Sept 3rd,2013 The morning started with racism and politics and fouled my mood. It would appear that reality has come back to kick me in the bullocks. The conversation round the morning council meeting is tainted by racial slurs, crooked politics, and threats of animal cruelty. I immediately set my thoughts back into a more appropriate state of mind, after being able to let my guard down on my wonderful journey to Haida Gwaii. My serene smile finally disappears from my face and my senses sharpen, to watch and listen objectively to the true meaning behind these men’s cruel words. The dogs have been playing rambunctiously and need to be separated before their masters lose their already uneasy demeanor. The racism and crooked politics, fueled by certain members personal experiences over the weekend, wakes me up quick, as I am still very open and feeling from my own weekend’s experiences. The canines have done nothing wrong, but I separate them and get them to calm and lay down. Shit, will always roll downhill, and for whatever reason, dogs are usually at the bottom of the hill. Molly, Eddys dog, is curled up by his feet, and Titan, my bosses dog is laying down, by mine. Titan is very restless though and wants to burn off his pent up energy. “Kssst!” I put my fingers to his neck and he understands, and lays down once again. I stroke the fur around his muzzle and his breathing slows slightly, much more calm, and satiated with my petting him. He leans into my leg and rubs his nose on my hand as if to apologise, and I look at him, and send him thoughts of reassurance that he has done nothing wrong and all is well. After the meeting I gather the few items I need for the week very quickly and get myself out the door, eager to get out of the poor energy of the office. Darren and I will be working together this week, and I’m excited for this. Him and I have wonderful chemistry, him with his pessimism and me with my optimism makes for a very well balanced frame of mind, and wonderful conversations for possibility. Today we lean towards the negative though. We both vent back and forth about our distaste for the crooked politics and misuse of the forest code. There has been a lot of timber wasted in the last few weeks, and counting up the cull piles has left a very bad taste in Darrens mouth. I do my best to keep the conversation pointed to the positive but find myself succumbing to my own distaste for misuse of the forest. I am enraged and feel like destroying a logging company at this moment. I put on an album of Rage Against the Machine’s and let myself contemplate the possibilities of sabotaging and destroying forestry machinery on a VERY large scale. This puts a very big devlish grin on my face. After I satisfy my anger with the heavy music, Darren and I make a positive effort to speak of a few options and ideas on what could be done with all the waste wood. Firewood, cedar shakes and shingles, 2x4’s and 2x6’s, the possibilities go on and on, which is also frustrating,but we manage to eventually start laughing it off, and get on to a more positive looking day. The weather is beautiful and makes the driving very enjoyable. The only sour passenger left in the vehicle is Darren’s dog Dante who is upset that I am sitting in the front seat, (which is his usual place in Darren’s truck), and not him. You can’t please them all. I think to myself. But make a mental note to let Dante sit in the front on our way to work, after we unload from camp. We arrive at camp and find there is not much for groceries, which is upsetting, but we manage to scrounge up enough for a couple small lunches. We pack our cruising gear into the truck. And I make the most gracious offer to Dante to sit in the front. Dante eagerly leaps into the front seat, and sits straight up, looking out the front window with his tail wagging. I lean into him and ask him “Who’s your favorite?” And he licks my face with excitement and enthusiasm. “Good boy.” I tell him, and Darren just shakes his head at us in disbelief. I just laugh and hop into the backseat. The old block we are working in is thirty years old, and the underbrush is thick and nasty. Devils club and stunted, small,dry spruce. The alder is weaved between all this and makes for an opponent to be respected. I am working on my own, which is nice, and begin my day with lots of stumbling and falling through aforementioned underbrush. For the first half hour, the spruce and devils club tear my arms and face to ribbons, with their vicious thorns and branches. My forearms are on fire from the devils club thorns and my face is hot and red from being cut by the aggressive bark from the spruce branches. I start to get frustrated, and lean on an old growth spruce which is growing on the edge of the wetland I am traversing. It’s bark is rough yet warm to the touch. I push my palms into the trunk of the tree, close my eyes, and begin to breath. I picture the scattered parts of me in my mind, and visualise myself pulling them all together, becoming one. I breathe deep, in through my nose, and out through my nose. I let my mind become blank and focused and open my eyes and see the forest for what it is. My home. I thank the old spruce for it’s strength and look at the underbrush with new eyes. My eyes. The smile is back on my face and my path is clear, not easy, but very clear. I begin heading south along the bank of the wetland slow and steady, feeling the club and spruce, but accepting it. I use the Alder as steps and make my way up and out of the worst of it, and begin to pick up my pace until I’m bouncing along the springy backs of the Alder and making my way to my destination. I fall a couple times, but with far more style than my previous spills, and as always, with a smile on my face and a laugh on my lips. I finish my traverse and make my way toward Darren at the end of the day. I can hear him swearing long before I reach him. And when he sees me come through the brush bouncing along the Alder, he scowls. “ I hate you!” He jokes. And I laugh like a hyena and this brings a smile to his face as well. “Be one with the brush buddy!” I instruct him. We take a short break to rehydrate and then make our way back to the truck and then back to camp. Once again with Dante riding enthusiastically in the front. We scrounge up what we can for food, and everyone makes their own supper. Glen finds some questionable pot pies in the freezer, which I want no part of, and Darren finds a steak, two chicken breasts, and some sort of ginger rice bowl. I search for quite some time until I find what I think will make something fairly edible. One can of clams, one can of chicken broth, one back of dehydrated vegetables, minced garlic, chili garlic sauce, a part of an onion, soya sauce, and a little can of tomatoes. I throw it all into a pot and let it simmer for a half hour as well as a small pot of rice. The smell from the pot simmering fills the `palace` with a wonderful aroma, and Darren is interested in bartering some chicken for in turn for my exotic goulash. After supper I get outside and set up my target and string up my recurve. Immediately fall into a nice rhythm of arrow plunking, and am rather impressed as to how well I`m shooting after using a much lighter bow on the weekend. Apparently we missed each other. I move back to 17 yards and group my arrows nicely near the center of the target, but know I can do better. I retrieve all my arrows and set them upright in my caulk boot for easy access, a nice little trick I picked up from a friend. I pull my first arrow out and nock it onto my string. I stare at my target, only the spot on the target, smallest of spots. I try something new. I pull the bow up quickly and draw my string, I keep focused on my spot and let my mind tell my limbs where they need to go. I release and the arrow flys true, hitting it`s mark. Archery is simple. If you make it more than it is, it is no longer archery, and you will not shoot straight. It is that simple. I`ve been telling myself this for the last two weeks, but haven`t been able to be consistent with my shooting until I finally understood just how focused and in the moment you have to be the other day when I was fishing. The epiphany was instant and commanded a laugh from my lungs, when I realised what I was missing. It doesn`t require strength to shoot straight, much like it doesn`t take strength to cast a spey rod with finesse. The more you over think it and try to power your way through it, the harder it becomes. Simple. The sun sets on my one hundred and tenth arrow I`ve sunk into the target and I am relaxed and ready for bed. `` When there`s an arrow in the air, there`s hope!`` a friend of mine used to tell me when I was going through a hard time in my life. And these words will always ring true for me.
Posted on: Thu, 05 Sep 2013 02:45:21 +0000
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