The Tact of a Buffalo

Kids can be so perceptive. I only have bits and pieces of memory about being a kid, but I hope, if I were to go back in time and meet myself, that  I could say the same about myself.

I have recently been doing a lot of work with grade 6 kids, building snow shelters out in Kananaskis. Fortunately, as I am not the kind to be very happy to sleep in a snow cave, we have had access to a hostel, which has also meant living in close proximity them. With the sleep pattern of someone who is allergic to REM cycles, I spend a lot of time awake. Sometime I write, other times I play guitar, or simply lay in the dark with my eyes open.

On one these trips, I ended up being awake quite a lot, and instead of tossing and turning, I went to the living room to quietly play guitar. While softly strumming "A Cold Night Close to the End" by Said the Whale, I heard foot steps coming out of one of the dorms. Hair in a thousand directions, rubbing her eyes came one of the students. She stumbled over to me and, with the voice of someone who had also been awake for a bit, asked for a glass of water.

Standing in the kitchen, she sipped away on the coffee mug of water. Part way through, however, she stopped and looked me dead in the eyes.

"You look like you hurt." 

A little taken aback, I stumbled through some sentences about having been working a lot recently, and skiing a fair bit without any rest.

"No, you look like your heart hurts, like you're sad" She said.

I had nothing to say. No words came to my mouth, no explanation, just silence.

She finished her glass of water, looks at the empty cup and says;

"I don't want you to hurt."

She gave me a quick hug and then shuffled back off to bed.

If you've ever been depressed, you will understand that, sometimes, you didn't even know you were depressed in the first place. For me, I tend to slip quietly into and out of it, keeping myself safe behind smiles and walls.

I sat in the living room and cried. It felt good - it felt like it had been waiting behind a dam for a while, and all it had taken was one small crack to release the torrent. It was sad crying, but it was good.

In that room, I sat and thought about when I had started feeling this way. Could it have been the increased drama in my family? Perhaps a little, but that sort of thing was ongoing. Was it that my long distance relationship has finally started to show it's faults? That's a part of it, but not the first drop in the pale.

Was it that I felt I was going nowhere?

Recently, I had been taken aside at work. With everything I do being contract work, I have multiple bosses. Fortunately, most of them work at one place. Unfortunately, most of them work at one place. The conversation had started off with small talk, then progressed to my work which brought up my desire to progress. My intense want to see the program I hold most dear flourish and grow. To take a part of it that was just stumbling by in the shadow of the others. My desire to make my dream a reality.

And the fact that this would never happen.

Put in more delicate words, I was asked to watch where I step, as there were toes under my feet. Instead of utilize the energy, effort and willingness I had to offer, I was told to put it under those toes and leave it there.

I come from a family where standards are high. Achievement is a must, and failure is not acceptable. But with these expectations also came opportunity. Drive was rewarded, success opened doors, initiative was fostered. To have my high standards taken, interpreted, and then shut down had not only broken my smile, but my heart.

After the week trip with the grade 6's had finished, I went home and started to focus on getting myself out of this funk. Though things at work were stuck, things outside of work had started to materialize.

I decided that it was time to start looking into going back to school. Working with kids and teaching all the time, it felt right to consider going back for education. I had known many people in my degree who had had issues with getting into other institutions, but I knew it was possible. The idea grew and took hold. I wanted to become a teacher.

I had shared this thought with my dad, enthusiasm in my voice, and my heart starting to gain momentum. I think that's why his reaction and lack of tact felt like a mountain biker who's handle bars had clipped a tree.

"Don't waste your time on teaching. Work in oil, make money."

I don't get angry. I scare myself when I'm angry, and so I never let myself get there. Except for this time.

I couldn't believe it. Someone who had instilled my desire to achieve bold goals, knew my passion for education and had facilitated me getting an environmental based degree had just coughed on everything I stand for, and wiped his nose with recently rekindled desire for betterment.

A few weeks prior, I had run into someone who had done a lot of work with my degree, and had recently 'retired', though he is still active in the community. I had told him about my situation, perhaps even without knowing I had. I also Or maybe he had been able to see what this little girl had seen. He told me, very plainly, to email him.

After the outrage my father had caused, I sat at home looking at my email, trying to find the words to ask for help from my contact. The wine didn't help. Neither did the anger. But a few days later, I was able to tap out my story to this influence, and not an hour after pressing send, we set up a date to meet.

After I gave a lecture to an outdoor pursuits class, we met in the noisy hall of the university. We were only there for 45 minutes, but in that time, everything changed.

He didn't just set me up with contacts, but told me everything he could remember about me from when I was in university. That drive for more, that desire to achieve, but even more the passion it takes to work with kids. Not just to work with kids, but to teach. To have someone notice these things filled me with courage and hope.

Hope is not a plan. But hope can be a beginning.

He had put me in touch with another influence, who was now running my former degree program. The program was shifting its focus away from business and on to education. On the cusp of being approved, this seemed too good to be true.

Today, I met with this director. Handshakes, catching up, then down to business. He described the changes to the program - the shift from being "Applied" to being a full Bachelors. The upgrading would take only a year, and I could use that as my stepping stone. It was amazing, these changes - someone had thought long and hard on the potential of this industry, as well as the demands. Just before we parted company, there was someone I needed to meet. Someone who could help point me in the right direction.

We found her in her office. It was explained that she was the new adviser in the faculty, responsible for all the students and where they were headed, but could take a look to see what I already had and what more would be needed to get me on my way. We asked her if this could work.

When I imagine a buffalo, I see a large, powerful creature, standing in a field. More majestic than a cow, but with that same blank stare. I imagine a situation in which a buffalo had to tell someone something important. I can imagine it thinking in its head, with its buffalo thoughts, every factor of the situation as best it knew.

But because it is a buffalo, all it can do is keep it's blank stare and say "No".

That is what happened today. I could see the gears ticking, but the only thing she could say in her flat, quick tone was "No". The chances for me in this program were non existent. She also told me it would be a stretch to get me into an education program with what I presently have.

I took a deep breath, and did what I do best - Walls and smile. But this time, my walls had a door. Open, me on one side, her on the other. 

I asked as many questions as I could, from every angle until finally, a breakthrough. Finally, the answer wasn't just no. Finally, a path started to form.

There is still potential  in my situation. Even if it takes a while, and maybe talking to a few more buffalo, I have my goal, and a direction. Hell, I even have supporters. For the first time in a long time, though met with some resistance, I'm starting to be able to pull myself out of this mud. Though my heart is not fully mended, it is on its way to being full again.

Watch out, Buffalo. I'm hungry, and I'm craving success.

Pay up.

I think the favourite way someone has ever described the way I live is by calling it an "Alternative Lifestyle". I live, breath, and work in the outdoors, almost exclusively year round, teaching cross country skiing, kayaking, canoeing, and then guiding for the bulk of the summer. Part of that involves moving for work, which has its benefits and drawbacks.

Though I have had many jobs, including odd jobs as a kid, this past year was the first in which I have had the chance to work consistently. No papers, no projects, no lectures that weren't self driven or for work, it was nose to the grindstone to make a dime.

For the past year, I have worked almost exclusively for the Calgary Outdoor Centre, for whom I am a Supervisor, Instructor and Guide. During the winter, I spend my days working in the shop, making sure things run smoothly, people aren't slacking off while I sip my tea and think of what life would be like if that place had windows. On the weekends, I would teach at least one, maybe two classes worth of cross country ski lessons, and would occasionally throw in one in some evening in the middle of the week, just to mix things up. Once May came, I would be teaching Sea Kayak courses around town and in the mountains, as well as running rescue clinics in the pool from time to time.

Then, finally, what my whole year leads up to: June. I pack up my car, hug all my friends and then move my life out to Vancouver Island, to live the dream guiding Sea Kayak trips in the Broken Group Islands. Paddling by day, Ukulele by night, life doesn't get much better than that.

Until it comes time to pay the bills.

I've been hailed as being "incredibly frugal", tending to only buy what I need, replacing what needs to be replaced, and taking advantage of the word "free" as often as I can. I have only been broke once in my life, and that was when I mis-budgeted while in Australia and gave up eating so that I could have a roof over my head.

I love what I do, and will never give up what I love for money, but this year has left me with a challenge to "make ends meet". Between the purchasing of a beautiful kayak named Carpathia, and excessive rent, it seems the money I had made has evaporated like morning fog on the ocean. For the first time, I am starting to realize that love may house your heart, but it does not house your head. Nor does it feed your stomach, or clothe your body. Love may keep you warm inside, but my bank balance doesn't change simply because I enjoy what I do.

It is at this apex that I must begin to make a choice. I cannot give up my love of the ocean - and with a promotion on the horizon (dependant on the certification I am to be tested for in 2 weeks), the summers is not the problem.

My winters, though I feel like they are full of nothing but work, do not provide enough income to live outside of the office. The chances I get to ski for myself, or do weekend trips of my own are next to none.  Even when I get the chance to let loose and do something for me, the option to afford these adventures is ruled by my bank statement. Shouldn't I be working so I can afford to play? It seems that I am working so I can afford to pay.

I consider myself lucky to have no debt. To have had the support of my family, and opportunity to go to post secondary. To have had this year of work,  to come to the other side and THEN have to go "well shit", instead of that thought penetrating every swipe of my card. I can only imagine what life is like where your paycheque never really touches your hands before you have to put it into someone else's hands. I feel fortunate to be learning this now, rather than later, but know I could have thought of it sooner had I been just a little smarter. Being frugal doesn't seem to be enough anymore.

Though my love of the outdoors is a driving force in my life, it seems the time has come to start venturing indoors. To do my time in confines so I can earn my precious moments in the yard.

The ocean doesn't care if you're a 'nice guy'

I don't believe in giving up. If you've thought through everything, if you've charted out every possible course of action and the one that makes the most sense is to turn around, then you're not giving up.

Giving up implies that you let go of reason and simply let what happens happen. It doesn't take much thought. Turning back, however, does.

I set out, yesterday, to go on yet another solo trip. This time, I was going to kayak from the Broken Group Islands to the Deer Group, which lies about 3 nautical  miles (5.5 km) SE across Imperial Eagle Channel in Barkley Sound. The trip was to take 5 days, 4 nights, and include crossing this channel twice.

If you have never paddled on the Ocean with swell, let me paint you a picture;

Winds, way out over the vast ocean blow across the surface of the water. Closer in land, this forms Wind Waves, or 'Chop'. Out in the open, though, the energy gets transferred to the water. Over long distances, this picks up and accumulates, creating what we know as 'Swell'. Here in Barkley Sound, we typically have a low (2m) SW Swell going most of the time.

I woke up this morning with the sun, at around 5am, to get myself and my boat ready for this crossing. Fighting Mosquitos and running down the beach to try and escape the cloud of pests for just a moment, I made it on the water for 6:15.

Normally, there is fog before there is sun in the morning out here. The temperatures are moderate and the winds are low. This fog would usually burn off mid morning, early afternoon, or not at all, with the winds picking up as the solar rays heat up the air currents. To wake up with the sun already warming these currents is quite a rarity, and usually leads to higher winds.

After a quick return back to shore to secure the hatch cover I had managed to neglect, I finally entered the channel. Sun in my eyes, targets set along the way, I felt ready. The moderate roll moving against the hull of my boat, I felt like I was flying. It took me a fraction of the time it usually takes me to do 1 mile, as I didn't have a group to set pace for.

It was here that I realized I was clenching my jaw. Normally I talk or sing to myself, but this morning I was silent and focused. The muscles in my neck hurt, and my brow was furrowed. This silence is unnatural to me, and is usually a sign that something is wrong.

I suddenly realized I had been asking myself the same question over and over again;

"Why am I doing this?"

Was I doing this because I wanted to?
Only kind of.

Was I doing this because I needed to?
Slightly, the company I'm working for want to expand our trips and this area is a new option.

Was I doing this to prove something to myself?
I have nothing to prove at this point in time.

Was I doing this to prove something to someone else?
Yes - I would like to look smarter and more competent in the eyes of my guiding partner.

It was now that I noticed the knot in my stomach. I've had gut feelings before, but none this intense. Usually I would brush these off, feeling that I was being overly cautious. But something made this different.

Looking down at my chart, I found the picture of my girlfriend had shifted from the corner it usually lives in, to the middle of the channel. It covered the route I had dotted out in pencil, looking up at me with a smile, and with hope.

It was here that I had an epiphany about my past trips.

I had done them to be alone, and to solve my life problems. My last solo trip was shortly after my parents had separated. I already felt intensely alone, so being in the forest without another soul in sight didn't feel much different from every day life.

But life had changed since then. My real friends had made themselves known, my family had found the road to recovery, and I had someone who would go to the ends of the earth just to make me smile.

The risks I used to be willing to take - the ones that made people feel I was  "crazy"for doing some of the trips I've done, were no longer acceptable. There was no justification I could find to proceed. Though the skills necessary were present, sense is not something being able to roll your kayak gives you.

It changes things when you realize that you matter to people. Even in the darkest throws of my depressions, when I felt most alone, I look back and realize that people cared and were willing to be there for me.

People make all the difference. Looking ahead, I saw the swell had grown, and there was more chop forming beyond my rocky sanctuary. I imagined myself later in the week, having to make this crossing again, and potentially in worse conditions, without my handrail of rocks. Had I had another paddler with me, I would have proceeded. Another heart to share the experience with. A hand ready to help if I needed it. But that hand was not present. The only hands available were my own. So I used them to turn my boat around.

I am still grappling with this, as I have never pulled the plug on a trip. But, for now, I know I have made the best choice I could make. Perhaps I will return with a paddling partner at the end of the summer. For now, I will wait till I have someone to have my back.

Never hesitate to ask the right questions. Even if it means facing ridicule, disappointment or judgement, know in your heart that there's a reason to listen to yourself. Your safety isn't worth jeopardizing simply for a story.

Punctuation.

As of late, I have been finding it harder and harder to understand people when they're typing. I say typing and not talking, because talking involves the conveyance of emotion and intention via tone and body language, where as typing is only the words. I do my best when contacting people via text, email or status, to make what I'm saying clear through the proper use of punctuation.

 However, I do not seem to get the same in return. A lot of times I'm left without information about a sentence and have to fill in the blanks myself, which is not always a good thing to do. I do my best not to grade my friends' ability to text, but this plight keeps getting greater and greater.

 There are two main types of punctuation style in texting and online messaging:

Type 1. The Overzealous Punctuator    - Someone who is prone to over or improper use of punctuation. The Overzealous Punctuator is an enthusiastic comma flinger with a propensity to use "..." or "!!!" at the end of sentences. Sometimes a combination of exclamation marks and question marks will be used to convey surprise.

 Here are a few rules for using multiple punctuation: 1. In proper English, it is incorrect to use more than one form of punctuation beside itself unless otherwise clarified by your English major brother or friends. As a compromise, as popular media has adopted the use of this abomination, limit the number of points to 3. More than 3 is excessive and trigger happy. Two is just unsettling.

 Eg. I) "I passed my exam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Sweet damn, the exclamation marks are longer than the sentence. Yes, that's exciting, but you also have an exam tomorrow. I sure hope you don't write essays this way.
II) "So good!!"
I feel like I'm at the grocery store and you didn't give me the right amount of change...

2. The use of "..." is a form of hesitation. In proper citation, it signifies that there's more information beyond that sentence. If you are not hesitating, don't hesitate. It makes you seem suspicious.

 Eg. I) "Have a good day..."
What do you mean? Is there some reason you know which would cause me to not have a good day? Why don't you just tell me!

 II) "I like you..."
Oh god, is there a but? She/he didn't say but, but they didn't NOT say but. I feel like there's more that they're not telling me... and now I'm hesitant...

 3. The use of "smiley faces" has developed into a form of punctuation in and of itself. Please be sure that you are using the proper face for the emotion you're conveying. Limit the number of faces you use to no more than 2 smily faces per message. 
Eg. I) "I can't believe you would say something like that :o You're so mean >:( I kinda hope you wont do that again cause I still really like you :*( Please call me? :)
I feel like I just read a comic strip where the plot goes pretty well nowhere.

Type 2. The Absent Punctuator    - Someone who does not use punctuation at all. The Absent Punctuator is not a careless person, they've just developed a bad habit that leaves electronic conversations left wanting. The sheer underuse of punctuation makes elementary school teachers cry.

A few rules for not using punctuation:

 1. When you don't punctuate, it leaves the sentence open, almost like walking to the edge of a cliff and having to wonder if you're going to just keep walking right off the edge. Close your damn sentences so we know if it's a question or a statement.

 Eg. I) "Thanks yeah"
 Is there another message coming? Do they mean "Thanks, yeah!" or "Thanks, Yeah?" or "Thank you", just putting 'yeah' where 'you' should be?

 2. Think of commas as breaths. When you're reading a sentence and if feels too long, there should probably be a comma in there somewhere. Let your reader breathe.

Eg. I) I just don't know how I should feel about this you know because they really should talk to me if they have something to say but they wont say what it is that's on their mind so I'm just left hanging and I don't know what to do about this all.
I wouldn't talk to you either if you actually spoke like this. I feel like I'm getting hypoxic just reading this.

3. Just use punctuation. It makes you look smarter on the internet and makes me judge you less. It changes EVERYTHING. 

I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I put in an effort. Both of these plague our planet's wireless communications. The physical art of written language is slowly dying due to the convenience of spell and grammar checking programs. I beg of you, for the sake of the children of the future, keep punctuation alive.

Tone Deaf

I have recently taken on a new role at work, which involves me to write emails to my clients, sending them information to keep them up to date with the trips they have selected. As a person who chooses their words very carefully, I find myself reading and re-reading my drafts a lot, even taking to writing the email in word, leaving it overnight and then re-reading it again in the morning. I consistently worry that I'm coming across as angry when I'm sending a reminder, or passive when I'm pressing someone for something. The "sleep on it" method works fairly well, but it takes so much time. I started having my co-worker read my emails before I send them (if I'm unsure of how it reads), which brought me to make a very interesting observation. The tone they read the message in was not my intended tone, but their interpretation of my tone. Putting emphasis on words differently, even stressing syllables in ways I hadn't even thought, giving the email a moderately irate tone. Curious, I took it to another co-worker to have them read it. Sure enough, the voice they used was, again different from mine, but also different from the other co-worker, making it seem as if the message had more of a "if you want to, but you don't have to" tone. Intriguing. This pushed me to try my experiment with one other form of communication. I harp on texting all the time, but this is only because it drives me up the wall. It's useful for sending quick messages, updates and "I'm thinking of you" thoughts, but is not a substitute for a real conversation. It's a passive method of communication that leaves a lot to the imagination, and more to interpretation than saying what you mean. For example: The one word text message. What would you hear if I sent you "No"? What about "No."? Or "no"? "No!"? "no."? Focus on the voice your brain reads the words in. Is it your voice, my voice,or a completely dissociation voice? Are they angry? Are they pushy? Are they upset or alright with your question? The first "No" reads to me as if the person is beginning a thought, and may follow with more information, while the second sounds very final, almost forceful. Looking to the third "no", it's almost as if there's a shrug as to the importance of the answer, as it is undeserving of an eye catching capital. I have friends who are notorious for sending one word text messages, and it makes me increasingly frustrated, especially when I have just sent them a complete thought. When you have 151+ characters, and you choose to use only two, I can't help but feel like you're being lazy, or that my message is wasting your time. Written language is based on details and elaboration to make up for the absence of verbal tone, facial expression and gestures. Without it, you leave people hanging. But - then there is the flip side. There is such a thing as too much detail in a text message. I had an experience once where I was broken up with in a rather lengthy text message. I wasn't, and still am unsure if I was more upset at being broken up with, or being broken up with in a text. There were many details, of which I will not divulge, but needless to say it would have been better spoken than read. That is the one and only time I've thrown my phone down a hallway. I had no idea of her tone, or the speed at which it was intended to be read at, but I powered through it, feeling my heart being ripped out with her thumbs. Her imagined voice in my head was belittling and full of blame. Messages like that, while they can be organized, feel cowardly, taking the onus off the individual to explain themselves while the other can react, replacing it with the send button. I ended up calling her the next day (once I was feeling less upset), to find the tone she intended was not condescending and had less blame than I had read. It all made sense, finally. I could hear what she meant. The middle ground of written communication is simple - Don't think too much. We cannot predict how people will react to what we say. Instead, we need to do our best to explain what we mean as clearly as we can, and when we don't understand, we ask. It's better to ask someone what they mean, than to assume what they intended. No one likes having words put in their mouth. Though we can imagine how people sound, it takes less time and less pain to simply say it in your own voice. Don't be afraid to speak for yourself - your little black brick can only say so much.

Powered Down

Sitting in the sweltering heat, I lay on my bed typing furiously. One of my roommates looks up and asks:

“What’s the hurry? Running out of battery?”

I wish it was a case that I was running out of battery. What had happened was I had run out of, not just one battery, but out of 4 batteries. Today, I had gone to Rottness Island, off the coast of Perth, Australia, to bike and snorkel for the day. The night before, I had packed my bag, being sure to check all my recording devices - Camera, GoPro, Phone, and iPod had all been charged and ready to go. Rockin playlist to book it around the island with, video camera to take footage of fish for my nephews, camera to take pictures of the neat things I saw, and a phone to keep me safe, incase I missed my boat.

That night, my roommates had come home roaring drunk, and as a result I did not sleep for a 3rd night in a row. Stumbling out of my room at 7 in the morning, I made my way to the dock to catch my boat. Punctual but zombie like, I boarded and promptly fell into a power nap, until I was awoken by the need for the row of seats that was presently occupied by my body.

In an attempt to keep myself awake, I decided to spare some time with my camera, and took it out to sort some pictures. The screen flickered into life, just long enough to show me the “no dice, no battery” message. Frustrated, I pulled out my GoPro to clean it and set it for video. Same message. I pulled out my iPod to drown my frustration with music. Once again, no power. Finally, I pulled out my phone to check the time, to find it deader than all the rest, not even gracing me with a “Sorry Dude”.

The frustration took over only for a moment, until my personal battery also died, and I fell into an uncomfortable sitting sleep.

I awoke to the smell of tea - a substance I haven’t had since leaving Canada, and decided to shell out the $2.50 for the small, poor quality tea. The hot liquid steadily increased my awareness, until I was finally at a stage to process life.

No camera, no music, no phone to complain to. I had no means to record this day. I glanced around the boat, looking at people with their headphones in, their thumbs furiously mashing go on their touch screens, all in their own worlds. A part of me felt the need to escape into something, anything, but then the thought hit me.

I’m going to have a screenless day.

I felt my eyelid twitch, not at the thought of being without my technology, but with fatigue. I hadn’t shaved for about a week, and had not showered this morning, leaving me very very aware of my appearance.

It was now that I noticed the number of eyes that were on me.

Paranoid, I tried to pretend like I hadn’t noticed the people staring me down, until the old man sitting across from me let out a frustrated:

“GET THAT WICKETT!”

As one of my middle names is Wickett, I feared for my life, unsure of how he had pegged me. No one here knew me. Was I to be beaten senseless on this boat, just for looking like a feral man? Other heads bobbed in agreement, and my eyes grew wide.

If you have ever found yourself sleep deprived to the point of paranoia, you can understand the terror having a situation like this arise. You may also have noticed how fast your brain can function, and it was this adrenalin rush that brought to my attention the static that was holding my hair to the television screen behind my head, on which was a game of Cricket.

My shoulders dropped, breath released, and everything proceeded without beatings. I asked for another cup of tea, and found a seat away from the screen.

Now that I was no longer under the television, I could see just how many people were glued to this boring game. Old people, young people, even children, watching one of the most boring games I know. Glancing out the window, I saw kayakers, swimmers, beautiful houses, stunning boats, and countless other “where is Waldo” style things.

Why were they watching this garbage when there was all this wonderful life happening just outside the window?

Getting to the island, we all lined up to receive our rented bikes. The sun was hot, and my black backpack began to heat up like a small stove. I was pleased that my hair was being blown back by a steady breeze, which would prove to be a saving grace on this day, predicted to be +43. They found a bike big enough for me, handed me a set of snorkeling gear and set me on my way.

I had forgotten the liberation of being on a bike. The speed you can get coasting down a hill. A part of me wished I could take my Ukulele back and trade it in for a collapsable bike. The thought is quickly shaken away, as I realize that such thoughts are stupid. I love my Uke. She is my Australian girlfriend.

Before long, I come to a beach, swarming with people. The heat has already caused me to sweat through my shirt, and I decide this would be a good time to swim. The changing rooms have no mirrors, which was to my benefit, as I did not want to see my disheveled look, or my world map of tan lines from my last beach trip.

I ask a family who is sitting on the sand if they would mind keeping an eye on my bag, and then walk into the water. Once I’m floating, I pull on my fins. I watch as a group of men try to do a butterfly stroke for the crowd of women standing on the sandstone ledge above them. Though I can’t do this powerful stroke, I do possess swimming of worth. My challenge is that most of it occurs underwater.

Ever since I started to enjoy swimming, I’ve spent most of my time on the bottom of the pool, and now, on the sea floor. I used to find rings and pocket change all the time, but now I turned my attention to the fish.

I think in a past life, I must have been an otter, because the way I bob up and down is very remenicant of this animal.

Before long I have found a school of fish and am trying my best to keep up. Every now and then, I return to the surface to exchange my air before heading back down and joining the ranks of silver scales.

I let myself float to the surface, where I see a very round 12 year old girl swimming over to me.

“You shouldn’t chase the fish, it’s mean” she tells me off.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, as some of them have drained out of my ears with the water.

“If I were chasing them, they’d have been long gone” I tell her, hiding my real reasons behind mature pseudo-logic.

/I swim with them because I want to be one of them/ I think to myself.

A few dolphin kicks later, I’m out of her reach, and hope she leaves me alone. If anyone wishes to be social with me, they are more than welcome to, but if the first thing you choose to say condemns my actions, I’m not apt to continue that conversation unless sense says otherwise.

I kick my way to the shore, where I pull off the fins with a comical *sluck*, and thank the family for watching my backpack. The number of people has doubled since I first got in, and I take this as a sign that I should bike on.

Biking with flipflops is not ideal, but there are no showers to remove the sand from my feet and I’d rather not fill my sneakers with the coarse grains. The 7 speed bike I arrived on is waiting for me, leaned against a tree away from its friends so I cant mistake it.

I bike through a community of beach houses, each one looking just like the other. It must be a resort of some sort, as they all back onto a long beach. I run into a few dead ends, but finally make my way to the edge of the buildings.

A sign beside a tap reads:

“There is no water beyond this settlement. Please do not feed the animals, and watch out for venomous snakes”

A crooked smile creeps across my face.

Filling my water bottle, I scope out the horizon as far as I can see. It’s a very hilly place, with lots of low-lying plants I begin to think what life on this island would be like if there wasn't anyone here. What I imagine is a bushed desert, the sun beating down on every square inch, with little to no fresh water anywhere to be found.

The breeze is in my face, and I am very thankful for this fact. Though it makes it hard to go up hill, it will keep me from sweating off the layers of sunscreen I have applied. I have already accepted that I will burn today, but the more I can avoid that, the better.

I find a small beach with three bikes beside it. Pulling in, I am met by two of the bikes owners, a lovely couple who are getting ready to make their way to another beach. They give me directions to a small cave that is currently in the shade. I decide that this shade is where I should head, and run across the scalding hot sand in the direction described.

When I get there, the cave is not empty. It is not occupied by any person, though, but by a lizard. He stares me down, but quickly scampers off as I progress forward. Pulling out my lunch, I enjoy the shade and the solitude for 20 minutes before heading back to my bike. The cave was lovely, but there’s still more to see.

Biking along, I start to write stories in my head. The thought of a plague, and an isolated island formulate and I start talking as if it was actually happening. I close my mouth any time I see anyone else, quickly jumping out of character to say hello, then snapping back as I discuss the logistics with the invisible bike rider beside me.

The sun starts to make me feel like I’m in an oven, and I decide to find another beach. Off to my right, there is a set of wooden stairs leading down to the water, and I decide to set up camp.

Applying another layer of sunscreen, I wait for it to set before jumping in the water. It is now that a shadow catches the corner of my eye.

A young woman spreads out a towel not 8 feet away from me. Our eyes meet for a moment, and she says hello. I don’t have time to respond, as her mother steps in front of her and puts down her blanket in between her and I. Now her eyes meet mine, and a frown creeps across her face. I decide it’s best that I jump in the water and escape this woman. As I get up, I hear them talk rapidly in some european dialect. An older woman joins the other two, and the glance over my shoulder is met by matching frowns.

The water is cool, and it takes a moment for me to allow my head to go under. I scan my eyes up and down the beach, but there is no one but the frowning family and me.

I start to think about what life on the beach would be like. Waking up every morning to the ocean, learning to deal with the sand, setting up tarps to hide from the mid day sun. I thought about the beaches in Canada, and how different they are. Before long, I’m thinking of home, of the mountains, of the people I wish were here.

I’m pulled out of my daydream by when I hear a loud splash. The european woman has jumped in and has begun to swim around. Not two steps behind her is who I assume is her mother. This dynamic fascinates me, and I keep one ear out of the water to at least catch some of their tones.

She never swims over to me, even though our eyes meet a few times. I think of taking the initiative, but I notice that her mother has positioned herself in the way.

Recently, I have been reading The Hunger Games, and very much enjoy doing this on the beach. I swim to shore, and walk to my backpack. I flip over my sandals to sit on (as the other side was piping hot), and begin to read.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find two men, talking quickly in what registers as irish. My mind flashes back to my roommates, storming in in the wee hours of the morning, and the hair on the back of my neck bristles. If they had noticed, they didn’t show it, as they set up camp right behind the european family.

I watch as the grandmother repositions her blanket in front of them, creating a right angle between herself and her daughter and granddaughter. I chuckle to myself and continue reading.

I am distracted for a moment by the thought of traveling with others. The next week will usher in a long series of tours, in which I will make many friends, but my thought goes to my friends back in Canada. I tend to spend a lot of time on my own, as shown by my long solo backpacking expedition, and the comfort of arriving in Australia with very little plan, not because I don’t like people, but because it’s easier for me to do so alone. But my mind now goes to the fun I’m having, and what it would be like to share that.

The European family stand as a unit and begin to pack up. I cant help but watch out of the corner of my eye. The youngest woman drags her feet and takes her time, being ushered along by the other two, and they begin to climb the stairs. I turn around to see if I can catch her eye one last time, but what I find is not the romance novel style last look at the stranger on the beach.

She stares longingly at the ocean.

I silently thank my family for giving me my space and understanding my need to be elsewhere for a while, as well as their willingness to let me be me without external control.

The Irish leave shortly after. I glance at my watch. 2:00. Just enough time to bike to the other side of the island and make it back with a little time to spare before my boat leave. I brush off as much sand as I can, but my attempts are fruitless. At this point, I can already see the rub marks the rubber and sand are starting to form on my feet, and accept that I will be wearing sneakers for the next few days.

I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, and I ponder putting my shirt back on. I look at my shoulders, but decide against it as the damage is not as bad as I feared. I make it all the way to the lighthouse before looking at my watch again. 2:50.

I drain whats left of my water, knowing that my blood pressure is already very low, and put my tires to the road. I take a few wrong turns, but I am able to make it to the boat just as they are sounding the last boarding horn.

Once again, I fall asleep, the exertion of the day hitting my sleep deprived, dehydrated heart. I can feel the entire day flowing through my veins.

The ride passes silently, all eyes trained on the tv once again. All except for mine, which are trained on the inside of my eyelids, trying to remember every detail of the day. The feeling of the water, the european family, the fish, and so much more. These are the sort of days that dreams are made of.

“But how are you going to remember all that if you didn’t have a camera?” my roommate asks.

Pressing enter, I save this document, and with it, all the pictures in my mind.

We spend so much time in front of our screens, looking through viewfinders, and sending messages to people elsewhere that we forget to use our own viewfinders and memory to save our experiences.

Some memories are better saved within us than within our hard drives.

Let's go for a run!

It always takes me a few days to work up the motivation to go for a run in a new city. First, there's finding a route. Second, there's finding a route that wont kill me. Third, there's kicking myself out the door when I can't sleep anymore.

Yesterday, my friend Clay, an ETOLer from my year who's been down here for a few months already, came to stay in my hostel. As he knows the area far better than I do, he showed me around, taking me down various streets, and pointing out neat things to go and see.

After a decent nights sleep (midnight till 7), I fitfully woke up, feeling agitated. Feeling the need to do something. Feeling the need to run.

I quietly slipped on my running shoes, wrapped my key around my hand, and plugged my traveling mix into my ears.

If every morning could start with "Mr. Jones", sunshine and the Sydney Opera House, I could easily be happy without fail for the rest of my life.

Traveling to Australia, though expensive, is relatively easy for Canadians. There's only a little culture shock (primarily that things truly don't open till 9, and that shops are allowed to play songs with the words "Fuck" uncensored), and the jet lag, if treated well, isn't really that bad.

Granted, I don't really sleep anyways, so a little wonky time/day change isn't really too different from what I deal with anyways.

I woke up the other day feeling the need for a plan, and as such, I write you all from the travel agency office.

Though the plan isn't fully booked yet (in the process), I will be heading to the West coast first (counter to my original plan), heading up to Darwin, then touring through the center. From there, I will fly to Cairns, bus down to Brisbane, and spend a week in Surfers Paradise (awwwwyeah!)

After that, for the two weeks I have left, I'll be heading to NZ before coming back to Sydney and then flying home.

Mom, I'm eating decently (I wont say well, but I am eating Kiwis like a mad man)

Dad, I'm wearing sunscreen, but I can already start to see the color change. Sorry!

Mica, I will be taking the GoPro to the beach and playing around with it - will have video for you soon.

Breaden, New animal for you to learn about: Ibis. One pecked me this morning while I was sitting in the grass.

Lachlan, All the Ausie ladies love the fact you sing in "Doop Doo's". When you're old enough, you'll have a time here.

Ethan,I've got this cheapo phone that has an old style key pad (numbers with 3-4 letters per). I feel A. Old school. B. Slow.

Keep on keeping on, my friends and family!