Someday.

The drive to Waterton National Park, all hay fields and distant mountains

 I had always planned on moving to San Francisco. Someday I'll move to San Francisco, I'd say. Someday. 

Waterton

When the time came, I was 26 years old and flew out there with no job, no place to live and no plan, really. I wanted to be a writer. I figured things would work themselves out. 

Prince of Wales Hotel

But San Francisco didn't just pull me into her bosom and welcome me the way I thought she would. I temped for a while, trucking my one bag of clothing and pillow from one friend's couch to another for over a month. I was broke, homeless and unemployed.

Blue mountains in the morning

A year after I moved there, I broke up with my first real love. I moved out of his apartment. I had a job by then and found my own place, but felt more stranded than I had ever been. It was near Halloween, I remember, the air had just a kiss of fall. I would go out to Ocean Beach and run while the sun set over the Pacific and a plump harvest moon rose over the city.

That's me.

A broken heart can shatter you. But it can also make you feel as raw and alive as you have ever been. Like something is opening before you, something you cannot see yet, something far off, just a fleck on the horizon.

The hike to Crypt Lake

It was only then that San Francisco opened up her arms and I began to love her truly.
Standing all alone before the ocean.

You guys: the colors!

Moving to Calgary was a bit of a shock. I had never said, Someday, I'll move to Calgary.

To get to Crypt Lake you have to climb through this very tiny tunnel.

I was so devoted to my beloved San Francisco, that I arrived to Canada with my nose turned up at everything I thought this place was: big trucks, cowboy culture, oil and gas. I was too good for it all. (For more on San Francisco smugness, I highly recommend the South Park Episode "Smug Alert.")

Little butterfly friends at Crypt Lake

A rest on the lakeshore

 But this summer, something shifted.

More dreamy fall colors

We packed up our tent, our backpacks, some good food and sleeping bags.

More blue mountains.

 We explored.

Waterton Ferry

I have always also said, "Someday, I want to live in the mountains."

I am extremely attached to this here guidebook.

So it turns out I did get one of my Somedays.

Hike to Wall Lake

It just didn't look the way I expected it too.

Testin out the Macro setting.

I guess nothing ever does. 

Mystical little stream.

 Over the course of our little adventures, our new home has worked its way into my heart.

Wall Lake. I became quite obsessed with the reflections.

And I find myself astonished in the way I was in San Francisco, looking up and around, thinking, "Wow. I can't believe I live here." 

Reflection turned lengthwise. Amazing, right?!

It's funny the way we fall in love with places. They way they sneak up and suddenly, they are a part of us.

Panorama of the reflection.

 It's funny the way our Somedays suddenly arrive.

 Those flecks on the horizon form fully, right before our eyes.

Goodbye Wall Lake.

I have also been saying for years now, Someday, we'll get a decent camera.

The bridge on home.

And this week, we did!  It was agony trying to pick the best ones.

Trail.

But I hope you like these.

Smooch.

I hope your summer has been full of adventures and surprises.

Oh fall. You beautiful thing, you.

I hope your fall is full of colors.

The road home.

Farewell sweet summer. See you next year.

Oh, the places you'll go and the people you'll meet.

Dan and I stumbled into the backcountry earlier this summer almost by accident. Our planned car camping adventure was foiled by a mudslide, which sent us to Kananaskis Country where every single campsite was booked. We thus ended up in overflow camping (read: a parking lot) where we were nearly eaten alive by mosquitos before a thunderstorm hit and we were subsequently kept up all night by a drunken group of boys. All I wanted the next night was to get away--far away. So we backpacked into Elk Lakes, where we spent the evening around a fire eating marshmallows and swigging whiskey with a pair of down-to-earth dads, and four Nepalese-Americans who have backpacked every single weekend since February--rain, shine or snow. You meet a different sort of folk back there. The sort that inspire you to get off your ass and explore already.

This weekend, we journeyed to Burstall Pass and Burstall Campground. The first half is a day hike, and was well-populated.

There was fresh snow on the ground. People looked at our backpacks and raised their eyebrows. "Hope you have some warm gear in there." 

"How far away is the campground?" Dan asked me. Oh about 12 K, I think. "And what's the elevation change?" Mmmm...yeah I forgot to check that. We take out the map. "Looks like we lose about 900 meters in 5k." (i.e. tomorrow's uphill is going to be brutal.) "Sky. For future trips, maybe you could check these things."

Right. But throw a little caution to the wind and here you are:

The backside of the pass granted us our wish of solitude in the wilderness. We were exhausted when we arrived.

At first, we were all alone. (We got the best tent site.)

Then a family arrived. A couple and their teenage son.

(We were reading when they showed up.) 

"Is anyone else here?" they asked.
"No, just us."
"Sorry! You would've had it to yourselves."
"No, no," we said. "Welcome!" The truth is, we were relieved they showed up. We'd seen an unnervingly fresh pile of berry-filled bear scat not too far back on the trail. 

                                        

The sun began to go down. Dan gathered tinder for a fire.

                                        

"Are you making a fire?!" The teenager, whose name is Max, ran over. He took on the fire like a pet, watching Dan, gathering wood, throwing on whatever he could find.  The mom and dad were Paulette and Rick, they live in the countryside outside of London and have extremely awesome accents.

They are here on a month-long vacation  and this was there first day of six on this particular jaunt through the backcountry. They have already completed two, one in Yoho and one from Lake Louise to Banff.

Every summer, they do a month-long trip like this. Last year, it was the Sierra Nevada. The year before, the Wind River Mountains, the Tetons and Yellowstone. They've been to Bolivia, Peru and the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. All with Max, every single year of his life.

Wilderness dishwasher.

I'm pie-eyed, having assumed that we'll have to give up camping adventures for several years while our kids are young.

"It was one of the things I worried about most when Paulette said she wanted to have a child," said Rick. "When he was young-until he was two-I could carry him on my back. Ages three to six, when he couldn't walk properly, were the hardest. But when he was seven, he could begin to carry his own sleeping bag and things like that.

"The thing is, you just have to decide what you want to do, and then figure out how to make it happen."

Dan and I went to see my cousin Cory's film Cold at the Banff Film Festival last year, and people asked them Why? Why do you risk your lives to climb these ridiculous mountains (in winter)?

His climbing partner Simone Moro answered: "Well it's love, really." You follow the things you love, however foolish, whatever sacrifice you have to make, whatever risk you have to take. Just like you would for a person you love.


Our adventures are so dang tame in comparison, and I'm not sure how much risk or sacrifice they involve. But I think we are pushing ourselves harder and farther.  Because I do love the mountain light.

                                        

I love fetching water at the river.
               
                               


I love imagining a Giant Queen opening the door and stepping out of this mountain.
 
                               
   

I love campfires, and the smell in our tent before we sleep. Like evergreens and nylon and smoke in our hair and sweat and sunscreen. (I love this man, too.)
  

 I asked Rick if he was always a mountain man, if his parents were outdoors people.
 
                                     

"No," he said. "Not at all. I have this distinct memory of being about four-years-old and looking out the window at this big hill and wanting so badly to see what was on top of it. So I begged my dad for weeks. Finally, he took me up there, and there was this huge view and all of these sheep trails. I just thought it was the most wonderful thing. Ever since then I've wanted to be on top of things and exploring."

When the moon rose and the stars came out, we finally went to bed. In the morning, we gave them our fresh thyme and the rest of our parmesan cheese (Max almost toppled over he was so excited about the cheese.) It's all about the little treats when you're camping.

We took their picture and they took ours.

So cute, aren't they?

 
 Also: we found this moose antler. Can you imagine shedding this thing?

This is my favorite picture. Favorite mountain. Favorite man.

I think Dan wanted to smack me a little bit during the uphill on the way back. And maybe even more during the last 3k when our legs were about to give out under us and we were hobbling like 80-year-olds. 

But, hey, baby, it was worth it, right?

I'd say it always is when you're on top of things and exploring.

A weekend away in the mountains.

Sometimes I need to get away.

It's not that I have the most stressful life. Lord knows, I don't. But when you drink coffee here--beside a creek with a mountain view--it tastes richer. The sun feels different on your skin, warm relief from the chilly morning air.  The water tumbling down the river sings you awake.

 We live in the Rockies now. People come from all over the world to see these mountains.

The sun is still summer warm and the days are long. Part of me wishes it could last forever. But I think knowing fall is just around the bend makes getting out and about more urgent. You can't put it off. It's now or never (or next year, at least.)

 One of these cowboys was an ex-park ranger. He encouraged us to get off trail.

 Which led us here. To this hidden lake. Hidden Lake of Heaven, I think I'll call it.

Replete with a little fairy waterfall. 

We spent all day just. Soaking it in.

I feel so humble in the mountains. They remind me that I am here. And that that is enough.

Sunrise. 

Our little MSR is like a second home. (and this was possibly our favorite campsite ever.) 

The weekend before was a tough one for me. Someone I love very much had a stroke. He loves the mountains and was a great adventurer. In fact, my family has a long history in this very mountain range. 



It's overwhelming sometimes, isn't it? How joy and sadness and love and fear somehow share the same space in your heart? 

Life is so short, Friends. We say it all the time, but it's true. I think for me it's about the Hidden Lakes of Heaven.

And love, of course. 

(For anyone curious, we camped at Mosquito Creek backcountry campground in Banff on night one. About a three mile hike in. We then hiked to the top of Molar Pass. We had reservations to camp at Molar Creek but the aforementioned ex-park ranger told us we'd be ok if we camped on the Pass so long as we were smart and low impact. So that's what we did.)

The Calgary Folk Festival

Today I am thinking about all kinds of things. I'm thinking about the random things I really love, like podcasts and movie trailers and bar-noculars.

Dan and I were gifted our own pair of bar-noculars on our recent trip to Ontario by Nate and Dana, (who are basically the best people in the world.) Dana found them while going through her grandmother's estate. 

We took the bar-noculars on their virgin run this weekend to the Calgary Folk Festival.

We sat next to what turned out to be a really great couple and (I hope) new friends. Their names are Cindy and Roger, and they are rad. We saw The Barr Brothers, Charles Bradley (the Screaming Eagle of Soul) and his Extraordinaires, Beruit and Chris Isaak.

Chris Isaak wore a bright red suit with sequins and sang Wicked Game. Charles Bradley actually flapped his arms like eagle wings at the end of every song, then got down in the crowd delivering hugs all around. And I heard that The Barr Brothers and Beruit dropped acid later that night and rode a mechanical bull. (Can't confirm it. But I heard it.)

Anyway. This is a really neat festival. At the smaller stages, you can catch "workshops" where musicians are paired up with each other, and they all kind of riff and jam off of each other. One of our favorites was Shad, Mercedes Peon, Rae Spoon and Shooglenifty (does a band name get any better than Shooglenifty?  Shooooooglenifty.) These were radically different artists (from hip top to Scottish fiddle music, to indie rock-ish) so you can imagine how surprising and awesome it was. That was the fun. Just stumbling upon things.... like these chaps:


(we danced a lot)

I also saw Gillian Welch perform White Rabbit. Which kind of blew me away.


I walked home alone (Dan didn't come that night), thinking about all the things I've seen in this life. On Friday night a new acquaintance asked me what the best live show I've seen was. My immediate answer was Sigur Ros. And then I had ten more answers on top of that. And then there's all the non-musical wonders. Those stories are for another day.  I was just all filled up with it. How our world is full of things to see. Things that will lift you, astound you, inspire you. They're all around you, there for the taking, if you just step out and look around...

Steal Like An Artist

Hello Sweet Friends. 

Today I want to share a little book with you. I love this little book.  One of my best friends sent it to me, and I've been curling up in my office with it every morning after Dan goes to work. It's a book you could read in an hour. But I've been savoring it one cup of coffee at a time. 

This is the book. See how cute she is?

Here's something I've been thinking about almost every day for the past 10 years.

 

Here's something I needed to hear. 

You might be scared to start. That's natural. There's this very real thing that runs rampant in educated people. It's called "imposter syndrome"....It means that you feel like a phony, like you're just winging it, that you really don't have any idea what you're doing.

Guess what: None of us do.

Here's a new idea I think is kind of genius: 

 

There's been a side project I've been thinking about for ages and ages. But I keep leaving it there--on the side--because I think all free/creative time should be saved for writing. After reading this, I closed the book, picked up my computer, and got started. It felt so liberating. Who cares if it's for no one but me? 

Here's something I couldn't agree with more: 

Step away from the screen. 

And here's something that made me laugh. Dark night of the soul indeed. 

I hope these little pages and ideas inspire you/speak to you/spark something in you. I hope you are dreaming something up. I hope you make it/write it/do it, whatever it is, so the rest of us can see it/listen to it/read it/wonder away at your imagination. 

Happy weekend Friends. I hope it's a lovely one.

Love, Sky

Adaptation/The Orchid Thief

Last night, Dan and I watched Adaptation. I’ve wanted to see the film ever since I read its source material, The Orchid Thief, for one of my MFA classes a few years ago. Plus, I love Charlie Kaufman. 

It’s funny how you wait years to read/see/do something you’ve always wanted to read/see/do, but then you when you read/watch/do it at the moment you do, you’re glad you waited. Timing can be everything when it comes to encountering a book, a movie, a song, an adventure.

 

You see, I’ve been bumping up against myself lately. Or rather the evil, self-doubting, you’re-destined-to-fail-you-talentless-wannabe-writer voice in my head. I know in my heart she’s just a voice, but she sure can be a noisy one.

Rather than tackling the bitch, I often give in to her. I let blank pages remain blank pages. I let a week go by, and then another. And the more distance between me and my computer, the harder it is to return to it. (Just look at the dearth of entries here.)

When I’m not writing, I feel less dug into the world. More apathetic.

So what does this have to do with The Orchid Thief/Adaptation? Well, Adaptation is about a writer struggling to write his film. But more than that, these two works are about passion: about loving something so much you’d do anything for it. You’d give up a piece of yourself for it.

Susan Orlean envies her subject John Laroche because he loves the orchids so. He’ll wade through alligator/snake-ridden swamps to find them; he’ll break laws to bring them home. 

The real Susan Orlean

 In one passage, she drives with him along the swamp:

I passed so many vacant acres and looked past them to so many more vacant acres and looked ahead and behind at the empty road and up at the empty sky; the sheer bigness of the world made me feel lonely to the bone. The world is so huge that people are always getting lost in it. There are too many ideas and things and people, too many directions to go. I was starting to believe that the reason it matters to care passionately about something is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size. It makes the world seem not huge and empty, but full of possibility. If I had been an orchid hunter I wouldn’t have seen this space as sad-making and vacant—I think I would have seen it as acres of opportunity where the things I loved were waiting to be found.

The idea of an author as talented and successful as Susan Orlean envying a person as odd (and toothless) as Laroche startled me, but I completely understood. 

Meryl Streep as Susan Orlean

 I wish I came to writing with the determination that Laroche went after the orchids. I wish I would do anything for it…that my desire outweighed my fear and doubt.

There is a rare orchid called a Ghost Orchid that Orlean wishes to see throughout The Orchid Thief. She follows Laroche into the swamp searching for it.

It’s almost a too-perfect metaphor for passion, life, art. Wading a mucky swamp, swarmed by mosquitoes in stifling heat, sharing the space with unsavory reptiles and who-knows-what-else in search of one tiny perfect white piece of beauty—a ghost.

Chris Cooper as The Orchid Thief, wading in the swamp.

 That’s art. The process is not always pretty. Sometimes, it’s downright miserable.

At times, I feel like I really am doing this in life. Trying, straining, waiting to stumble onto that piece of beauty and suddenly feel at want for nothing. I love how the book and the film address this flawed idea.

In the book, Orlean never sees the orchid. “I realized it was just as well that that I never saw a ghost orchid, so that it could never disappoint me, and so it would remain forever something I wanted to see.”

In the movie, she does find the ghost. She looks over the tiny white orchid for a long moment. “It’s just a flower,” she says.