Out like Short Pants

Well I've been up here 2 weeks or so, tripper training is done, and our equipment is almost ready. Tomorrow me, Bill, and Mackie leave on a 25 day trip on the Otoskwin-Attawapiskat river from Pickle Lake to James bay, some 700 odd kilometres of whitewater, granite, and limestone. We couldn't be more excited about it. Ann I got your note about the lead climbing and so, that is WICKED and I am proud of you. So anyway, I don't have time to write much of anything, just wanted to mention that I am alive and kickin, and will be leaving on one of my life's biggest adventures tomorrow morning.

Bon Journee

Well here I am, adventure nearly complete, sitting in the Geneva airport. The lady at the gate is just taking her seat to begin the boarding calls. The last at Village Camps was a fantastic one. I had a group from Waterloo, Belgium, and they were one of the best I've ever had anywhere. The kids were more friends of mine than they were campers, the weather was hot sun in a blue sky. On my night off Dan convinced me to do one more cave with him and it was worth it. Some of the tunnels were about as wide as a 24 of beer, so looking forward was not an option. Arms straight ahead like superman, headlamps illuminaing only the dirt in front of our noses, we wriggled along. Some tunnels opened up into huge chambers with intricate and unique formations. Other tunnels were floored with razor sharp fins of limestone. The cave was full of weird and wonderful phenomena like that. About 8 of the more roomy sections of tunnel posessed the unique quality of having their own natural frequency somewhere in the range of the human voice. Whenever one of us would talk (Dan, myself, or Carly, the New Zealander that accompanied us) our echoes in the caverns would come back to us at one specific pitch. Sitting there and humming produced no interesting effects unless one hummed at the natural frequency of the tunnel, which would then cause it to resonate back deafeningly a it's natural pitch, like sitting inside a didjeridoo. We emerged 2 hours and 45 minutes later satisfied with a good caving experience. There is a scree slope on the ardeche where we do seal entries when time allows. The shallow water made for some hilarious wheele effects as boats full of kidsripped down the slope and slammed into the water. I was on the red boat that instantly flipped on impact. Also, Kori found a strange doll's head fon a stick, full of sand, in the woods at our bivvy site. We instantly knew it was cursed, and we instantly named it Edna., The more we told Kori to get rid of it the more she brought it out. She paddled the rest of the descent with the doll overlooking the bow, sand pouring from it's vacant eye sockets. After a failed attempt by John to burn it on our final big night before leaving, I hatched a plan. The next morning I stole the doll's head and vowed to bring it to Canada. Kori didn't know this of course until we were pulling out for good and I waved it in the wind. The doll will accompany me on my jaunt this summer on the Otoskwin-Attawapiskat River (my river and month just got changed from Missinaibi),where it will be paddled to the shores of the arctic waters of James Bay. If the doll survives it will be brought to the shores of James Bay, and possibly sent from the town of Attawapiskat to Lezanne, Switzerland. Of course pictures will document the entire escapade. For the rest of this week I slowly arranged my way home. Luckily John, Dan, and Aussie Pete were all heading to Lezanne, Switzerland as well, so we travelled together. 12 Euros for a bus ride and 25 for a trainride from Vallon to Geneva, very cheap travel compared to Canada. After sitting around the train station in Valence listening to the stories the guys were telling about foreign travel nightmares, Pete decided things were going way too smoothly, and that we should wait till the last second to board the train for the sake of entertainment. 4 minutes before departure time we ran down the stairs to the waiting TGV, the bouncing of my suitcase on the stairs put enough pressure on the handly to bend it and to tear the outer canvas from the internal liner, so awesome work guys, that was definitely worth it. Now I have my own stupid travel nightmare story :) Yesterday we arrived in Geneva in the afternoon. Hugs all around and promises of future encounters with the guys and we walked our separate directions. I walked out of the trainstation after locking my suitcase in the locker, and alone for the first time in 6 weeks I walked through Geneva, over the bridge, past the world famous fountain and to the Rive, the bus switching station. Feeling a strong sense of familiarity I hopped on bus E and rode to the camp ground Ann and I stayed at 6 weeks ago. I checked in, enjoyed sausage cheese and a baguette I'd bought in France earlier, and watched the sun go down behind the mountains on lake Geneva. After a swim it was off to ned, for my journey started with a 4:14 wake up. I'm sad to leave, but I was so excited to start my journey home I couldn't sleep. A few bus jumps and a train ride later I'm on the other side of the city, checked in and ready to go. The Swiss run a good country, Silent sliding in glass doors make every train feel like the starship enterprise when walking from car to car. Here I'm sitting in a booth designed exactly for what I'm doing, plugging in a laptop. The booth sports 4 clearly marked socket styles of different voltages. For the first time since my arrival to europe I don't have to use a sketchy piece of wire lent to me by my father to rig up a fake ground plug for my laptop to trick it into charging. Now there's nothing left to do but walk through the gate pretending I'm from Sweden and get on that plane to Frankfurt. At around noon after a 2 hour layover it's YYZ or bust. Ontario here I come. . . Time to board.

hangtime

Another eventful week, I think I can say I'm leaving here having done exactly what I wanted to do. This week the British School of Paris was here. The kids were younger (gr 6) which actually made them a lot more fun. They weren't too cool for everything! The week started out With Dave and I teaching canoe sessiona fter canoe session in some of the stiffest winds I've ever experienced on the water. The kids were windbound for a lot of the lessons as they were small and it was many of their first times in a canoe. The kids actually did a stellar job considering the circumstances. We only did a mini descent down the Ardeche with them rather than a Grande Descente, as the school is a little worried about the dangers. This week it was a lucky thing. I've never seen wind so strong that whitecaps formed on a river, but they did. Right under the Pont D'Arc. Unbelievable. The day after Ward and I led a gorge walk, which was fantastic, since I haven't been through that gorge since staff training. It was a good day working our way through, rigging and de-rigging various set ups necessary for the kids to pass through. The whole week I was thinking about the coming weekend. We motored down, all 13 of us, to Aix en Provence, where La Croix de Provence rises up like a white dragon's back out of the red earth. The mountain overlooks the olive fields and vineyards that precede the shores of the mediterranean ocean. When we got out of the car the wind that has been blowing since the last time we were there on motor bikes had finally ceased. It was like a reflector oven. We hiked the approach through earth all shades of red, marvelling at the limestone spires formed by rock strata tectonically tortured and folded up like sheets of paper until they curved skyward. Behind these stood the formidable Croix, and we planned to climb it. This would be my first real ascent of this type, climbing more than one pitch. We sorted our gear at the base and set off, instantly nervous as lead climbing was required if we watned any sort of rope set up. It seemed pretty inconvenient to actually rig anything up so we continued to climb, separating out into various groups of 2 and 3, according to preference of route and climbing difficulty. Pete, John and I found ourselves, along with tent-mate Dan wanting to get off the beaten path. Weclimbed and climbed, starting from an altitude of 320 m, feeling for handholds, pulling ourselves up, trying not to think about our packs pulling us back off the rock, and trying not to enjoy the stunning view behind us too much. Staring at it too long gives one the sensation that a gust of wind would pull the climber out into the sky far over the valley below. Finally we spotted a crack that required climbing. Taking the road leass travelled Aussie Pete used nuts and cams to lead the way up. He took about 15 minutes to set up an anchor as there was nothing but a slpe of scree and gravel at the top of the pitch we intended to climb. Loose rocks were the name of the game as a boulder sped by my head by only inches an hour before. I sat perched just below a small overhand when suddenly the call "rock!" came. By the time I heard it there was only a dark dash more remembered than actually seen zipping by my head. With a bassy thud the rock exploded on an outcrop in front of us. If I had been hit by it I shudder to think what would have happened. Once Pete had the anchor set, John went up and took out the leads on his way. I was next. After 10 minutes of struggling, I finally ditched my shoes and pack and pinched away at the negative handholds, bracing with head and body to struggle up. The bushes of rosemary and holly slicing me on the way up made me smell like a good beef roast by the time I got the the summit. I left a trail of blood from the wounds I'd grated into my toes on the sharp limestone for Dan to follow up. All I could do is laugh when I say the anchor Pete had to use, a boulder of limestone with a crack under it, two nuts inserted beneath, sturdy enough when pulled from a downward direction - but the boulder itself could have been pulled out with little effort, as it was coming loose, just like the rest of the unstable slope. After Dan struggled his way up with some rope climbing in between (he wasnt' willing to go shoeless) we decided to get a move on, as one group was already atthe summit and we were just over halfway up. The second group looked like ants working their way up the grey and white crags high above us. scramlbling and climbing up nearly vertical sloes for 15 minutes or so with some touch and go moments in between that still make my hands weat when I think about it got us caught up with the slower group. At this section I was starting to get tired a nd a little colder, as the sun had disappeared behind a knife-edge arete that rose up beside us. Pete and John opted to scale the arete while dan and I followed the route the second group had taken. At this point I decided it was a good idea to rope in, as our altitude was 830m. Equally deadly to 500 I know, but my fatigue worried me. Dan lead up the rock, using gear left in the face for us by Neil, the director. Finally, standing bout 60m below the summit, seeing only part of the giant metal crucifix at 960m that marked its apex from where I was standing, I felt the slack get taken in quickly as I belayed, as if someone had reached the top and was reeling it in, preparing to belay me. A couple of minutes of yelling up into the sky, my voice being stolen by the wind, got me an answer from the peak, I was finally on belay. I started the final ascent, which was fairily basic, really through the whole day the parts where rope was the most necessary were the parts where we didn't have it, but things run a little differently in the real climbing world vs top roped systems one finds on the camps I've worked at. I clambered to the tope to find the group enjoying the sunset behind the surrounding hills. Everyone was releived after a day of pushing their own limits, physically and mentally. It had been one of the most incredible days of my life, and I think the same for many others on our team. We paused for some sunset portraits and then scramled our way down the slippery limestone switchbacks, worn smooth by many a hiker. We stopped to enjoy the church that had somehow been built halway up this mountain, and then we scrambled to the bottom. A quick drive into Aix En Provence got us to the Cafe Cezanne where, at 10:30 PM I and a few others sat down to a e30 meal of duck (cooked rare) in a sauce of foie gras, preceded by a salad of marinated salmon, prawns, and peppercorns. We followed it up with a desert of cheeses and creme brulee, the best I have ever experienced. I say experienced because taste is a word that does not don this meal justice. e10 were pitched in by Neil, and e7 more pitched in by the campers from the previous week, a dgreat gesture by them, so how could we refuse the 30 euro plate? We rolled into camp at 2 am and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of either falling or reaching the top, or both. I woke up this morning unrested but completely satisfied. The next group comes this evening and I leave here in 4 days. I am sad to go but I haver done what I came to do. My limp from wounded toes is a victory limp.