Weekend of firsts- part I

Communist dictatorships change their government more often than the province of Alberta does!~ Ben Wiggins, Brit Wit

It was another busy week last week. School was out on Thursday and Friday for the annual Calgary Teachers' Convention. This meant going to some sessions and lectures downtown at the TELUS Convention centre, wandering around some exhibits, pleasant unpressured lunch with colleagues I normally only see for half an hour and, most importantly, having a lie-in. Although not really a holiday as we had to stay in town and attend some sessions, it was a nice relaxing couple of days. I love my job, I do, but I occasionally wonder about the fact that I love NOT doing it even more.

On Friday evening the Brits descended on us. The other two exchangees from the UK, Ben with girlfriend Helen and Dave from Cardiff, came to stay the night before heading off for a weekend frolicking in the mountains. It was nice to relax with people sharing the same sense of humour and to vent a little about the minor gripes we have being a long way from home on unfamiliar cultural territory. Brianna joined us for fajitas and I hope she wasn't too put off by the relentless use of sarcasm and our moaning about Canada. In all honesty there isn't much to moan about; people are lovely here, but it IS TOO COLD, we miss the beer, there are too many big trucks and not enough fair trade coffee. Nuff said, moan over.

On Saturday we got up and convoyed our way to Canmore, the closest town to Calgary in the beautiful Rocky Mountains. Vic and I went with Dave in his car and it was a real treat for us not to have to drive there and back. Upon arrival our first activity was Dog Sledding, or 'Mushing' as the sport is known. We went out with Snowy Owl tours and had a great time. We shared our sled with a guide but lots of our friends got to drive their own teams. Our dogs were super keen to be pulling all the time and it was wonderful to work with them as a pack. They really seemed to be enjoying themselves, so don't worry about them being abused. They were bred and raised for pulling people around, so the worst bits of the day for them are when you pull over for a break. They couldn't wait to get started again! We learned that you don't say 'mush' to start them off, despite what the sport is called, you say "Hike!" A nice calm "whoa!" will slow them down, but you have to use the brake on the back too.

Since we got back lots of Canadians I’ve spoken too have been very curious about the sledding. It's very touristy thing to do, I suppose, so people who have lived here their whole lives never think to get around to it. Well, don't let that stop you! It was great fun, so get out and do it if you get a chance.

The afternoon had been set aside to mooch around Canmore by those running this exchange-club weekend away, a lovely town and worth seeing for all the newly arrived Aussies, but Vic and Dave and I had already seen it and Dave is Mr Sporty and wanted to do something active. I spotted a leaflet for the Nordic Centre, built 20 years ago for the Calgary winter Olympics to host the cross-country Skiing and Biathlon events, so off we went to try our hand (or feet!) at that. It's not often you get to try a sport as a complete novice at a world class Olympic facility, this was a treat. We rented 'Classic' skis for $15 each and set off in the pre made tracks. These skis have a grippy bit in the middle that only moves forward, so if you shuffle your feet backwards and forwards you should end up gliding gracefully forwards. That’s the theory at least. It took us a while to get the rhythm of it all and I found it very difficult to time when to push on my poles, but we were soon whipping along at a good speed, if still not all that gracefully. Cross country skis don't have a metal edge like Alpine skis so even if you step out of the two ruts you go along in and try to brake not much happens. This meant that the downhill bits were quite exhilerating, especially on the intermediate trail we found ourselves on. I'm keen to try it again, because it was a similar effort to jogging but you can go a lot faster. You must use very different muscles than any other sport because I hurt in places I didn't even know I had places for days afterwards. Some of this might have been from the little fall I had; I was going up hill very slowly at the time and lost my balance. The skis are only about an inch wide, very slippy and you're only connected to them at the toe, not the whole foot like on regular skis. All this rather exposed my utter lack of coordination and balance with entirely predictable consequences. All in all I count myself lucky not to have fallen more often.

Anyway, two hours of hot sweaty ski action were more than enough for us beginners so we headed home for a soak in the hot tub at the hotel and a pizza evening with the new Aussies a nice way to end a lovely day. Tomorrow we would be snow-shoeing...

Revelling in it!

I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forego their use. ~ Galileo Galilei (born 15 February 1564)


What a busy few days it's been since last I blogged. Well over a week into lent and not a drop of booze so far. To be honest I have been having so much fun I've hardly noticed. Last Friday Victoria and I went our separate ways to enjoy two very different weekends. She departed with the girl guides for a winter camp at which there was singing, gaming and the building of "Quinzys" (a type of rudimentary snow shelter). I left to get on a tour bus with Gavin and Nickie and a load of other Edmonton University post grads for a ski trip to Revelstoke, a new mountain in B.C. (I say new mountain, obviously only the ski facilities are new, the mountain itself has been there for thousands of years). The arranged pick up was at the legendary Peter's-Drive-In in Calgary, famous for 2 things, one good and one bad. The good thing is that every burger comes with one and a half burgers in it, 50% extra beefiness for your money. They sure were yummy burgers and top-notch fries too. The bad thing is that there is no indoors. Normally this is ok, you just eat in your car, but I got dropped off by taxi so I had to wait outside. Now, I'm a hardy sort of chap not given over to moaning (well, sort of...) but last Friday it was -28 degrees out plus wind-chill. I could put up with this for a bit, and I was 20 minutes early so I expected to get a little chilly and I had dressed up warm with my thick winter parka on. When the bus was an hour and a half late due to the over cautious driving of an inexperienced driver unused to winter conditions I was a little annoyed. I have never ever been that cold in my life. The women working the counter in Peters kept looking at me, whispering and pointing. I believe that if I hadn't been carrying a pair of skis they’d have called the police because only someone mentally unbalanced would be stood out in that kind of cold for that long.


Anyway, the bus finally arrived and we eventually got to Revelstoke at 4.00 AM, our cautious driver taking no chances on the winter roads through the snow bound passes through the Rockies. After 3 hours sleep we got back in our smelly bus (some of the early drinking had got out of hand on the back seat and out of stomach too) and sallied forth to greet the fresh snow at Revelstoke Mountain resort. It was awesome, simply awesome. If you do ski and you can get there, then go. Acres and acres of untracked powder straight off the main lift. Steep and high and fluffy, even I, a usually piste bound runner of blues found myself throwing myself down the mountain through the trees up to my knees in snow with abandon, joy and ever increasing confidence and skill. Double black diamonds all the way, baby! No limits (within reason!). The solitary blue run I did in order to get my aching legs back down to lunch seemed tame. I have been converted to big mountain skiing. I loved the wild raw nature of being off piste, finding my own lines through ungroomed powder, not following the lines of a piste dictated by a resort manager. I truly can't wait to go back and I look forward to more of the same at Kicking Horse next weekend.


The downside of the weekend is that one of our group, Eli, didn’t make it down on Saturday. It turns out he got stuck on the mountain outside the ski boundary in a gully he couldn't walk out of, but we didn't know what had happened. We worried and prayed all night for him, trying to think the best but as time wore on, only expecting the worst. It kept the party in a somber mood as you can imagine. The relief the following morning when he was found by a rescue helicopter alive and well was unbelievable. I did not expect that anyone out on a mountain alone at night would survive. Thankfully it was not too cold, only about -5 degrees and he was well equipped with good snow clothes. No cotton! After that good news we all skied hard, safe in the knowledge that a more experienced bus driver and a clean bus had been dispatched to take us home. I got in at 2.00 AM on Sunday morning and Vicky picked me up. That's real love, getting out of bed to get me from a skiing weekend she would have loved to have gone on. I felt sorry for the Edmonton guys who got home at 5.00AM, no time for more than 40 winks before work on Monday. Still, it was worth it all for skiing that good, and much easier to get a 10 hour bus ride that have to drive that long across winter roads in the dark. Thanks to all at Backside tours for making it so good, especially Rahul and Erin.

I promise to continue tomorrow with tales of this last weeknds frolics; dog sledding, cross-country skiing and snow-shoeing. Here's a joke Ben told be on Friday night to keep you going, but probably only the Brits will appreciate it:

One gent to another in a Korean restaurant: These meatballs really are the dog's B*****ks!

pankake day

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it

Oscar Wilde

Yesterday we threw ourselves into the Great British tradition of Pancake day. From 4.30 to 9.30 a steady stream of Canadians and Australians passed through our home consuming what the locals insist on calling 'creps' (sic). Over here a pancake is small and thick and fluffy, much like we understand Scotch Pancakes to be. We had savory ones with cheese and ham, chicken and guacamole and sweet ones too. I always think you can't beat lemon juice and sugar but berries and whipped cream was popular as was Nutella. Someone even had a Bananana but I haven't worked out who so they have escaped punishment so far. Mike from school put in a stalwart performance behind the pan, flipping with gusto, ease and elan; a marvelous debut to the pancake cooking world an a skill I hope he will take with him to Japan when he leaves on Sunday to get married.

No one managed more than four pancakes. We missed you Cooper.

Another Great British Tradition was the comment I heard several times around the room along the lines of "these are great, aren't they; we should do them more often!" Of course they are, and of course we won't.

Today has been Ash Wednesday. You really notice it at a Catholic school because all the students are taken to church one grade at a time for a mass and come back with the sign of the cross on their foreheads drawn in Ash. I didn't go as none of my classes were scheduled to go during maths, but I am going to our local church tonight. It seems odd to me that in all these years of going to church I have never been to an Ash Wednesday service or a Palm Sunday service, so I'm looking forward to it.

Also, I've been fasting today, which I thought would be interesting and it certainly has been. Every now and then throughout the day I have felt hungry (more often as the day wore on) and then remembered why I was fasting, prayed a bit and reflected on Easter, Jesus, my faith and a whole bunch of other spiritual musings. Then Vicky asked me to bake cookies. Not an easy job for a hungry man. They are chocolate ones too, so I'm going to have to work really hard on not being tempted as I put them in the oven now. I'll let you know how I do...

Lent Looms

A lot of people say there's a fine line between genius and insanity. I don't think there's a fine line, I actually think there's a yawning gulf. You see some poor bugger scuffling up the road with balloons tied to his ears, he's not going home to invent a rocket, is he?
Bill Bailey (I just though it was funny)

It can be hard to write about my faith, but sometimes it's the most important thing going on in my life, so here goes. Feel free to skip this one.

Every year Lent comes around and I feel compelled to address my sundry addictions. I have usually successfully resisted any temptation to address my personal shortcomings or to attach any spiritual significance to the still small voice urging me to progress my faith through sacrifice, wilfully attempting to believe that my actions (or lack thereof) had no bearing on my faith (or lack thereof). In church on Sunday morning lent rolled around again, today being Shrove Tuesday and tomorrow being Ash Wednesday. For some reason or another it played out rather differently this year. I felt a strong and specific conviction, like God was saying to me "Hey, get off your spiritual backside and do this, it's not an empty gesture but a meaningful personal sacrifice and I will bless you because of it. Stop hiding." It feels like taking these 40 days up to Easter is an opportunity to intensify my Christianity. The way I see it, faith is a journey not just a moment. I started being a Christian when I said "OK God, you're the boss" but since then I haven't really done much to move forward. It's been like getting past the bouncer at some great nightclub and then standing by the coat check all night. Sunday felt like a call from God onto the dance floor of Christianity, where all the fun is. In this bizarre bar analogy, I will be the designated driver because I'm giving up alcohol for lent. This is a HUGE deal for me, and I've always shied away from it before, partly because I was scared of failing and partly because I love drinking. Not being drunk, you understand, just having the odd beer or malt or glass of wine, but I do love it. Maybe I loved it more than I loved God. Now, if God really is as fabulous as he must be, then surely he should be worth doing this for? I'm also going to try fasting on Ash Wednesday before going to church and trying to learn a bit of the bible, Isaiah 53.

One thing I have yet to decide about is Sundays. Lent is the period of 40 days running up to Easter Sunday not including Sundays, so Sundays don't count. I don't know who decided this, some Pope or other a long time ago, but those seem to be the rules. I don't know whether allowing myself a beer on Sunday will be a pleasant treat or whether it will feel like a necessity I have to promise myself all week to get through the dry days. If it's the former, that's great. If it's the latter I will be a little concerned that I've developed a real dependency while I wasn't looking. We'll see, and I'll keep you all posted on how it goes.
Next year, if I'm really up for it, I might try coffee. Now that would be a challenge.

My concluding thought on the matter is that Easter should be a bigger deal for Christians than Christmas and I don't think it has been for me.