Dailies
Photo Wanders, freelancing and process
Lighthouse Park
It’s pretty remarkable to encounter so many huge fir trees so close to a parking lot.
It brings up feelings of awe and wonder and a sense of importance, that somebody made a good decision at one point, to preserve this area for the rest of us to be able to enjoy.
But it’s an interesting dynamic, where in these trees are not special at all. Go to any undeveloped corner of the coast (north of 49) and you will encounter (or, would have encountered) these magnificent creatures called Trees. This particular section is only special and unique in comparison to the pavement that surrounds it. It’s not to say that it isn’t special to be able to visit such a place, so close to the pavement, but it is to say that the uniqueness of these trees is only due to the destruction of everything else around. It makes me ponder what “special” really is, we often raise up those that stand out of the crowd, are unique, special, and in the process we separate them from the rest. It just seems a bit lonely, like what if we were to do this same thing to other people, lift them up, make a distinction between them and the rest of us. What if they didn’t want that?
My partner and I sat watching the seals for a long time not saying much. They were playing in a current running between two rocks. For some, the seals are not as special as us people, animals are a step below us. Who made that decision to rank each other on a hierarchy? The seals seemed to be the ones who had everything figured out. Us, escaping the end of a long work day to retreat to this small sliver of undeveloped land, or them, playing together, dancing in the waves. I think we have a long way to go in all this, first off might be relieving ourselves from a position of judgment, that we as humans are far from the only perspective that matters on this earth. And that the task of ranking and creating hierarchies is a lonely pursuit that most likely will lead to regret down the road.
But we were just on a little wander, so do with this as you wish.
A mille cude,
KB
The Conditions for Doing
I struggle to do the thing at times, my focus narrows, I start trying to force through the obstacles, forgoing rest or recovery until some future date, when I have done the thing. But that’s not how it ever works for me. I forget this far too often.
Or maybe this is the real process?
Because all the times I have “done some thing” it is not because I tried to do it, but rather that the conditions for “the doing” were just so that “the thing” happened organically. It’s not a lack of intention though, these things I have done are not happenstance, it would be unfair to say they were. Instead I prefer to look at it as in those times I was intentionally creating the conditions for the thing to emerge.
What I am noticing is that when I find myself trying to force through process, late nights and neglecting my needs because they would take away from “the doing”, I am putting myself in survival mode. Quite literally, I think to myself, once I reach my goal I can rest and then I will take care of myself. Once I get away from the tiger I will sleep, eat and hydrate. But the tiger never rests because the tiger is me, the tiger is my own sense of needing to “do” to survive, partially true, partially my own creation, and it is fascinating to consider how my approach to process can impact my nervous system.
How subtle survival mode can creep into our daily experience. And how hard it is to regulate after.
So here’s to turning attention away from doing the thing, and instead focusing energy on creating the conditions for the thing we want to emerge.
Ceud mile failte,
KB
Starting somewhere
And so it begins…
it me.
And so it begins…
This section of my website is new to me, a place for spontaneous sharing of lessons and reflections on my time using a camera. I don’t want this to just be about work either though, because no part of me could ever really separate what I do with who I am, so this will be an informal, hopefully semi-consistent practice of sharing for the sake of sharing; whether it be daily galleries, wonderings, a quote, a good read or listen, you never know what you might find here!
But! This will only be the location for hosting the content, I will continue to communicate through social media to keep you in the loop on new posts or coming updates (or, sign up for email updates at the contact button below so we can ditch our social overlords altogether).
In the meantime I will continue to pick berries and hopefully regain some of my fashion sense, but mostly I’ll be continuing as pictured below (gallery supplied by my wonderful partner Tessa Antone) , because what else would I do ;)
Photo by Brian Hockenstein while sailing from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert on the “Outer Passage”
Till next!
Welcome
Delmar Joseph / St’a7mes school family
Welcome Figure for Xwaw’chay’ay / Porteau Cove Provincial Park - BC Parks Foundation and St’a7mes School
SP'AKWUS FEATHER PARK
“I’m particularly proud of the work of our Squamish mén̓men (children) in designing the playground based on an important Squamish oral history—this important piece of cultural recognition will remind everyone who visits that they are on Squamish land,”
Sxwixwtn Wilson Williams
Spring Rising
Spring Rising Campaign - Akisqnuk, Shuswap / Bugaboo Provincial Park - Will Stanhope, Whitney Clarke
Welcoming Herring Home
“…The Search for Slhawt’, as the herring project is known, is about more than the forage fish. One of the wider goals is to restore people’s relationship with the sound. For millennia, the spring journey of slhawt’ back to their spawning areas marked the first feast after a long winter for humans and marine beings alike, from seabirds to eagles to porpoises. Communities held ceremonies in late winter that helped welcome slhawt’ home. Roe was gathered and eaten fresh, dried, or smoked—sometimes with salmonberry shoots.” — Lauren Kaljur
Featured at: Marine Stewardship Initiative, Hakai, The Tyee, Global News
Marine Reference Guide
This movie showcases the Marine Reference Guide's goals, accomplishments, and team from 2018-2021. The movie was produced to celebrate World Oceans Day 2021. The Guide is a project on MakeWay's Shared Platform.
To learn more about the Guide please visit our website: https://howesoundguide.ca/
Kelkelokik / Sandy Ward
Sandy Ward / Kelkeloakik - Lil̓wat7úl - Backcountry Mentorship Program Co-Lead at Indigenous Women Outdoors
What Do the Winds Bring?
It is an interesting heuristic, that we find it difficult to foresee certain things that exist just beyond our own experience; we tend to prepare for the worst it’s been, not the worst it could be.
Patagonia: The Cleanest Line 2020
The Badge: An Adaptive Ascent
“I’m in over my head.” Luke says
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I can do this..” he replies, leaning on the rope a few feet below the hanging belay.
After climbing for 10 hours we have found ourselves halfway up The Sheriff’s Badge, an eight-pitch, 300 metre aid climb on the Stawamus Chief. Below our feet, the wall is slightly overhanging all the way to the black slabs at the base. Above, the rock just 30’ out into space, totally horizontal. I can feel the weight of the wall and I look longingly at the ground. Perhaps we dreamed too big, thought too highly of ourselves, perhaps this really is more than we can handle. it’s not that we can’t it’s that I fear what happens if we do.
I’m worried about Wayne—I can hear him dry heaving below, puking bile into a 1-litre plastic bottle he’d clipped to his harness just for that purpose. The very serious fear that Wayne might die overshadows the reality that we all might die.
We wait for him in in silence. We have headlamps, I feel ok to keep leading, but I need Luke’s help, without it we need to go down, now –before we go over the big roof. Half an hour later, Wayne creeps into view—elbow, knee and a single hip pad scraping as he ascends the rope. I shout down that Luke has something to say.
“I want to go down,” Luke sheepishly blurts.
“Wayne stops his shuffling, his back stiffens, his brows furrow and in a way that is only his, he shouts back, “I never bail!!!”
The only way down is up.
***
Blind Dating
The idea of blind-dating on a serious route makes my skin crawl, humans are complicated creatures and climbing big-walls will bring everything to the surface, all that stuff we try so hard to keep hid. Because of this, I can count the people I will stick my neck out with on one hand: LukeCormier is one of them. Difficult big wall aid climbing takes time and a whole lot of energy, often parties takes days on routes, each piece of gear must be carefully selected, placed and then tested before finally committing your weight to it. Trust is everything. We had agreed to climb with Wayne because he was upfront about his ability, no bravado, just positive energy.
“So; crazy eh? Wayne had enthused at the coffee shop earlier that morning. “A 65 year old climbing the Badge in a day—this is going to be fun!”
A pang of anxiety had gone through me, we had been so wrapped up in the logistics of the wall and Wayne’s energy was so high, we had just assumed he was younger. Not that it really mattered. Wayne’s age wasn’t really an issue, it was his mobility.
As a baby Wayne was diagnosed with Polio; the virus left Wayne with limited use of his right leg and a host of chronic health problems from the resulting Post Polio Syndrome (PPS). His was one of the last American generations without access to a vaccine.
We had left the truck at 8:00 AM. It took 2 hours for Luke and Wayne to travel from the car to the wall while I stumbled back and forth, ferrying the heavy bags, becoming conscious of my movements each time I passed Wayne. At a short, steep section on the trail he paused, placed his hiking poles above him, took the exposed tree roots in his hands, stepped his left foot up and pulled himself into balance. Wayne then had to free his hands in order to manually manoeuver his right leg into position to climb higher. “Grovelling in style” he’d laughed. I resisted the innate urge to help, Wayne has been moving like this for twice as long as I have been alive, he moves with something most people rarely achieve even when given all the physical ability and recreational privilege in the world—Wayne had grace.
Nobody gets to choose their circumstances, but we do get to choose how we exist within them; Wayne has climbed 39 big-walls in his career, many on Yosemite’s El Capitan, often scaling these monstrous walls in a push, chasing the illustrious in-a-day ascent. He ascends the rock by using mechanical ascenders to climb ropes set by his partners. This time those partners were Luke and I … and Luke wanted to bail.
***
“I never bail!”
Wayne’s rallying cry had reignited Luke’s desire to see this through. Fifteen hours in and I’m above the roof climbing by headlamp as dusk falls, one move at a time, keep it going. Luke cleans my gear and sets the lines for Wayne. Progress is slow.
The immensity of the Badge was well known to us—the last “in a day” attempt was 20 years prior and local wall wizard Chris Geisler had taken a bone-breaking fall when he slipped in mundane terrain, a hazard of moving too quickly on the wall.
1:00 AM: I find myself redlined, free climbing overhanging rock in my sneakers, my last piece of gear is beyond my headlamp, all I can see is an uninterrupted nylon cord arching into the darkness below, there is nothing to anchor myself to.
1:01 AM: Tired and thirsty, I shake my arms out one at a time. I can feel the metallic taste of fear clawing at the back of my throat. I focus on my heart rate, try to buy some time… I shove a cam in a misshapen crack but it falls out. With no other choice in the matter I soon find myself 20 feet higher on a small ledge of dirt, safe again. I continue climbing, trusting Luke and Wayne are ok in the inky darkness below.
4:00 AM: It’s light enough to see, I turn off the headlamp, the soft grays of dawn lead me up an awkward corner, the last pitch of the route. I collapse on Sasquatch ledge—the top—it is over. For me anyways. I take my time laying out everyone’s sleeping pads and organize what I can, I look longingly at a cold can of chicken soup but I must wait for Luke. Then I lay down on top of my sleeping bag, with my back to the wall and the valley spreading out below, heading North into the Coast mountains.
6:30 AM: Luke is here. Time slips past and our tired bones sink into the dirt. I almost close my eyes before realizing that Wayne still hasn’t joined us. I roll over a few feet and peer over the edge, following the rope to find him beside a tree. “How you doing Wayne?”
“Doing good!” His reply seems absurd from where I am, it does not look that way— 600ml of bile hangs from his harness, his pee bottle is empty, his movements are strained and the awkward angle of the final pitch is causing him difficulty, causing the right side of his body to scrape up the rock a few inches at a time.
“Where was Wayne when you left him?” I ask Luke,
“By the tree.”
8:00 AM: Wayne arrives, just under 22 hours after we started, looking all of his 65 years. But his eyes, his voice, his smile, bely nothing of his troubles. I think back to the perception of risk, the ability to distinguish real danger and I realize my years of climbing have taught me to wait for truths to reveal themselves rather than cling to expectations. Wayne is here, tired and sore—just like us—and better off for it, just like us.
They say first impressions are most important, and if this were true I might not haveagreed to this climb, let alone pressed on when one partner first started dry-heaving 60’ off the ground, just under 24 hours ago. Wayne’s situation made me uncomfortable but some part of me kept asking, how could I know what’s best for him? As a young man I was always told the value of patience but I had never considered the linkbetween patience, humility and understanding. How the old saying that good things come to those who wait was also a lesson to shed the fallacy that if we don’t understand something right now, it’s not worth knowing.
The mountains offer an opportunity to interact with discomfort and it is too easy to glorify those moments where we feel strong and independent. In my formative years I suffered on a path towards these ideals, mountains were symbols ofthe good that can come to those who wait, as if all that goodness was something I could attain, not something I now realize is meant to be given away.
Mountain Life: Coast Range 2019