All in the Name of Love!

(Part 2)

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_{(8:30 p.m., can you feel it, can you smell it? Isn’t the colour of this mountain reminding you of love’s sweetness, a mix of light pinks accentuated by a soft golden glow? It almost smells and tastes like rose honey… A magnificent view of Mt. Baker as seen for the ferry on my way to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island, July 27th, 2017.)}

Part 2: The Landing to Arrival

How far have you ever went to follow loves soft serenade, screaming appeal or unconscious push? What would you do for love? For me, it propels my soul to the heights of the divine and, while grounded here on Earth, it carries me thousands of kilometres away from place to place. Some say we find home where the heart lays. This is definitely my case and this summer’s movements are testament to that effect.

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_{(Here's a quick refresher with a slideshow I made of my trip to visit with @taissia, last summer, using our friend Deya Dova’s music from the album I had used for the making of the video of me arriving in Nanaimo last summer.)}

Part 2: The Landing to Arrival

After my high speed tent set up under the stars and headlamp, I thought I’d fall asleep in no time but the sheer excitement of knowing that I’d be in my love’s arms tomorrow same time didn’t help conciliate me back with Orpheus arms…

A sporadic 5 hours sleep, maybe, interspersed between heavy trucks engines and motorcycles loud presence, and off I went, packing up the whole thing back into my trusty Honda CR-V 2003. Like a Tetris master, I relocated each article I had used and placed it back to its designated location in order to still have the space to at least have a direct clear view of my passenger’s mirror. The rest of the space had already been filled, if not over-filled, and the truck trudges along. “As long as I can make it to Nanaimo, I’ll be happy.”, had I told my former student working as a secretary at the Honda dealership in Terrace and thus had sent me on my way, back to a safe vehicle, on my way to Vancouver Island.

Among the log fog and smoke from the wildfires burning most of the central areas of our province, the surroundings wore and air of strangeness, nothing like what I had ever experienced in these neck of the woods. The sun was already rising above the rim of the eastern border of British Columbia. With its muffled red, our orb was veiled by passing and thickening vaporous layers thickening and thinning its main tonality. As soon as I arrived in McBride a half hour later, I gassed up to the brim and hoped to make it possibly all the way across the sheet of smoke… Loads of water, a healthy dose of Deya Dova’s music, same album as the one I had in the video of me arriving in Nanaimo last summer and an incredible belly dancing from the album “Immortal Egypt” , by the legendary Hossam Ramsy and the very well know Phil Thornton. Brilliant and easily uplifting as at this moment I can’t help but think of my Sweet Beloved, an incredible aficionado of baladi from multiple areas of the world where the tradition lives on. Somehow, I could almost see her suavity dancing among these clouds.

The intersection of this highway that usually brings me over to Mount Robson had a strong pull on me but not quite enough to get me to go spend a day or two in the Canadian Rockies. After all, I had had the treat of a lifetime last summer right!?. It was time to keep on going, after a short stop to take a few pictures of the area and, most specifically, the extraordinary example of stratum folding the rock structure found in the area. Under the tectonic movement that slowly created the giant mountains of the area, this wall of rock presents a fascinating cliff, as the picture above delineates quite well.

From Tête Jaune Cache to Kamloops, Highway 5 is one of the three main roads traversing the north-south axis and, to my great surprise, it is only and extra half hour compared with the usual Hwy 97 which happened to be closed at multiple points as the forest fires wear inundating the heart of British Columbia. firefighters from all over the world had made the trip just to help out. It was a major summer, maybe sadly only one of many to come, becoming progressively more common… Just the thought of living in such conditions made me wonder if it would worthwhile living in the so-called Interior. Yet I was far from experiencing the worse of it.

The landscape between Valemount and Blue River was a classic mountain ride: Deep valleys and some high plateaus surrounded by gigantic snowy peaks still covered with the icy rivers they foster, glaciers. From Blue River, a picturesque little village where backcountry ski tourism and mountain sports meet with the fishing and mining industries, a very colourful array of locals drive, bike and walk by and by. Somehow, it seems to make sense like a giant rice biryani packed with so many ingredients and spices it makes one wonder if the tastes will even come close to harmonize all together or not. Recognizing classic names of the I knew from back when I used to downhill ski, the area is a bit of mythical Shangri-La for any skier adept of powder in big mountains… For so many years, the Monashee Mountains have held an iconic figure in the memories of my teen. Coming to the realization for the first time that its faces were directly in front of me brought tears and awe to my soul.

From these higher geographical stands, the road is meant to go down and, as it does, offers a spectacular transformation. Passing from stunted evergreens and alpine-like flora, the countryside goes from humid to dry to parched. The jagged mountains become rounded and the river’s rapid flows of higher elevation become less and less tumultuous coming down to a smooth slow running partner along which I rode for quite a few kilometres. The fresh moisture laden air becomes drier and filed of sage, expansive lungs seem to be clearing, if it wasn’t for the smoke thickening further along. In higher grounds I could discern fires, unattended, still smoking in areas where the blaze had already done its mark. Fire crews hd erected camps here and there along the region and campers, trailers, cars packed with belongings to the hilt were driving in the opposite direction. Was I really going in the wrong direction? Were the fires already blocking this highway by now? I didn’t know and thought I’d push on and follow my inner guidance.

Along the Thompson River, the first escarpments bring about rapids that quickly turn into much softer and delicate curves. While the smooth current makes its way down toward Kamloops, the desert and smokes make their presence felt more and more. A this point, I’m not dehydrated yet, but definitely feel my mouth and nose membrane needing extra liquid. After a quick stop in the little town of Barrière, the only location along the road where smoke seemed to have had miraculously completely disappeared since Fraser Lake, I kept on going in this magnificently serene valley where honey’s wealth was very much appreciated.

The steady 100 km/h pace came to an end when I approached a sharp 90 degree curve leading up to a long steep hill. Since my last stop, the smoke was quickly becoming more intense and, by now, I had became fully conscious of its pervasive effect as I started to obviously feel nauseous. A few hundred meters uphill, a small rest-stop appeared just as I had finished passing a series of bushes hiding what was now abruptly opening as an expansive viewpoint. Noticing a big animal of the bird lineage perched on an old dry and contorted tree top, I decidedly swerved over to my right hand side and stopped for a quick photoshoot. To my surprise, two birds were hanging out around the same group of trees long dead after one of the classic summer fires often raging through the area. Can you see them down below?

On one side, the biggest of the two birds, believed to be in my books a juvenile bald eagle, was quietly observing the river and the bottom end of the canyon. On the other side, some sort of sapsucker or woodpecker of a fair size came flying through the lenses’ objective and landed on another tree near by. It was also a youth, a young Lewis's Woodpecker. A good occasion for more photogenic bird pictures. This one seemed highly aware of my presence and kept looking toward me throughout its search for food. From one angle to another, the body plumage went from dark blue to gleaming blue-greys topped with a white collar and a somewhat fluffier and darker grey head attire. It seemed at least as big as a Steller's jay, if not bigger.

The backdrop was everything though and, in itself, surreal to my everyday living in the rain forests of the Pacific Northwest:
A creamy blue silken river glided like a snake at the base of quasi-deserted hill where burnt trees from the previous year and beyond were colossally still standing in spite of time on a hue of greens passing from soft olive to dark leaf deciduous trees eking a living among the sands and multicoloured rock.

What I was waiting for made itself known, so I was getting ready for the shots: The keen eyesight of the eagle had finally noticed something and took off for a long flight plunging down toward the other bank and eventually out of my sight.

After enough photographic greed, it was time to keep on travelling as the earlier feeling of nausea was far from leaving me and strongly suspected that the road ahead would have an awful lot more smoke in store for me, at least till Kamloops. I was bang on and, what started like a little smoky-haze was now turning into smoky-bellows reducing the visibility to less than 2 kilometres!

In some areas, I could see some flames coming down the hill across the river and toward the highway. Knowing that a lot of the cars I had passed by over the past day were coming from this area, I couldn’t imagine how someone would want to stay here intoxicating themselves potently hour after hour. It was unbearable from where I sat, without any A/C to keep me at least cool through the ordeal. Poor people who had to leave at a moment’s notice. Many had left most of their belongings behind as the fires propelled by the thermals created by the immense difference of temperature form the coast as well as the storms they had built went racing through the region swiftly and unexpectedly.

Arriving on the skirts of Kamloops, I shook my head at the courage and dedication of the local first nations who were preparing themselves for the annual powwow, a gathering of clans around which all relations are uplifted through copious feasting, relentless dancing, throbbing powwow drumming and the traditional high-pitch singing of the northern lands, business of ethical nature are being dealt with while a wide variety of trading is being performed among all souls present. Connections from time immemorial are deeply strengthened and celebrated among us all there. I was compelled to offer them a very long prayer: Temperatures were already reaching 31 degrees at 11 a.m., the smoke was still foaming up at the mouth and the flames were covering terrain rapidly around their vicinity. If a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, they still must have had at least 950 to come up with!

Only a half hour later, out of the smoky nightmare and riding the hilltops surrounding the Tournament Capital of British Columbia, Kamloops, my stomach was already starting to growl. Nausea was leaving me as quickly as the smoke dissipated.

Though used to clouds and foggy weather, the smoke’s presence finally gone left me lighter and brought back much anticipated easier smiles. The surrounding aesthetic of this region always catches me by surprise and cradles warm feelings for this semi-desolate area of high plateaus. Though I can’t help but think that winters must be astringent here, the summer can equally be unforgiving and in oven-like temperatures, I wound’t want to be exposed for too long. Again, thoughts for the local first nations who have crisscrossed these land for centuries come to mind. Where did they take shelter when arid heat, not unlike what I would be experiencing if I was walking out of my vehicle right now, came pounding on them? I kept an eye out for little lakes, covered areas where stunted evergreens still remained silent and strong offering what could be seen as a permanent shelter. Over the years, I have driven this stretch of road often and never have I witnessed any sign of life out side of a few birds and the flora growing at slow motion pace.

Nevertheless, this whole region devoid of much mammalian action during nature’s extreme achievements leaves you with deep expansive feelings, the likes of the ones we refer to when we talk about the Prairies, living under a big sky. Cleaner air also meant some sort of a physical release, a break so to speak from the toxicity of the last 6 hours especially. I was fully, freely and happily breathing again. Somehow, the soft spoken serene voice of Lama Samten, from Quebec City, spoke to me again, but this time it was through the ethers, “Breathing is good, breathing is good!” The first time we had met, during a special spiritual gathering where one is invited only through word of mouth, I had came across him and a few more lamas with their retinue. It was the very first time I had ever been in the physical presence of Tibetans, not to mention their spiritual attainment, and their vibrational aura was so potent yet so loving, warm, playful and embracing… It took my breath away and I had told him so to which he replied with a gentle and understanding smile, “Breathing is good…”

Driving down the Coquihalla Highway, BC HWY 5, has always been a pleasure, especially during summer, when one doesn’t have to think about monstrous snowfalls and avalanches. My bones could already feel the tingles from the magnetism brought by the eagerness of seeing Yak Peak. Being a rock climber for many years, the quality of its granite and aesthetics made me quiver on my seat. I took the first opportunity to veer off onto the shoulder and walked a few paces into the clearing, still displaying a seemingly wild terrain even right by the road. Just over two kilometres high this gem shines in the sun and called my heart and soul on the spot.

_{(“Yak Peak” (Elev. 2039 m/6690’) found between Merritt and Hope is a gem to behold and an exquisite splendour to rock climb. Can you imagine the view from up there… Breathtaking!)}

As time advanced on me, I made slower and slower progress to get to my final destination: Bumper-to-bumper traffic built in before as I neared Vancouver. After an impressively tasty Donair and a fresh squeezed juice in Chilliwack, the trail of vehicles didn’t leave much space for anything else but a few glimpses of pavement here and there all the way to West Vancouver. Luckily for us all and in spite of the heat and traffic, the infamous road rage was still at large. A few interludes in the commotions allowed me the leisure of a few more shots on my way to the ferry terminal in Horseshoe Bay where I was going to wait for the next available ferry to make my way across the hour and a half traverse to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island.

_{(During one of those rare recess in traffic, here’s a quick photo of “Port Mann Bridge”. Its design has always appealed to my senses, even though the glass of my polka dotted windshield wasn’t as attractive!)}

A short 2 hours wait in line among a few more hundred people and I was finally on my way to the last stretch of this journey before getting to what from now would be called home… The excitement is mounting and the tunnel vision to The Sweet Beloved One of my Heart was closing in! Though the time elapsing would be short, the feel of it seemed longer and long as each moments were being filled of my every single points of attention. The more energies focussed toward one specific subject matter in time, the more space seems to loose density and dilate like an eye in darkness.

Turning back to the east, I could catch a grandiose view of UBC, the University of British Columbia, while in the background rose the majestic Mount Baker, omnipresent invisible from hundreds of kilometres away on any clear day. I still have vivid memories of my climbing this mountain and jumping over a crevice while sliding on my mountaineering shovel on its flanks… The good old times right!?! ;)

Looking forward, Vancouver Island laid ahead of us only separated by the Straight of Georgia’s slowly shrinking arm. Meanwhile, as if to echo the departure of Haida Gwaii as a way welcoming me back, humpback whales came across our path and attracted dozens of tourists that fled to the front of the vessel, then followed the cetaceans to the port side. A calf followed in the tail of its mother as they swam by a fishing boat running in a parallel course. They gave us a memorable show as the sun unalterable path along its westerly arc made its way down.

A smooth westerly breeze flowed our way and a golden glow rose again like a sweet bouquet winking at me memories of last year’s trip out this way. It seemed to embrace me with even more tenderness and warmth while letting me know of its positive intents now unanchored having followed my heart in the path of synchronicity.

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Thank you so very much for dedicating the time and efforts to reading this epic ending to the story of my heart. May it be of inspiration and positive light to you and us all. I already look forward to reading your thoughtful comments and to know whether or not you would have followed your heart too in the name of love!

_{(Photo taken by @integra-mare on @taissia phone when we were all attending a "Peace Gathering", in Nanaimo, British Columbia, Sept. 2017.)}

Gratitude for all upvotes, valued resteeming and sharing here and abroad.

I already eager to jump on the next post but, this one, is still a secret… Soon to emerge. Till then, keep on thriving, smiling and taking good care of each other.

All for one and one for all! Namaste :)