“You have to get up to go up” a story by Pete and Max

You have to get up to go up

 

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.

 

method writer

1.A writer or author who uses a technique of writing in which he/she identifies emotionally with a character in the story and assumes that character’s persona in the telling. Novels and stories exhibiting this style are almost always first person. This writing style allows insights into a character’s motives, reactions and thoughts that usually can only be inferred from other styles. Author’s using this technique may describe the sensation of writing as if they were spiritually channeling the character.

Notes to Self…

Prior to a going off hiking by your self you may want to consider putting these things  into your bag

  1. Swiss army Knife or pocket knife
  2. Flashlight or head lamp
  3. Waterproof bag, with extra socks, polar vest and clothes
  4. A Water bladder
  5. Compass ( there is one on your phone but that runs on a battery)
  6. Map ( the more details the better)
  7. A simple First aid kit with moleskin, band aids, antibiotic lotion and tweezers
  8. Book…lighter and matches
  9. At least one Bandana (one for your neck and the other for your head)
  10. Simple trail food (trail mix, fruit, Gatorade)
  11. Toilet paper (think about this one..both sexes hike)
  12. Surveyor tape ( helps you not get lost but misplaced)
  13. Cell phone
  14. Wallet and keys

Remember that it is commonly suggested not to hike on your own…

If you hike alone prepare for the Consequences

The mission…Hiking up Mt Finlayson

large_warning_sign

Vital Data on Mission

By Pete and Max

“I am an idiot”, I recall a fellow colleague who used to start her mornings with this proclamation prior to attempting to teach quantum physics. Perhaps it was just her own humble way of coping with the grandeur of particle and universal wave energy. Each day, over the last fifteen years, I had also paid homage to my own inner goof prior to attempting to share some wisdom on the ways of science and biology. If anything, I can honestly say that I am a survivor. Put me in a planned or real fire fight, a leaky boat in turbulent seas, or invalid and in and out of surgical wards for five years and I will survive. Put me in a classroom and whether it is coping with impending bankruptcy, a divorce, the challenges of single parenting two kids or just keeping my nose above water, and I will keep my boat a float strictly in survival mode. Though I kept my reflections to my self, I could truly empathize with her deep seeded of her sentiment and I had followed the same cyclic patterns of thought. We all have to question our own actions. Sometimes, the actions just do not make sense. So as I lay on a folded sleeping bag and listened to the morning rain continue to fall on my tents fly, I knew that I too had once again been an idiot.

If I were to follow the path of my own life, there is no end of examples when I have decided to do something only to discover my own lunacy later and after the fact. Whether it was pride, loneliness or random mental rumble tums through a vivid mental landscape that only my mind can create, I quietly confessed to the clouds that I had been stupid and I that I was truly sorry. What was really rolling around in my noggin was that when your own stupidity causes another to be angry, it is best to admit guilt, own it and plan some form of resolution. So there I was, listening to the continual hissing of the rain and pondering a hike up a geological feature known as Mt Finlayson.

My morning meditative actions were interrupted by another voice that I have now come to recognize as my dog spirit Max. Confess this stuff to folks in your day to day and the chances are a nice white jacket and a cornucopia of meds may come your way. However; place these facts into a fictional tale and all sorts of possibilities come into play. Max loves to have me go off on hikes. He seems to take great delight in seeing me resort to crawling through boulders on all four legs. While I was busy coming up with excuses to forgo a few hours of humping it through the woods, Max and my bladder had other intentions. One of the insightful lessons that Max has retaught me is to sense the world through your nose and ears. Even before I could see the morning runner, I could already hear his footsteps and smell his sweat or was it me? Just prior to the outhouse he stopped and bent over and panted. I asked if he was running to use the facility. My remark brought both a laugh and a quick nod for me to jump in post haste.

Afterwards, I asked him about whether it was wise to go hiking today. A light drizzle of rain was still falling. Of course, asking this individual was not the wisest of choices. This person had already worked up a sweat thundering through the country side prior to me emptying my bladder. He did recommend good boots and stated that lots of folks enjoy this hike. The term “enjoy” and hiking is some what of a joke for me. My reluctance to go and “enjoy” tromping over terra firma was insanely tested by some day long marches with Uncle Sam’s misplaced children. Thankfully, while Max was alive, he used to inspire many a mile of sniffing and crawling through all things putrid and now..well he was now up to his trick again.

mt_finlayson_warning_sign

 

After parking my trusty old Eddie Bauer truck “ataboy”, I proceeded to look at the map the attendant at the office gave to me. It even included contour lines, which gave it an air of authenticity. I loaded up my pack with the basics including a heavy novel and a huge camel back of water ( drank the whole container and had to refill)  just to make this “hump” into a test of what I could do. Prior to the trail head I had already been warned about what fates may occur. What the sign did not explain was that there were some flaws in in the ministry map. Notice the distinct lack of Bear Mountain Golf course and the North side trail to summit.

map_of_mt_finlayson_and_goldstream_park

To step up my mood and throw caution to the wind, I choice path number two which was a wonderful wilderness staircase . Looking at the map, this  trail was the alternative to a gradual saunter through the woods. I had seen these type of lures in the past. “yes, you are about to commune with nature in a rigorous faction, so here is a test, a rapid ascent via some stairs”.  Why do they put the beginning of so many trails these day? Is it a wake up call? Is it the park boards way of saying “if you cannot handle this..please do no go up this trail!”. Be it the Grouse Grind, the Sea to Sky and even a fun hoof in Deep Cove..the hike begin with a set of stairs. So as I stretch out my thighs and took in the view, Max just snorted and started to take in the odors of the day and then he inspired me to start humming this song  A song chosen by Max

When the incline came to a minor portion of flatness, Max started to amuse him self with meditations about how climbing a mountain is like being in a relationship. Now I am fond of working metaphorical magic and perhaps this is where Max has gotten the panache to link behaviours that make no sense to his former dog self. I sat for a moment, listened to wind in the trees and slowly sipped some water. Max’s song was now stuck in my head and his mental ruminations were beginning to test my patience. He has only started to gain the skill to control my own thoughts and yes even actions. I have thought to explain some of my actions and even blame the some of my more insane of endeavours on MaxI. Yet as fate would have it, I chose to take the harder path by following other hikers like a complacent sheep.  You know, you put the word mountain in front of an upwelling of land and folks seem to take pride in reaching the summit. In fact, I later met a couple that had promised themselves a bimonthly ascent just to keep the wheels of romance in action. Perhaps Max was onto something.

Several months prior to this hike, my sister had convinced me of a simple hike in Moab. She said it would take two and a half hours. Going through the dense and lush woods of Mt Finlayson, I was too distracted to bother to keep track of time. Max had shown me that for dogs, time was a human idea. He successfully debated that if you wanted to remain in the present you best focus on what your feet were doing verses checking what the hands of your watch were up to. As he saw it, to experience a good hike is, like a good dog walk, it should include time to sniff and smell..well.. what ever there is to sniff. So a short or long time later and now above the tree line and the view came into view.

mt_finlayson_person_walking_along_rocky_trail

Max was waxing all poetic of how the striping of layers made for intimacy and the effort of the hike made it possible to see the trees from the forest. Showing off his cerebral powers over my own motion, he had me stop and make sure folks could rush by. He also wanted to make sure some canines had proper footing. At one point, he even took over my facilities and had me scout out a path for a Mom who was afraid her daughter’s dog would fall. Meanwhile a Dad and his pack were launching up the hill and while the family dog was spry, Dad was showing all the signs of questioning this family outing. In fact, I actually convinced him and his wife..and dog to take the North side trail back down. I can only hope that their dog was smart enough to follow his nose to the correct trail back home.

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In a some what German accent, Max said that “ considering the second route was or is an attempt to move on from the joy of reaching the summit. While some may retrace each step that brought them to this summit, finding an alternate path allows one to travel alone and regroup”. I was not amused by this topic simply because Max’s own ideas are challenging at the best of times. Not having an ego, he has found great delight in mucking about in places that no hound should go. Prior to his existence, I had managed to screw up quite well on my own. As this tale with testify and what ever the case, I did pause and took in not only the view, I also noticed a golf course that was not on the map. This one observation would later be of importance in my adventure, hiking the front nine of Bear Mountain

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I have a head lamp In my pack. I bought one after attempting to get a sunset from a trail heading up from Chuckanut Drive in Washington State. Prior to starting this hike,  I had foolishly thought that I would climb up this mountain and watch the sun rise. I watch several folks, either in groups or on their own come to the summit and leave. I ate a snack and even read a chapter in that mammoth book I put in my pack. I had a watch and now it was reminding me that a simple and short hike was Now as I got to the bottom of this incline, I was wondering if I would need it to get back to my truck before the sun went down. Max was not worried, in fact he manage to have me start humming this song You see, and this is why hiking alone has it’s limitations. In my own single mindeness to find a road drawn on the map, I made the mistake of detouring into a wonderful and new golf course. The irony of it being called Bear mountain did not escape me for I was wondering how much longer I could bear being misplaced and looking for a mysterious road. It was on the six hole that I met up with a foursome who had no clue where a labeled road on the map should be. Yet being wise golfers, they suggested that instead of retracing the past six holes, why not view the next three holes and go to the pro shop.

Coasting

So while Max amused my senses with spotting feeding deer and random bunnies, I looked a the t boxes and marveled at what a monster course was being built next to an homage to a former parliamentarian. Thankfully, my arrival at the clubhouse included a greeting from a kid named Alex and while a wealthy marvel of manhood looked at me and wondered if I had peed my self in front of the water dispenser, he quietly ushered me off the course and back to the trail head. There, just where I had previously photographed was a sign for both the easy and hard routes to go up Mt. Finlayson. Prior to reaching my truck, Max seemed mute to further reflections. I was tired and yet elated that I had not only gone up and down the mountain. I had also done there front nine of a world class golf course.

What I did not share in this tale is the simple fact that while Max did come up with a fun metaphor about love and changes in topography, there is another mountain that one in four people face each day. Some times, it takes every ounce of mental and physical power just to get out of bed and face the simple challenges of the day. While clinical terms like bi polar, ADHD and yes even depression are tossed about in textbooks and lecture halls, the actual process to actually live through and cope with mental challenges is a state of consciousness that flows between both heaven and hell. To actually navigate these mental landscaped each waking and dreaming hour is an amazing act of both spirit and hope. Winston Churchill called it “the Black Dog” — a depression that settled over him and drained the flavor from life. Thankfully, some times it is just the simple action of getting out of your head and going into nature that allows the mind to change it’s own focus. Perhaps it is a test of whether the map is really the territory. Other times the terrain becomes to tiring or severe and it requires a prescription and an acceptance that this day or the next few months may not be just right. Having a “creative mind” some times allows the internal chatter to speak up or shut down. Sometimes there are even those detours to dialogs involving dog spirits and opening your heart to the universe. It has been said that our family pets may be living a better life than our own selves. So if he is real or not, I do thank Max for inspiring me through this day.

comedy and depression

Ruby Wax

Mud Climb up Mt Finalayson

A reason to hike each day

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Things go better with Bob

Stand up paddle boarding water polo

wipe out

Tell him to be a fool every so often
and to have no shame over having been a fool
yet learning something out of every folly
hoping to repeat none of the cheap follies
thus arriving at intimate understanding
of a world numbering many fools.

Carl Sandburg

Having taken a few trips around the sun, you sometimes get to notice some patterns about life and people. For example, I have never had a bad time when I have been with some one named “Bob”. In fact, I can honestly say that I have been had the good fortune to have been mentored by two amazing men, Robert “Bob” Teideman of Newport antique twelve’s fame and the late   Dr. Robert “Bob” Schwartzand the racing yacht “Diane” crew. In fact it was just the other day that another partner in crime who to this day has the nickname “Doctor” due to his altruistic and heroic efforts, invited me for a retreat up the coast in Powell River. May be it is the buoyancy factor, you can count on a “Bob” to float your through the rough stuff. “Bobs” ride the waves and shuck and juke with the punches. So after spending three hours getting introduced to the game of stand up water polo, I wasn’t surprised to discover that there was a Bob behind this fantastic and lunatic event.

Now that I paddle every Monday at Deep Cove, I have come to realize how much is actually going on. Besides, the rental program of SUP’s and Kayak’s there is a flow of amazing athletes participating in other paddling events coming to the cove to share both their enthusiasm and wisdom. As I was leaving the Cove on Monday, one of the staff mentioned the Wednesday evening sup water polo. I had never heard of such a thing and I have only been on a board since April but I figured in a moment of both ignorance and confidence….”what the heck, what do I have to lose?”. So I arrived at the Cove early and noticed among the many floating things in the harbor thee was this this odd floating structure near to the shore. The bay was a hive of activity. There were kayakers, sailboards, two person paddle boards and I wondered if I was in the middle of a Doctor Suess poem..”there were paddlers with fins and paddlers with grins, there were even worldly wise four footed paddlers with wiskers on their chins”.

DCSuppolofar        DCSuppoloclose

Starboard Stand Up Water Polo

 

The original board and ball polo 1941!

As I sat upon a bench and proceeded to watch a pack of young pups proceeded to spin and shoot within the floating pontoons, I distinctly could not help but notice a high level of skill. It was like watching a pack of grommets play in the waves in Monterey. I began to seriously doubt my choice to play. The game itself involves two teams of three players standing upon larger more buoyant paddle boards. These board are coloured red or blue so that when you are in the water half drowning, you can identify which board is yours. The paddle is a combination of a spoon surface with an open hole. This means you can paddle hard and go no h and at the same time attempt to scoop a ball up into your stick without falling overboard. You are allowed to make stick to stick contact and ram inflatable rubber paddle board into the other team players boat causing a player to be out of the game in the water and hopefully not you. The game does involve a lot of falling into the water, swimming and climbing onto your board and standing up again. All this considered and with no experience I decided to my name on a list and was told that not a lot of folks were coming. So I relaxed, became a “free agent”, and patiently waited fully aware that I did have a good excuse. “How did you trip to go play polo go?”..”Oh I was a free agent and there were not enough players. I found an empty space on the seawall, smiled and felt reprieved. Oh well, I can just watch the kids, inflate Clarity and go of for a nice solo paddle. As the first game began, I was just part of the growing crowd watching first game in the middle of the bay.

Unlike the film clips on-line, there was a lot of speed and feisty play. There were no end of folks falling into the water and popping up onto their boards as if there were sharks in the water. This game was fast. I sipped a beverage and grinned and felt the quiet satisfaction of being just another on looker. That is when I heard my name being shouted. The first time I ignored it. From the shore, a young man was calling me out. Everyone was looking at each other. I actually thought of just ignoring his shouting when some one said..”we cannot find him”. I took in the scene wondering if my invisible powers would work. There was more head turning and a crew of fit folk patiently waited on a massive inflatable sup. Ignorance kicked in and I decided to get my wet suit vest and saddle up. I had made this mistake once before in a gymkanna where I nearly speared my horse racing around a pylon. Yup I decided to giddy up and joined my team “the free agents”.

As I wobbled and fell into the water prior to the first game, I noticed a familiar face staring back at me from the other team. It was my first instructor that took me out on my first ride on a soggy April day. There he was, big grin and massive thighs giving me a shacka salute. Yo bra and the game began. I remember being either airborne or in the water. There was a lot of cheering and laughter. Why I felt an odd sense of confidence I did not know but this was really fun. The game went on for eight to ten minutes. Neither I nor the many others had the time to even contemplate the time. It was like crash test dumbies all set loose to see who could stay afloat and move the ball. Two players on the other team were spinning their boards like they were bailing out of riding waves. I was learning to bend down more and attempting to move my feet. Having coached a few field sports, I looked for open space and attempted to pass the ball prior to falling overboard. I was on a learning curve with bald tires and a slippery soggy surface.

The free agents put up a great fight, we even the lead for some of our games and even attempted to give high fives without falling overboard. As the tide rose, a whole group of players and staff moved the pontoons closer to the shore so that more folks could watch. As the sun was sneaking it’s way to the horizon, I began to notice that many of the players were visiting paddlers and ex surfers. This would explain why and how they could jump in the air and spin to face the other direction. There were both guys and girls laughing it up with each capsize and goal. On the sideline we began to form a cheering section and did shark bit salutes as both young and more crafty older players went head to head. The boys started shouting out for Bob as I watched wiser wizard cherry picking close to the net. While brawn could get to the ball faster, the worldly-wise experience brain came up with neat tricks to score and sink other team players.

Being the last of the free agents to remain, I was pick up by one team and we managed, with the help of David’s crazy board and football skills to form a three-step ball movement to a young whippet who won the game. Then I got picked up by another team and as the video cameras rolled, I was now in the semi final game.

Here is was.. the Cinderella story, a misfit from Vancouver, now playing goal against the grommets who for the last I had admired that afternoon. Could it be a Disney film..the outlandish saves, the long distance shot, the roar of the crowd? Within the first opening five minutes and from behind me, a board made contact with mine as I saw the ball being relayed towards me. When I resurfaced from under the water, ball was in reach of their forward player who casually flipped the ball into the air and then netted the ball with his stick. I laughed, looked for my paddle board and beaked at the shooter…”really, you had to do that!”.  The grommets were out for blood and soon I was viewing the finals from the sidelines, I got to witness the grommets take on the paddling rock stars from South Africa and mighty Australian and “Bob”. This is the game the Grommets had been waiting for. “We want to play Bob”, they had been chanting from the sidelines. The afternoon practice was showing great skill for the pups but a cunning South African continued to show amazing goal keeping skills. Bob snuck in under the radar and cherry picked an equalizing goal. The grommets complained about score keeping as I raised my arms to show two peace signs but the afternoons practice paid off with a final score of 3-2.

Introduce a sport to a bunch of paddlers and a positive and enthusiastic community and you get that magical moment when everything falls into place including players into the water. For me, when words get replaced with sincere and positive actions then there is evidence of truth. What I appreciated the most was how my humble skill sets and lunges into the water were met with cheers! What I enjoy best about any sport is how many people can become part of one thing. There is a joy in being part of a positive and enthusiastic community. As I helped pull up anchors and piloted “the starcraft” multiuser paddle board, I noticed a couple and their hound taking in the fading sunset. With everyone pitching in, boards and pontoons were soon deflated and were being packed. It was during this time, that I met the wizard “Bob” who had been potting in goals in the final game. True to form, I must confess you cannot go wrong when you get involved in some fun with a guy named “Bob”

For more fact about Bob…and Deep Cove events please use the following links or go to my page “what is sup in Vancouver”. Now there is an “attaboy endeavours” facebook too! I am in training now and preparing for a rematch! It appears that Deep Cove Days may be the next set of games!

Promise to keep you posted