As much as I love traveling, nothing feels better than seeing the signs that tell me Red Deer is close.