Back to the other reality

Clouds rolled in quickly, the wind came up and it rained again in the night. The water had turned that steel grey with chop that can make it challenging to paddle through. Neither of us were all that enthusiastic about leaving as we ate our breakfast and cleaned up the dishes. All the wood I had carried in was stacked beside the stove and a now dying fire. We stuffed dry bags with gear and the remains of the food. I carried it all down as Matthew effortlessly hoisted each kayak and placed them at waters edge.
Already my hands were cold! The wind blowing from the SE meant we were in quarter seas till rounding Saltspring then straight into it to get home. However, as I paddled away jamming my hands into the pogies there seemed to be little wind at all, and once past Jackscrew the water leveled off and it was an easy paddle to the light on the reef by Saltspring.
Paddling back to Tent Island was easy, more giant jellyfish drifting by beneath us and of course seals everywhere. Pulling up on the beach at the north end I recalled the many times I had been there before. In fact the first time a friend took a picture of Matthew's mother and I with the little guy walking along the beach. That picture made it into the paper.

Matthew, impressed by the profusion of Arbutus berries, snaps a picture capturing an eagle. Two more follow checking out what the gulls were feeding on in the channel. Apparently not worth their interest, they returned and perched in a big fir making conversation.
The venting steam from Crofton indicated only a slight breeze so we took our time and Matthew got some shots of the guano stained sandstone on the west face of Tent.

Quite a different colour now that the birds have gone and the rains have come. I find it hard to describe or express the magnificence of the sandstone etched, carved and smoothed by the elements. One of the reasons I find kayaking here so compelling. The physicality of our environment is like an amazing taste of ambrosia or the unexpected touch of one's lover while focused elsewhere.


Meanwhile it was time to go home. Across Stuart Channel, then back under the bridge, the tide high ( I have spent a few occasions dragging my boat through inch deep water cause I didn't check beforehand!). We powered past the men in pfds still loading logs to go offshore. By now the deck was piled high. They found us a strange sight I think, as they stared long and hard while we slipped by towards the boat launch.
Matthew collected the van as I emptied the hatches, so grateful for the adventure and impressed at my lack of soreness. I bought us each a hot drink at the bookstore cafe, tempted as I was by the stacks of unread books, I didn't dare. Back to civilization; traffic, storage lockers, computers and the warm embrace of familiarity, home and community.

Father son retreat

The bed is short, what a surprise. I sleep diagonal and wake up a few times stepping out in the cool air to relieve myself. Stars shining brightly and lots of them, not much light pollution here. Seabirds of unknown identity making their morning sounds, water like glass.
Morning comes and I am inspired by the eastern light seeping upward into the sky over Wallace. I love a good sunrise and this one bears the tidings of a great day to come. Matthew sleeps through it, I think he stayed up later than I reading by candlelight and (I hope) his headlamp.
If only I had had one as a kid!

I get a good fire going for our tea, and write my morning pages.
Seems like we will need more wood, so after a fruitless search for gloves we go at er. I have my camera and am constantly distracted by the abundance of fungi, yellow coral, witches butter and some numerous large and completely blackened mushroom carcasses, they turn out to be the Black and White Russula, Russula Albonigra .

Matthew has it in hand, mycillium encrusted fir rounds and a maul. He has a good pile going when I step in to relieve him. I split a few and he tells me he wants to take it all. What I see is the slope and humus piling up behind the half buried row of rounds creating a nice example of permaculture terracing. Seems like an opportunity to give something back to the land and increase the soil. We disagree and I decide to go for a walk, cameraless.
My explore takes me south along the beach then across the island onto some moss encrusted ridges. This island was logged maybe 100 years ago so the remaining big trees have had some time to grow. There are mushrooms galore, no shortage of diversity here. I see abundant Lobster mushroom, looking a little old but still attractive. Arresting! That bright orange is remarkable.

When I return, I am drenched in sweat and decide to jump in the ocean, removing my clothes first of course. The sun is shining after all. Man that water is refreshing whooee!
Make some lunch, we have a glass of wine and make peace.
While the water is so calm we carry the fiberglass canoe down to the water. I suggest circumnavigating the island clockwise. A new experience for Matthew, he has always done it the other way. Amazing how familiar territory looks different when approached from the opposite direction. The water is clear, no breeze, it is an effortless exercise. We pull in at the south end and follow the deer trails into an open area where we collect a relatively fresh Lobster mushroom and spot a not so fresh Eagle carcass. Me I'm game to pull some tail feathers or a wing and wow that head/skull would be awesome! It is all attached still and besides I haven't dealt with the feathers I mailed myself from New Zealand.... I leave it.
As we round the point and head back an Oyster Catcher is close by and out come the cameras.

After stowing the canoe we head off across the island. The trail is unfamiliar to Matthew, I am hoping we can locate some of the mushrooms I saw earlier. He is like a goat, clambering over the slippery rocks. This time I have my camera and get some great shots of Lobsters, Lactarius, clusters of some I don't recognize on a fallen fir, an Oyster growing on dead Arbutus and a large bracket high up in a Willow. We collect more lobsters for dinner and head back. Crank up the stove, chop veggies and combine it all in a stir fry extraordinaire. I get out the headlamp and eventually find the reference in the Mushroom book although there was never any doubt.
A glass or more of wine and more story telling, reminiscing and reflections of a life lived in multiversity, love and relationship, judgments and realizations.
I feel some sadness that my father has not spent this kind of time with me and a lot of gratitude I am spending it with my son.

Rememberance

November is grey and wet. An opportunity to paddle over to South Secretary arose around the four day weekend. It has been so long since I was on the water...
Pachena in August
Up the river, we saw a young bear walking a log and peering at us as we pushed up on the tide as far as we could go. Later I paddled out along the east shore and collected some kelp fronds to be dried and sprinkled in my breakfast this winter. Then the kayak was in storage all through September and October.

Matthew arrived late morning, and I quickly took care of the last commitments, grabbed the gear I had, some food (I managed to forget the Butterflies and shortbread)then we boogied on down to the storage. Pulled out my tote of gear, found my paddle and strapped on the kayak.
Stop for groceries, twice! I stayed in the van packing stuff into the drybags at the second stop, realizing all my drybags were in the other tote! Luckily Matthew had extra. Extra water too, I appreciated the ballast as I was anticipating some rough water.
It all fit of course and we set off along beside the Black Forest out of Hong Kong loading slings of logs out of the water. A tug and a crew of men with pike poles and (I hope caulk boots) jumping around on the booms. The mill was spewing out its usual steamy clouds, the wind mostly in our favour and once past the bridge, thankfully behind us.

Crossing to Tent was easy; the water like glass, few boats out, no wakes, and the sky cleared in a large oval to the west giving us some sun.

Matthew insisted I run up and down the beach with him. I took off the spray skirt and PFD so my lungs could expand and chased him for at least two laps. By then my knees were complaining fiercely. Some chocolate, crackers and cheese and a HB egg for sustenance and we were off again. I had fingerless gloves and pogies around my larger than standard loom stick. The tips of my fingers took a long time to warm up. Once I was I in there I stayed, no pulling up the rudder or having a drink while paddlin for this boy.


What a joy to be on the water, birds galore and undulating jellyfish of all sizes. The water, crystal clear along the rock gardens so lots to see. Seals in abundance as well; following, regarding with curiosity and reacting with surprise.
Talking with Matthew has always been easy, and the time slipped by with little effort as we spoke of the past, present and future. In the moments of silence there was plenty to reflect upon. Remembrance of things past, friends, lovers, family and a lot of years watching waves lap on those shorelines.
I love how strong Matthew is, makes me feel like an old man! watching him carry the empty kayaks up under the tree high above the tideline. He has the key, unlocks the door and we dump our stuff. I get the fire going, thank you to whoever left the wood sitting there. It is soon blazing, we didn't bring a stove or propane, so this is it. Water on for tea and he throws together a soup to go with the corn chips and salsa. Wonderful, simple food beside a roaring inferno. Ten feet back, the cold air is waiting for an opportunity. We sit and talk, tell stories and play dominoes by the light of the fire and a few candles. Someone likes candles, there a few boxes of them here. I will make a point of reminding myself to buy some replacements.


My phone was not receiving well. It rang then the connection is lost 3 or 4 times and I text my regrets.
Matt speaks with a friend who might show up on the morrow, at the moment off to see The Three Jackasses... wow what a contrast.
The moon is bright on the water, closing in on first quarter and low on the horizon. I wonder if Elke saw the moon today... It is quiet outside, a Heron squawks, the water laps gently, off to the right some light reflecting off the sky, probably Ladysmith. Few lights are visible on Saltspring, we really are alone. I relax and enjoy the completeness of being here.

Home in community

Home. The word has some major emphasis and connotations. I know I am glad to be here. I haven't lived here for long but it is home. After so many years of flirting with the idea of community, I finally commit and join.

I recall as a child determining that Vancouver Island where where I wished to live. After a few years of attempting to make it work in the city I jumped (almost literally) onto my grandparents farm and instantly was home. This was where I raised my children, learned about gardening and explored the meaning of life. Some of my first lessons in permaculture I suppose, although those lessons start at birth, I became aware of the affects of my actions on the environment seasonally and longer term. My son's mother left, a profound lesson in relationship. And that is ongoing study.

Here and now there are more relationships. At least more obvious to me. First with the land itself, Vancouver Island has a tremendous amount of diversity. New Zealand stimulated me, teased and flirted with me.I was enraptured and awestruck, seduced one might say (how is THIS like my life?) and yet there was something missing for me, like I was out of step with the marching band. As much as I loved it there, it never felt like home. The sense I have is, the air and smells are familiar, having spent most of my life here, the land, the country knows me the way I know it. And nothing to do with nationalism or politics. I loved both the Qu'appele Valley in Saskatchewan and Bryce Canyon in Utah too, but I wouldn't want to live there.

The people here are on a similar wavelength, although I recognize the bubble I choose to live in, there are no shortage of folks who I have large differences with in respect to diet, lifestyle, and spiritual beliefs. Witness the shopping carts full of not one item I would choose to consume, generally. Don't get me started on the media at the checkouts! Of course both countries have that to deal with, although there are differences, I spent NO time perusing the tabloids, just the usual exposure to the covers, pictures and headlines.

I continue to puzzle over the subtleties of life in Auckland, Christchurch, Wellington and rural New Zealand. I have no real understanding of the psyche of the NZ male and less of the women, not that I would pretend to understand the psyche of women in general anywhere. I felt so welcomed by the folks I stayed with, the experience of hospitality I received was almost overwhelming and yet there was something about the way people related to me that I found disconcerting. Maybe my sense of self importance got in the way? It was like at times that I was irrelevant. I suppose I could look at it that folks just accepted me for who and what I was/am. Which is fine... I didn't get any sense though, that I was included or part of what was happening. The travelers dilemma I guess. This is beginning to sound fairly arrogant, like I could, in three months, sum up the psyche of a nation that took 700 years to form? The Maori are as deep an influence on the transformation of the country now as the Brits have been and my contact with them was extremely limited. One man told me, in reference to knowing the people and the work I do, to connect with my indigenous brothers at home.

I recognize how important it is to honour the first peoples, that there is a connection to the land inherent in those who are less caught up in the hubris of western civilization. The flotsam and jetsam of our cultural heritage continues to suck me into a state of possession and obsession with the material. Every time I go into my storage locker I enter an altered state. Like what do I do with all this important, relevant ....stuff? Obviously don't need it or I would bring it home and use it! Of course all the camping equipment comes in handy in the summer and there is nowhere here to store my kayak...... and on and on.

The transition back into my life has been not without it's challenges, to reuse an oft repeated phrase. The change from driving daily without a strict agenda to an enforced schedule brought up some resistance at first, but I do love what I do. I also loved the novelty of not knowing what was around the next corner, the freedom of choice to stay or go and the variety of landscape that continues to stimulate my sense of adventure. New acquaintances, folks met and remembered. Here I have a group of people who appreciate my gifts and talents, individuals who love and cherish my contributions. This is a place of sanctuary (the van never quite got there) with a real sense of participation in what happens to the land.

Writing this out I get that how I relate/interface/participate in the actual earth of a place is probably the biggest piece of what home is to me.

So here I am back in Canada, on Vancouver Island living at O.U.R. EcoVillage working in an Elementary school 45 minutes drive from here. I also continue to attend and support two Dads groups one in Nanaimo and one in Duncan. I am considering working in the kitchen here as a relief for the regular cooks and there are the daily responsibilities of living in community that I have agreed to maintain. I feel enriched, fulfilled and purposeful. What I do has an impact on the lives of all around me. And it is not about being a star or even getting acknowledgment. I do all this because it feels good to me, there is a sense of it needing to be done and I am enjoying providing the service, the experience and learning in the process. The paychecks help too.

Last days in Auckland

Auckland is a busy place, teeming with pedestrians, tourists and students. I drive around looking for a parking lot, knowing there are lots but somehow I don't see any on the path I choose to follow. I did of course find one and after squeezing into it I went looking for the Art gallery. Suddenly there were parking lots all around! Right.
I meet Roo in the gallery after walking completely around the building looking for the entrance. The art on display is contemporary and, for me, pushes the definition of art way past the edge I understand. A large rectangle spread across the floor composed of the remains of a completely dismantled and burned car in 3x5 pieces. Perches suspended from the ceiling that when bumped squawk like a bird....
We go for tea and catch up on the adventures. I go walkabout looking for a cellphone repair. The consensus being I "should buy a new one". I get a haircut from a fellow who doesn't seem to understand what I want, or I don't explain it well. My first brush cut in many years, and most of the beard off look. Back up the hill to Victoria Park where folks are laying about, playing guitar and studying (?) The trees are immense, I attempt to capture their essence in a photo. I wander through the university surrounded by the vigor and possibilities of youth and education. I am feeling old and the busyness is wearing on me. I have had enough of the hustle and bustle and head back to the van...which is where, exactly?
Elke calls as I figure out where I am and we connect briefly.
Back at Liz and Fraser's, I prepare to sell back the van, clean it up and empty everything out. Somehow I need to assimilate or discard these precious items. I saved almost every receipt and tourist brochure I received. I go through it all whittling the pile down to the most pertinent.
I arrange to bring the van back and thankfully it starts easily every time the fellow starts it. Fraser waits as we go on a "test drive" nervously biting his nails waiting for the final verdict. We visit a panel beater (auto repair shop) where the bump on the back bumper is assessed at $400 and taken off the resale price. I am glad to be free of it, knowing I would not do it that way again.
A visit to Waitakere the next day and a chance to use my camera with Fraser's tutelage. We collect images in the interpretive centre, of the native forest, massive tree fern fronds, and occasionally mushrooms. Stop for meat pies and visit a gift shop. I am feeling antsy, impatient and sad. I love this place!
I finally arrange to visit Earthsong the Co-housing community. Fraser and I drive north first and walk the beach, taking pictures of course. Then south and west to Swanson out Waitakere way to Earthsong. Helen, who I met at the Heart Politic gathering takes me around to see the buildings, the community house and then feeds me lunch on the deck. Each residence has their own garden space, there are orchards, nut trees and community gardens as well. These folks are all serious gardeners and the surplus ends up for sale at the nearby farmers market. Helen has a banana tree outside her front door! We talk about the structure of the place, residents, gardening and finally the governance. Christof and Susy also from the Heart Politic gathering, live here and offer to take me to Bethells Beach. Cool! Fraser had told me it was one of his favorites, unfortunately he was unable to take me there.
it is beautiful! We tramp across the black sand my camera grabbing images. Susy talks about cooking and the cave across the river. The full moon and low tide make for a bigger beach than Christof has ever seen. I have my shoes on so I explore the shelf in front of the basalt and creep around the corner on the sharp edges taking pictures of green lipped mussels and the rocks.
I am still amazed at the starkness and fresh feeling of the lava, the geology. how the land seems so alive and active, pieces breaking off, edges everywhere. Another piece of the permaculture puzzle falls into place.
After a nice dinner Christof drives me to the train, one of the reasons these folks chose to build here. A quiet and relaxed hour later I am downtown where due to a lack of street signs, spend a few panicked minutes determining where to catch the bus. Auckland has at least three bus systems going in three directions. An hour later I'm sharing my adventures over tea with Liz and Fraser.
The morning arrives, I have spent much time packing all my treasures into my suitcase and the chilly bin: books, clothing, mead, shells, honey and a 3.2K lava rock for the sweat lodge. All the feathers I found, the wings of the hawk, I place lovingly into an envelope to mail to myself. However when I declare what is inside for customs I cannot lie, I say it is an "unassembled fan" (!) then "roadkill feathers". Apparently "plumage" is not permitted to leave the country. I tell Fraser I figure I am doing my bit to support the NZ economy. I hope it will arrive and let go of the outcome. As I write this three weeks later I am quite sure I know the outcome of that envelope.
Liz takes me to the airport, we have a bit of an adventure finding it as the roads are altered from the last time she drove there. Fraser at the hospital having a procedure which turns out well. I hang out, read, look at people, magazines, more people, wait till time to load. Then the moment when I walk in and sit down. Watch 5 movies drink wine and eat the onboard dinner. The woman in front of me tilts back and it is like she is in my lap. In Vancouver I declare my honey so I am obliged to check in with Ag Can Customs. No problem. No one even looks in my bags! I stand in line again to go through yet another security check, have time for a quick pee and step outside to board the plane to Victoria. Immediately the air hits me. It smells and tastes like home.

Auckland, Men's work

Lucky for me Fraser and Liz are happy to have me stay with them. An oasis in this urban megatropolis. I stop moving and sleep a quiet sleep, warm and cozy. Then prepare myself for the Essentially Men weekend. I am nervous when the van won't start, wearing the battery down I get impatient. I maintain my cool, Fraser tows me up the driveway and I jump it. I find myself on a road I traveled when I was last here looking for the way south. I park on a slope as the fellow next to me grabs a quick smoke before heading inside. We file in, faces mostly masked in silence making small talk, taking our seats pressed together in front of the window. "Did you lock your car?" someone asks. I wonder, will it be broken into? What kind of neighbourhood is this?
The staff men emerge, disappear and re-emerge from the back room. Finally everyone it seems, has arrived (!) and the intro begins... Another man appears at the locked door.
We listen politely then follow the instructions, eyes closed, trusting the process. There is noise, sensory stimulation and finally drumming. We listen, we talk together one on one, meeting each other as strangers. We dance, we sing, we have tea and listen some more. I feel a bond of some kind with a couple of men. It is late when we depart. I wonder where this is taking me. I park so I can jumpstart the van if need be.
It starts.
We are expected to bring food for lunch and dinner so I grab some typical fare from the local New World and drop it in the kitchen. We are all here but one. We connect again in diads and tell stories of our lives. Dad figures big in this, we sing again and massage shoulders standing. Break for tea and tell more stories. The men leading the process are dedicated and committed with passion and compassion. There is something about this that gives me pause for thought. I call it warrior lite in my head but that doesn't describe it. It is a respectful, thorough exploration of being male in New Zealand. I speak to my perceived contradiction around rugby and boxing and the non aggressive, non violence we are as men expected to model. Later I get the connection to Lover Archetype which gives me big pause for thought around Warrior.
I want to connect with one man especially. He smokes, so at the break I sit outside to listen and add what seems appropriate. Like a joke or two! I am so aware of my difference, my Canadianism. I try to be wise and humble, when I tell them I am there to observe, to learn, to understand the differences and similarities because I want to have an impact on the way men proceed in the world. How I/we relate to children and partners and to address the domestic violence that plagues our societies. I am wearing my Dads Make A Difference T-shirt. On the back it says "When you follow the path of your father, you learn to walk like him" Some men pat me on the back, commenting.
The meals are feasts. Everyone has brought more than enough, I stuff myself on food I seldom sample. Sunday I buy blueberries and a long sausage roll.
Stories, diads and an exploration of mom. I'm looking deeply at my relationship with the feminine. Stunned at how much is there ("hello! are you paying attention?") In my face, I experience major confusion. I resolve to reconnect with my therapist... and review just how much I have spent getting here, being here what has brought me here. Please, please, lets NOT make it about the money.
The change in men's faces is remarkable as we wind up that evening. I feel a closeness and a distance. I am after all, an outsider. Rex the creator of the weekend arrives and we talk during dinner. Amazing how articulate I can be when I have someone to speak with who is similarly focused. What I get is the importance of an intiation experience that needs to reflect the community values. Not static or rigid, evolving with the local culture, satisfying the desires and needs of the men to pass on important understandings of community beliefs, ritual and morality. What I see as the antidote actually to a generic society that devalues and diminishes the importance of emotional expression and connection. A model of intimacy that enhances and encourages friendship, tolerance and support.
We meet again the following Tuesday, I am happy to see so many attending, sad I am unwilling to be there, my choice to go home.
I am still processing the weekend days later.
Somehow I left my cup behind, it is nowhere to be found. Another bit of me stays here.

Wellington, Taupo and Auckland

Parking in the city has never been much fun for me. I take the first available spot hoping I am close to the camera shop. As it turns out I am, not the one I had intended to visit but it will do. The bad news is another example of planned obsolescence, fixing it involves replacing the lens which, you guessed it, costs close enough to replacing the camera as to be.... I bite the bullet, I want a decent camera, I love taking pictures.
Now to find Kim, she is getting her hair done and will be ready this afternoon. I park at the New World Grocery store, buy some fruit and cheese and wander around, to the library (!) then down the streets among the throngs looking for the Turkish Kabob place again. On one corner is a Sadhu, a fellow dressed in , well it looks like nothing, a string around his waist hiding his privates under a scrap of cloth, presumably begging. He has a wild look about him and people are not looking generally. I do see someone snapping a photo, those tourists, honestly!
Up Taranacki street, which seems to get narrower and narrower. Kim has been staying with someone from Couchsurf.com and has a connection with someone else who will be storing some of her stuff while she travels north. It takes a while to find the place, perched up above Island Bay. What a view! We watch the ferry cruising towards the port, waves crashing against the rocks, the traffic on the road below and I see houses I noticed on my journey around the peninsulas.
Slowly make our way out of town, not sure which way to go, I head west then cut across to the Hutt Valley over an amazing road. Great vistas and switchbacks, climbing up and over a mountain pass. We stop for chai in Upper Hutt, the locals eyeing us with curiosity ( I hope) Then continue east now through Featherstone and Tauherenikau then turning north again at Greytown.
I spot a sign indicating a gorge and we are off another gravel road adventure through farmland and isolation to alonely spot where people come to jump off the cliff. The gate is locked so I climb over peering down to the water below. It is a straight drop. we follow a path down, Kim sits beside the river. I walk upstream taking pictures trying out my new toy, the water is cold, cold enough to overcome my inclination to jump in, it is soo inviting.
We collect twigs and branches for a fire, find a chunk of pine and make popcorn in my tiny pot. Sit by the fire late into the night talking about life, love and everything in between. The stars are magnificent, we even see one stream across before going to sleep. Kim wanted to sleep outside, her yoga mat not enough insulation we shared my mattress (chastely of course) and were awakened in the night by lashing rain pounding on the van, and unfortunately leaking in the side door.
As we drove out in the morning the side mirror fell off. The nearest town Carterton, had no wreckers and the message I got was no chance of replacement... Availed ourselves of the library to catch up on the endless email and continued north towards Taupo. I was more interested in a zigag route so at Pahiatu we went west towards Palmerston North then Ashurst onto Colyton Rd and north to Vinegar Hill rejoining #1 Highway. Stopped in Taihape the Gumboot throwing capitol of NZ. The major event takes place March 20, damn! Going to miss that one.
Then into the NZ desert at 1074 metres above sea level, a military training ground with heather in bloom at the side of the road and what appears to be miles and miles of scrub and not much else.
Taupo on Lake Taupo is a tourist town par excellence. All the possibilities exist here, any kind of thrill seeking will be satisfied. We elected to camp at a site with mineral springs and had a good soak before dinner and then bed. It was cold, real cold. Kim took the blanket and camped on the couch in the kitchen while I froze my ass off in the van. It wasn't till I had been in the springs again the next morning 3 hours after getting up that I finally got warm. Definitely a summer bag, there was frost on the ground till 9.
Not impressed with the library in Taupo, no WiFi and one needs to pay/join the library/become a resident to use the computers. They handed us a list of local establishments with WiFi and off we went. Kim bought a bus ticket and headed off to Napier/Hastings to the Steiner college and I went to visit Haku Falls. What a torrent that is! A massive amount of water churning through a narrow gorge out of Lake Taupo it flows north just south of Auckland the longest river in NZ. Jet boats racing up as close as possible to the maelstrom then speeding away down river for whatever they charge the thrill seekers.
Just up the road Craters of The Moon, a no brainer for this guy, $6 and a good walkabout 45 min.+ Steaming holes, sunken fumaroles etc. Lots of fun! Lots of pictures!
That being my break from driving I then drove straight through to Auckland.