Trumbo

With a phenomenally talented cast and a message we all need to hear, this movie makes me want to stand up against injustice everywhere.  Either that, or hop straight into my bathtub to write something that matters...

I Am That.

The Grand Canyon with its unrelenting sun is really no place for a sensitive-skinned redhead.  Yet somehow this past August, our Grand Canyon trip was 19% ginger.  The odds of this are remarkable really, given that redheads account for only 2% of the global population.  More surprising perhaps is that one of us was actually even-tempered (what do you mean it obviously wasn't me?!?)  Most shocking of all is the fact that we were not the three who had to be evacuated from the trip.




Redheads on the Red.  Photo thanks to Larissa Travis

This in spite of off-the-charts high temperatures.



Record temps!  Surpising that Sarah Brown's camera worked under these conditions.

 

And not only did the three redheads make it to Day 16, so did this ice!

Can you believe it?

But it's only right that we were there.  For one, what's a party without a redhead?  And secondly, we share a name with this river.  'Colorado' is Spanish for red.  I know this because it's one of the many nicknames handed to me in my travels through Latin America alongside 'pecas' (freckles), 'la carpintera' (red-headed woodpecker), 'la peliroja' (the redheaded one) and 'banano' (for the freckles that make me look like an overripe banana).

But this isn't about me.  It's about a river.  And not just any river.  This is about the Colorado. The seventh largest river in the US, the mighty force that carved out the Grand Canyon.

The Colorado River stretching out below the Nankoweap granaries.  Thanks to Joe Daniel for the photo.

A river that's touched me more deeply than I thought possible.

A river that carries 30,000 people a year on her back as she squeezes through the Grand Canyon.

A river that moved filmmaker and photographer Pete McBride to spend his life fighting for her.
(What better way to spend a life?)

If you love the Grand Canyon, you really must check out his photographs.

It may just be that Pete McBride has best captured the majesty, mystery and modern day misery of his native river.  Being born on this river, Pete tells her story in a way I never could.

His stunning visual love poem to the Colorado speaks for itself.  He's called it I am Red.

The piece broke my heart wide open.

Before this trip I loved rivers, mountain people and being outside.  But after a moon in the canyon and my baptism by the grand Colorado, I am again reminded that I don't just love those things. 

I need them. 

I am full of that canyon. 
I am that river.
I am that canyon. 

I Am That.

What makes it a "journey"?

I'll tell you.

It's things like this:

Falling in love with a group of people in a magical place.

Getting to know them fast.  Learning what their laughter sounds like.  Letting them see you cry.

Sunrise on The Colorado at Lee's Ferry

We set out from Lee's Ferry under a new moon, celebrated by the Perseid meteor shower.  (You know that if you share a shooting star with someone you'll be friends for life?)  I shared my stars with fifteen new lifelong friends that first night.



At Redwall cavern, jumping for joy! 

Every single day on that river was amazing. 

And I mean EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

And it was a journey alright.  I hear that pictures are worth a thousand words.  So to tell the story,  I'll share some photos for now and write a thousand words later.

Come, let's dive in - this is what a journey looks like:



Taking it all in.

Paddling our hearts out.

Making meals together.



Loving Charlotte and Jim.

 

And having to leave them behind.



Taking time to listen.

 

Regaining perspective.

 

Healing each other.

 And saying goodbye too soon.

 

Shining our lights.



Playing with child-like abandon.



Laughing every day.

Taking time out at the 'groover' - our loo with a view. 

 

Making music.

 

And enjoying the quiet moments.

We finished at Diamond Creek 16 days later with our hearts and the moon full.



Reflecting on the Grand Canyon. 

 

It was perfect.

It was magic.

It was like being in love.

I'll never be the same again. 

And that's what made it a journey.

Gratitude for these beautiful photos to the following members of the canyon crew:  Adam Lindenburger, Gerrit McGowan, Kaeli Benoit, Joanne McGrew, Joseph Daniel & Sarah Brown.

The Edge of the Envelope

Lee's Ferry.  Mystical morning, Day 1.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

And, (those of you who know me well will be shocked), my recent journey on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon has rendered me speechless. 

So here today as I begin the lifelong process of recounting the soul-spinning, heart-expanding journey of a lifetime, I'll turn for help to the beautiful photography, paintings and poetry of my companions.



Cactus at Nankoweap overlooking The Colorado.  Photo:  Joe Daniel

 

 

Traffic lights, sounds of cities,

Alarm clocks and nighttime TV,

Left it all for a break from my mind,

Giving up my sense of time.

Floating downstream past the eddies of our minds.

...

It all began at a plug in the sand,

Days dictated by some far off demand.

Waters rose and fell through the night,

Eroding through the sands of time.

Flowing down through the currents we define.

...

Tracked the moon as it plotted our course,

From dark to light holding evening court.

Illuminating the grandest of sights,

As we drifted into night.

Shining down to light the stories of our time.

...

Wandering in this desert of dreams,

Unsure horizons present what they may seem.

Some fall fast past the depths of our sight,

Leaving misgivings behind.

Waters flow fast through the faults that we resign.

...

Sixteen heartbeats soon beat as few,

Three went down though each far too soon.

With toasts and tears we had to leave them behind,

Growing wiser through the trials.

Though we were less we grow stronger in our minds.

...

A final moon and one last sunset to view,

Nights of joy when libations weren't few.

The fortnight brought us to the end of the line,

Returning to the lands of time.

Roaring down through the annals of our lives.

...

In these canyons, finding friends for a lifetime.

~words & music, Gerrit McGowan

 

With deep gratitude to Kaeli Benoit for her paintings and heArtistry!

 

What I know is this:

Since being in the canyon, that red womb of the world, I cry more easily.  I feel more deeply.  All I want to do is to read desert poetry and write my own.  I am open.  Raw. 

I am drawn to those with the wild in their eyes - and to children - perhaps because, like me, they are still so fresh from the womb.

Those days on the water in that most magical of places reawakened me - brought me to another side.  And now, nearly three weeks later, I still find myself living close to the edge of that envelope - the 'knowing' place - fearful of ever letting it fall away again (yet knowing of course that it always does).

I feel the lessons of the canyon in my bones: 
        Sleep outside.
        Stick close to my tribe.
        Make space for magic in my life. 
        And remain ever vigilant to the call of the wild, immersing myself in those places that help me
        remember.

You know what I mean?  Then come sleep with me under the stars...

This we must never forget: sleep with the stars.  Thank you for capturing the magic, Joe Daniel.

Just the Essentials

I'm no Martha Stewart.

But I did date a guy whose main claim to fame is that his mom is named Martha Stewart.  No relation.  But apparently she's also a good cook.

And my sister is named Martha.

So this gives me license to comment on cleaning house.

And comment I will!

Because, good people, sweet followers and random strangers who have stumbled across my blog (welcome! come back soon now, y'hear? and tell all your friends!? Thanks.) - what was I saying?  Oh right, because:

I hate cleaning my house.  Here's why:

1. I'd rather be outside.

2. And the chemicals conventionally in use freak me right out.

So I have tended to avoid the dangerous activity altogether.

Maybe it's my over-sensitive sniffer, maybe it's years of working in the environmental industry or maybe it's the regular updates I read from the Environmental Working Group, but I simply refuse to take my life into my own hands for the sake of a 'clean' house.  At least, it's been a great excuse for years.

Anyway, now that I find myself in my mid-thirties, not only have my hormones begun to balance out (thank God!) and my neck begun to sprout long hairs overnight (help me God!) I seem to care a little bit more than I did before about having a clean house.

And I don't want to die in the process.

So here's the solution - for a long time I looked to Green Calgary to guide me in terms of what I needed to know about household cleaners.  I found a favourite brand that I could pick up at the Calgary Farmers Market.  Great.  Then I learned to make my own.  Awesome.  And now, best of all,  I've discovered the magic BLUE BOTTLE!  

It's a love affair.  I've named him 'Little Blue'

Now it's all so easy.  The bottle tells me exactly what I need to do.  It has all the ingredients and amounts easily drawn onto the side.  Oh, and it's basically free - I simply use ingredients that I have in my kitchen (which means it's safe, praise be! and besides, it's the only time I do use ingredients from my kitchen.  See above re: not being Martha Stewart).  Little Blue just nestles nicely under my bathroom sink until three months later when I'm ready to clean again - what more could a girl ask for?

(Yes, I did say three months later.  That's an appropriate cleaning schedule, isn't it?  Come on!  A girl can only change so much - I mean, this actually causes me PAIN.  Don't  you believe me?  See: 2 Days in Purge-atory)

The product just went live on Amazon and Etsy - and I love it.

Check it out - Cleaning Essentials.  My new favourite.

 

p.s. now's your chance to win a free bottle - get on it good people!

Happy Winter

Yesterday I drove back from Solitude into Salt Lake City for the final night of the Banff Mountain Film Festival.

Kingsbury Hall on the University of Utah campus was sold out, with 2000 adventurers perched on the edges of their seats, eager for this year's shot of adrenaline, adventure and inspiration.

The moment the intro started to roll, audience members were whistling and cheering.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4O-RJ-UfCc&feature=youtu.be



I knew, that like the two previous screenings, tonight was going to be a good night.

I felt emotional as I stepped onto the stage to introduce Happy Winter, the second film of the evening.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXO7YIY99vs&feature=player_detailpage

I had promised filmmaker Bjarne Salen that I'd use each screening of his film to honour the lives of his friends JP Auclair and Andreas Fransson who were lost in an avalanche in Chile this past September.  Bjarne said he'd never known anybody more stoked on life than Andreas and that an appropriate way to honour him in this context would be to have audience members get 'as stoked as possible'.

So on the count of 3, Salt Lake City got stoked.  The entire audience rose to their feet en masse, cheering and waving their arms.  And fortunately, talented photographer Jameson Clifton was on hand to capture the moment.

Photo: Jameson Clifton

It was electric.  I stood on stage shaking.

To me, this sweet film is about the beauty of life.  There are many things we could discuss here about the fine line between life and death.  It's fresh for me right now as my own home mountain community sits reeling after yet another avalanche fatality.  It happened over the weekend as I was lying in bed reading an article on the risks we take in the outdoors written by Will Gadd.  Regardless of your own perspective on the matter, it's worth a read.

But Happy Winter and this screening were about gratitude for life.  As the credits rolled to more cheering from the audience we wrapped up with my friend Zhiish's favourite quote:

'Gratitude is the best attitude'.

And speaking of gratitude, the man who has brought The Banff Mountain Film Festival World Tour to Salt Lake City for the past 24 years is named Rob Jones.  If there's a better man out there (apart from my own dad), I'd like to meet him.  Rob is perhaps the kindest, ideas-to-action, extraordinarily generous person I've had the pleasure of meeting. (See 'meet an amazing new friend who loans you the coolest truck in the world, automatically making you cool too' from my previous I love Solitude post!)  You can tell that others think as highly of Rob as I do by the way his students scream his name when he steps on stage.  Most 50 somethings don't garner that kind of respect from 20 somethings.  He does.  And with good reason.  Next year will be Year 25 for Salt Lake.  Get ready for it people.

p.s. More on gratitude - don't we all owe a debt of gratitude to Michael Brown & Zac Ramras of Sweetgrass Productions?  Not only for their stunning oeuvre Afterglow, but for the prayer to the snow gods Wednesday night that very much seems to be working... 2 feet forecast for Breckenridge!  Just saying.

I love Solitude

Yep, I love Solitude.

It's probably funny to hear someone like me say that.

I seem like an effusive people-person.  But a Meyers-Briggs test once told me I was an introvert, so it must be true.

But I'm not talking about spending time alone here.  That's important, and if it weren't for time spent alone, I'd probably never write.  But here I'm talking about Solitude with a capital S.

This is a story about a ski area.  A place that just stole my heart.  It's perfect.  It's quiet, peaceful, intimate. Go there.  Trust me.  Here's how:  Borrow a very cool 20-year old truck from a brand new friend.  Forget the forecast.  Go alone.  Enter the Wasatch National Forest.  Drive 40 minutes up the stunning Big Cottonwood Canyon.  Step out of your vehicle and ski.

Wasatch National Forest
(I love the old school National Forest signs. They're reminiscent of times gone by and of Yogi Bear)

That's it.

Simple.

The place still has a chair with no restraint bar (what?! do they still make cars without seatbelts??!)  In spite of that (or because of that?) I feel safe here.  In the way I do at Whitewater (mmm...glory bowl...)  And the old Fortress.  And at Holimont.

Summit Chair at Solitude

I love their lifties.  They crank Bob Marley* and have the raddest shirts.  I would practically die to get one of these.  I offered to buy this one off a liftie's back.  Two different guys actually.  I'm worried that I'm losing my touch.  That's really disconcerting.  I'll console myself by saying that these shirts must be coveted property given how much lifties are generally hurting for beer money...

Powder to the People!

I set out alone then stopped for a Sunshine Burger at lunch.  A group of Swedish guys asked me to join them.   Based on historic snowfall records, they had calculated that statistically they were guaranteed powder in Utah during their 2 week trip.  Sometimes statistics lie.  Therefore, I generally opt for magic and chanting 'ohms' to the snow gods (thank you Sweetgrass Productions).  We basked in the sun and enjoyed ourselves anyway.  There is no bad day in Solitude.  The Swedes all work for Volvo.  I find this hilarious.  Particularly given that the only other Swedish friend I met in my travels works for Ikea.  They skied well, wore bright colours, rode expensive skis and spoke perfect English.

I left fulfilled.

I love Solitude.

*I believe that in lift attendant interviews, a person should be asked what music they will play at the base of the lift.  If they do not respond with one of, 'Bob Marley', or something along the lines of 'Mom-Jean Jams' (thank you Mt Norquay!) please don't hire them.

So much depends upon a boy on a razor scooter...

Yesterday I was on the verge of tears. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, sad, overwhelmed & exhausted, surrounded by my heavy grocery bags.  A boy approached on his razor scooter and said, 'Can I help you?'

I said no initially but he simply said, 'I'll take you home.  I insist.'  And he delivered me and my bags directly to my door. 

 

Gratitude to Garrett and Grade 5s with razor scooters & gentlemen.

It all brings me to tears again - out of deep love for the goodness in humanity.

xxooo

And I don't even like hockey

I sat in 21 Charlie.

They were in 21 Alpha and Bravo.

We were all three red-heads (what are the chances? We make up only 2% of the population and we found ourselves seated 3 abreast on a 136 passenger plane. Someone else do the math for me here?)  If our flight had gone down last night, we'd have decreased Canada's redhead population significantly.  Fortunately for the ginger fans in the crowd (I know you're out there) we all made it to our destination alive.

I knew it was going to be good when Ben introduced himself to us.  First of all, he was wearing a fantastic felt Tilley hat (did you know those things come with a lifetime guarantee?)  Secondly, he spoke.  On a plane, you either sit silently trying not to bump elbows, or you engage.  These guys engaged right away.  In fact, they were so interesting, kind and full of inspired ideas that I had to jot them all down on my napkin then share them here.

We all knew instantly that we'd won the seatmate lottery.  This flight wouldn't be about reading a book or waiting to land.  It would involve building community at 40,000 feet.   I started to wonder if airlines could strategically seat people to encourage this kind of high-altitude bonding.  Easy people, I said bonding, not bondage.  This is not the CBC.  (Westjet, Virgin, listen up - I swear this is the best idea to hit the air since the barf bag) What should we call it?  High Flying Friends?  Oooooh!  40,000 foot speed-dating!  Anyhow, I'm getting carried away.  We decided that passengers should complete a questionnaire when they book their flights.  The airline will then pair people appropriately.  Said questionnaire (according to the boys) must include the following questions:

1.  If the person seated next to you turns to say something, do you hide in your book and hope they'll go away or perk up thinking the flight will go by more quickly?

2.  Re: above, do you own Bose headphones?

3.  Do you ask for your drinks with or without ice? 

4.  Pretzels or cookies?

5.  Game 7 of The Stanley Cup is playing during your flight.  Are you watching?

6. Would you pay an additional $25 on your ticket price for an airborne open bar?

7.  If a screen popped up mid-flight offering the following options, which would you choose?

a) re-route to Hawaii
b) continue to scheduled destination

The boys insist also that smokers be paired with sleepers.

Now here's where you come in.  What are we missing?  What further questions need to be asked?  Help us out...

I really think this idea has wings. 

I have a friend who met her husband on a plane.  They were side by side and she ordered tea.  With honey.  He had a honey bee farm.  They connected instantly.  They fell in love.  Years later they flew side by side again.  She ordered tea.  With honey.  And this time, the flight attendant brought her a honey jar.  Floating in the golden honey was another very sweet thing....a ring...

Arielle & John sitting in 11 C, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first came love...

But back to our flight last night.  As luck would have it, due to a weather delay the Canada-Russia world junior hockey gold medal game started the moment we took off.  The boys next to me were fans.  On a normal day, I couldn't care less about hockey.  (I shouldn't say that.  I'm Canadian.  And I'd like to have a boyfriend someday...so don't tell anyone, ok?)  Anyway, last night was different.  My proximity to the boys and the intensity of the game made it impossible not to become completely absorbed in the game.  We collectively cheered, we held our breath.  7.1 million Canadians were watching.  I swear we had the three best seats in the house.  As the game wrapped up with a 5-4 win for Canada, a resounding cheer went up in the back half of the plane.  Ben led the passengers in 'Oh Canada' - until he got half-way through and forgot the rest of the words (go easy on us - we always used to sing the second half in French, you see).

Team Canada is jubilant about their first medal in this tournament since 2012

Anthony Duclair celebrates his first period goal

In the afterglow of our gold medal victory, I learned all about hunting and carpentry and chickens and rigs.  I almost hoped we'd somehow all be stranded in the airport and have to hang out for another whole day. 

Ben talked to us about death bed regrets.  He said the top 3 things people wished they had done with their lives were to:

1. Learn a language
2 Write a memoir
3. Play music

1. I've got.  I'm working on points 2 and 3.  In that order.

But allow me to add a fourth:

4. Engage with perfect strangers.  You never know what could happen.

And if you need some help, buy them a beer at 40,000 feet.  Trust me, it works.