Biking Hinterland

Hinterland: a rural area surrounding the urban catchment of large cities or ports. It is characterized by a less dense population and low infrastructure that produces food and goods for the city. In England it refers to the "back country" or "surrounding countryside."

This Victoria Day Weekend I got away to Turtle Mountain with two friends. We enjoyed the hot sun on Saturday while on Sunday we relished in the coziness that cooking under a tarp in the rain can bring. I'll write more about this later. For now I'll just say we saw some of New Brunswick's best and worst characteristics.

Last Monday was an overcast drizzly day. Late in the afternoon, I felt the urge to get out pedaling. I threw together a few things in my backpack and hit the road on my old 10 speed bike. My goal was to see a new part of Saint John.

I headed North, on familiar streets at first, until I wound up hills past Rockwood Park and the University. Without a map I was free to explore with only my memory to get me home. I continued along rocky forests and sparsely populated areas until I came to a sign for the Millidgeville Ferry. I made a snap decision and turned to the water.

On the 15 minute Ferry ride I soaked up the Kennebecasis River and scanned the rocky Kingston Peninsula coast for beaches. I was amazed to see rugged undeveloped coastline so close to the city. Chatting with the Ferry operator prepared me for the steep hill I had in store on the other side. Of course, that's the story of Ferry Landings, always at the bottom of the hill.

On the Kingston Peninsula, in a community called Summerland, I pedaled along forests and farmlands. In the passing fields I could see Rhubarb patches tucked around old sheds and budding apple tree orchards. At every hillcrest I caught glimpes of the Old Appalachian Mountains rolling along on the north of the Kingston Peninsula.

I pedalled around thinking of the old days when the Peninsula was the breadbasket of Saint John and Southern New Brunswick. The Peninsula has the fortune of sitting at the intersection of two major waterways; The St. John River and the Kennebecasis River. In the 1800's the river was Main Street and sail boats carried hand made and farm raised goods up and down river.

The richness of the land is still felt on those country roads. On a bike, moving at a human pace, you can retrace history past the hedgerows and cow pastures. This is Saint John's hinterland.

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DIY

The Kingston Peninsula provides excellent bike trips of all lengths whether for an afternoon, saturday morning, or day long endurance ride. You'll find low traffic and lots of rolling hills.

Starting from home and crossing over to the Kingston Peninsula by Ferry on your bike will help you realize the significance of the waterways. There are multiple Ferries, all of which are free.
http://www.gnb.ca/0113/ferries/ferries-e.asp
http://www.kingstonpeninsula.org/

Saint John, Local Motion, New BRunswick, Outdoors, Biking, Adventure, Graham Waugh

A Pick Up Truck with Fins

Last night a couple friends and I picked up a case of beer and biked out to the beach in West Saint John. Arriving after dark, we were surprised to find crowds of people leaving the beach. That's when we learned of the beached shark.

We got on the rock beach and split from the groups of people huddled around flashlight beams. We found a good sitting rock, cracked open a beer and looked out over the black sky. Tanker ships glowed like little cities on the horizon. The lapping surf drowned the city and left us alone on the coast. With a case of beer and much conversation behind us, we got up, shook off the sand and went searching for the shark.

Following the narrow tunnel cast by Ross's mini bike light we moved across the beach looking for the beast. When we came upon it's dark grey body we thought we'd found a whale. It's belly rose up to my waist and it was easily longer than a Pick Up truck. But dorsal fins, gills, and the vertical symmetry of its tail gave it away as shark. Sadly, but not surprisingly the head had been cut off and removed, for the jaws and teeth no doubt. It probably was a harmless plankton-filtering Basking Shark but I'm no expert.

There are beautiful, wild things in those cold Fundy waters.

Approximate Spring

Approximate Spring
Learning to Add and Subtract
Cold Rain and Warm Snow

I live in a house.
Drink coffee and flush toilets.
I drive cars and use stoves.

Living in dry warmth
Keeps Nature's Indecision
At bay, behind glass

Separation is
Clearly freedom to decide
In this transition

We can play outside
While Spring tries to makes its mind
Or just pout inside.

This month, I spent a Weekend in Halifax soaking up ideas; and another in Rumney, Hew Hampshire rock climbing above hardwood forests. The constant thought of climbing clings to my head like hair. Back in Saint John today, we went cliff exploring near Upham where the little appalachians were blanketed in sticky snow. A friendly man wheelbarrowing gravel in his yard showed us the way. "Follow the creek up the hill through the forest. Watch out for loose rock." As the creek ended we found ourself in a cathedral of ancient hardwoods. Walking on the hillside shoulder we imagined skiing the bowls and biking the rolls. Above us a stood a tantalizing 60 foot cliff on the mountain top.

More climbs? More potential? There are gifts for the energetic.

Thawing our Minds

Packing tonight for a weekend in Halifax has given me some time to slow down. At the start of this new month I thought I'd better give an update.

March was a busy month. Many late nights lead to groggy mornings as I worked to finish my Travel Journal. I accomplished my self imposed deadline of the first of Spring, getting a few copies out to family. It became apparent that my Travel Journal would need some minor edits so I've spent a few more late nights polishing it up. And today the first of spring I've got a dozen copies on hand and have shipped one to a friend in France.

For one of the first times in my life I'm crushed to see winter fade. The days of crisp air, sparkling sun, and blue ice are sadly over. This winter was very good to me. Thanks to my new Saint John friends I got in over 11 days of ice climbing this winter. The final day came on the second day of spring in Welsford. Under the spell of our eyes we watched the ice crash down. That afternoon rock season started. In our mountaineering boots we bumbled our way up some easy climbs. The cross country skiing this winter was excellent. Though I'm disheartened to announce that one of my old wood skis snapped. During an ice climbing adventure I got to try out alpine touring skiing and since then some research has lead me to an interest in Karhu XCD skis.

This winter taught me that the fun never has to stop. Winter adventures on skis or ice are perhaps more thrilling then what we can achieve in the warmer months. The world gets bigger every winter. Hollows and ridges are transformed into canyons and mountaintops. Tramping through a fresh powder snow on a sunner saturday morning I've breathed the freshest air of my life. And in the dead of winter there's nothing like standing in the sun watching steam rise from my bare hands. That's the beauty of moving. It's stokes your furnace. Getting outside and moving in the winter is the cure for winter blues.

From my observations, New Brunswickers give up 5 months of their year. Five months spent inside waiting for the spring to come. Just as much at the office as at the hardware store you'll hear grumbles like aftershocks of the most recent snow storm. Cold snaps are communicated by the stomping of feet on door mats. "You hear there's more snow coming on Thursday?" The neighbour replies "Jeez, not again. I tell you there's no use for that stuff."

That's 5 months that we slow down, cease up, and withdraw from the world. Our minds freeze. That accounts for almost half a lifetime! Anyone who exercise regularly knows that the mind slows down when the body slows down. So it leads me to wonder what 5 months of inactivity is doing to the minds of New Brunswickers? If we've collectively lost out on 5 months of the year what decade does that put us in as a society? It's not just New Brunswick. I'd assume that colder climates across North America suffer from this mental freeze as well.

The solution may involve getting red faced and sweaty. Aerobic activity is the cure. You need to keep the fresh oxygen circulating to your brain. Awaken those brain cells. Among the gammit of walking, jogging, snowshoeing, cross country skiing, skating, and stacking firewood there is always an activity for the conditions. Cross country skiing is my favorite. There's nothing quite like that smooth motion.

Imagine what a revival of winter could do to cold climate societies everywhere. Bodies energized, minds buzzing, we'll leave Half-Life behind. The society that captures this forgotten time will rocket ahead in happiness and prosperity... and will probably look pretty good in their fitted coats too!

You're probably thinking "ugh, now I have to wait til next winter." Not so! Mud Season is upon us! Put on some waterproof boots aka rubber boots and get hiking. It's an excellent time of year to catch excellent views through the leafless trees, hike in comfortable temperatures, and revel in a world free of blackflies. I've already gotten in two sunny, summer ish days of rock climbing.

One of those experiences

that leaves you stoned and stirring.

Waking up on top of a river, I feel that omen. Damn I have to piss. Zzzzip, tent door opens, my face feels the cold air and my eyes squint in the brightness. Starlight, a relic, that dreamy notion, is alive and well tonight. A traffic jam of diamonds crunch underfoot and jostle overhead. Back in the tent I can hear the stream burble three feet beneath my pillow.

Cold, wet, hard. Three things that could easily describe winter camping. But not this weekend. Sunny skies, fresh-air that hung on every breath and dried my clothes overnight. How about breakfast in bed? So why did we get so lucky this weekend? It was the first time for all four of us - winter camping and being to this place. We had heard the stories. The claims about this canyon. Fuzzy photos and poor maps. Not far from town yet a trek to get here; logging roads, skis, sleds, snow up to our hips. Nothing really prepared us for the scale and depth of this place. We swore and laughed at the snow bridges, cliffs, and 200 hundred year old spruce.

Everything lined up so perfectly. Two days of river walking headlamp hiking. Do you suppose that some of those stars lined up for us? We left the wilderness this evening, humbled and thinking. One question that rose above the coffee-fueled high on the drive home is "What did we do to deserve this?" Maybe we started by being stoked like a fire. And just believing there's always more to explore when you play outside.

Stoke your fire. Go explore with friends. Remember that photographs and descriptions only show about 1%. You've got to discover the rest.



p.s. This is all you get. The two white dots in lower center of the photo are headlamps as we hike back to camp through the slot canyon.

Culinary Survival Series

No Soil? No Problem.

Thanks to Mom, Winterwood, and Ashley for inspiring and teaching me how to sprout.

These guys are from my first batch.

1. Soak overnight.
2. Drain.
3. Put in collander with cheese cloth on bottom, mason jar with screen over mouth. Something to keep them from going down the sink after each wash.
4. Keep them moist, rinsing twice a day does the trick and also washes away fine bits that will go bad more quickly then the rest.

You should see the sprouts poking out after a day of growing. A couple days later you'll have recognizable sprouts. Lots more information on the web.

Tourism, Sustainability Attainability on the Fundy Bay?

Earlier this week I attended a conference on Sustainable Tourism hosted by the Fundy Biosphere Reserve. It was a gathering of tourism operators, government officials, town councillors, academia, hikers, and people who care about the area.

It was an opportunity for the Tourism Assoc. of N.B. to release the report entitled:

Upper Bay of Fundy : A World Biosphere Destination
Business Development Strategic and Action Plans

It pointed to areas of growth, tourism trends, and opportunities for the area. Its heavily based on a predicted surge in tourism due to the Fundy Trail Parkway completion in the next few years. And its about how to turn the wave of tourism into jobs.

Gary Clark, who some call "Canada's father of Sustainable Tourism" started each day with an inspiring lecture on sustainability and tourism. He lives true to his vision and demonstrates that sustainable tourism is possible, at the Inn he keeps. The Biosphere he worked to create in Ontario is striving for a sensible balance of conservation, cultural preservation, and tourism. The clear vision he drew in our minds each morning grew muddy throughout the day with talk of jobs, international tourists, and Fundy growth.

The conference left me with a lot to think about. How do we create jobs in an area without greasing the machine with jet fuel? How do tourists (some, the disdain of some locals) affect local pride and use of the Fundy Coast? How do we balance jobs and tourists? Can we all use it? How do we grow pride in our region? How can I personally do my part to expose local people (especially youth) to the wild fragile beauty of this area?

If Sustainable tourism is about reducing our impact on the earth, shouldn't it start by staying at home and learning to love the immensity of our wilds and appreciating our rich cultural heritage? What if instead of advertising overseas, we invested our time and money here. We could generate such a wide diversity of activities (adventurous and cultural) that every local has a life time worth of travelling to do right here in southern NB. Our enthusiasm and pride would draw world wide attention and inspire others to realize their own local potential. After all the best place to be is where you are.

The area's potential is boggling. There is tremendous opportunity for good and bad development. Luckily, the Fundy Biosphere Region has been formed which aims to preserve the area's unique natural and cultural communities. It's a giant first step. My impression is that there is willingness among towns and tour operators to work towards more environmental sound tourism in the area. Yves Gagnon, the interim Chairperson for the FBR, ended the conference with a reminder -You must remember that as individials we are all responsible for the future of this area. We all must do our part to make this region truly sustainable. No one else can do it for us.

http://www.fundy-biosphere.ca/

The FBR, designated by watershed divides actually has a fuzzy boundary. It is happy to include any area willing to adopt its mandate.

Cross Country PowWowder

I headed home last weekend to get a dose of cross country skiing. Perfect powdery conditions gave me an opportunity to reflect on why I love cross country skiing.

Friday night while I was brushing my teeth before bed my mom suggested we take a moonlight ski. Under the bright full moon our shadows were crisp outlines on the sparkling snow. I had "diamonds on the soles of her shoes" playing in my head as we kicked up brilliant crystals of powder. We cruised in the rolling fields behind our house.

Saturday morning I experimented with my dad's old waxed skis. Though a little sloppy in the boot these skis have metal edges and a modern NNN binding. On the hilly fields behind our house I found the speed to cut a few turns. They were short shaky downhill runs, my turns were sloppy, but I couldn't stop smiling at the exhilarating speed I found.

Saturday afternoon, my mom and dad and I went out to Markhamville for a cross country ski party. The Pownings and McKegs maintain miles of trails through their big rolling hills. There were all levels of skiers there so we split among trails described as Easy, Intermediate, and Kamikaze.

The "Kamikaze" trail wound up to the top of the ridge through birch groves, skirted a deep ravine, cut sharp turns through spruce forest, crossed a hill top blueberry field, then finally charged its way down into the Markhamville Valley on a series of fast descents. The 6" of powder provided beautiful glide and was just the right weight to carve cross country skis into. I'll admit I was snowplowing down some of those tight runs.

From the Valley Bottom, rows of hardwood and spruce hills tapered off into the Fundy Highlands. Markhamville is the last settled farming valley before the Fundy Coast.

Climbing back out of the valley to dinner, Dave and I couldn't resist turning our skis around and pointing them down hill. Starting down the long hill I imagined broken bones and was glad that Dave, the ER doctor, was skiing behind me. Luckily the turns came at the top before I picked up more speed then I knew what to do with on three pin cross country skis!

After dinner we gathered together a posse for night skiing on some gentle trails. The moon exploded through gaps of racing clouds lightning. We could feel the wind blowing in warmer weather signaling the end of this week's powder.

Cross country skiing brings me so much happiness in winter. It's a way to escape cabin fever, explore new terrain, play like a kid again, and generate some well deserved heat in winter. It can be fast and wild or slow and gentle. Either way, the smooth rhythm of gliding skis always helps me breathe. My mind becomes calm and my thinking clear. The more I ski the better I feel.

Biosphere Conference

HEY, what a great world!

So instead of having to take a day off work to attend the conference, Fundy Engineering is going to pay me to attend! They were happy to have me going, representing Fundy Engineering and networking with potential clients. Plus pursuing the kind of innovator/progressive work that we find fulfilling.

For the next two weeks I want to absorb everything I can about the Fundy Coast and Sustainable Tourism. If people are actually reading this it'd be great to hear any opinions, thoughts, and ideas you've got about tourism along the Fundy Coast.

My goal is to represent as many people as I can at the conference. I'm all ears.

Backyard Wilderness

Too much Cooking and Climbing not enough writing. This story is a little overdue. It took place on January 10th, 2009.

My mind was blown 4 times today.

First time: My friend calls me in the morning before he comes by to pick me up, "we're supposed to meet them at 8:30 so I’ll pick you up at a quarter after.”

“No way!” my head echoes “it’s only 15 minutes from downtown Saint John? That’s crazy. It’s so close.”

We drive out to a household of climbers, where we load packs, overheat, and talk excitedly. Next we’re out the backdoor crossing a prairie of white river ice. Straight across is Minister’s Face, a tiny cliff in the distance. We walk and talk over the crunchy snow. The sun is brighter than any summer day and air is still.

I keep spinning around to get a grasp on scale, we’ve been walking for 20 minutes and nothing seems to be getting closer or farther away. The white river stretches west into the horizons and east it is backed by dark pointy hills. Straight ahead, Minister’s face is now appropriately sized. We crank our necks back to see cobbly rock like a bookend for the river rising to where the cedars look like match sticks. From the opposite shore the Minister's 300 foot frame was squashed under the giant landscape. Our destination, the ice alcove, is now coming into view. What looked like a smear on the cliff is now a blue and white waterfall of ice, towering 120 feet high - and my mind is blown again.

The experienced ice climbers pick their lines and lead up the ice, attaching the rope to large metal screws they place as they go. Anchors and ropes are fixed at the top allowing newbies like me a chance to climb the routes on top-rope.

It's my second time ice climbing and I fumble uncomfortably with big hard boots and sharp bits attached to all fours. I get pointers, on how to stab my points into the ice. Thwack, shatter, thwack. "Flick your wrist more!" I hear from below, the pick sinks in on the third thwack.

I climb a couple routes, gaining confidence and starting to feeling comfortable on this foreign surface. Half way up the ice I set my feet pull out my pick and can feel my weight resting on two narrow crampon points extending from my toes. My mind fizzles and I huff out a surprised breath. It blows my mind that two little claws are holding my body weight. As I climb the rest of the route the warmth retreats from my hands that are clenched over my head while under my jacket I sweat like its a muggy day in July.

As I reach the top of the ice wall, I hear "Graham, turn around and have a look over the river when you get to the top." Focused on the ice I hadn't noticed dusk creeping in. The ice has turned rosy as I stand under the branches of a cedar tree getting ready to rappel down. When I finally turn around to face the wide river, I feel the fizzle at the base of my skull, a shot of endorphins triggered by what I see. A full moon as rich as a pumpkin rising over dark hills on the far shore.

We hike out in the low dusk light, aiming for familiar lights across the ice, watching one by one as the planets and stars appear.

And we're only 15 minutes from the city.

Fundy Biosphere Reserve Sustainable Tourism Conference

The Fundy Biosphere Reserve Sustainable Tourism Conference

This conference is coming up in two weeks (Feb 16-17) in Moncton. I think it could be quite interesting to see where this group is aiming with sustainable tourism. I would also like to be there to represent low-impact activities that get people moving and breathing outside.

Check it out

http://www.fundy-biosphere.ca/STC_e.html

Hot White Ice

Hats off to the heat! After hiking across the crusty snow and biting wind of the Kennebecasis my circulatory system doesn't know how to handle this sudden heat wave. I reach the base of the ice wall and tear off layers until I hit my woolly long johns. Steam rises off my knees and arms. I get off easy this time, sweat that could have kept me cold all day is sucked up by the cold dry air and I'm left thinking how great it is to be warm on a cold January day.

We're here to ice climb in New Brunswick's backyard wilderness. Mount Misery, as it's called, is an ice climbing area that despite its proximity to Saint John, remained unused until last year. A young energetic climber exploring the shores of the Kennebecasis discovered it near his home last winter. It's an impressive find- two tiers of cliffs covered in steep white ice hold 20 some routes. And at its sheltered base in the forest I spend the day sucking up sun and smashing at ice with the regular crew of local climbers - stoked as always that they have so much ice to climb and find.

I Couldn't think of a place I'd rather be.

Laurent, Thanks for the Photographs!

Running on Fumes

It's not the most popular tour route in Saint John but at 7:30 pm on a January night it gives you a lot to think about. Some time the best tours are the ones you'd avoid if you knew any better. But I didn't, just moved to the city, itching to climb at the gym I thought it would be just a regular jog out to the edge of town.

Across the causeway, along cold water, and cracked sidewalks I ran towards the Community College. The road became less busy, the street lights farther apart, and the sidewalk disappeared. The snow painted black and the air striped with creosote farts. In the night unseen hums churn from the twinkling distillation towers. The dirty secret that warms us as we sleep and drives us to work is actually ... pretty. Lit up like a big Christmas tree the sea of lights give texture to the black sky.

Maybe the fumes aren't the best to breath when exercising in cold air- but this monstrosity of invention and money is pretty damn fundamental to how we live as consumers. In my thermal long underwear and wicking layers, I'm swimming in the belly of the beast. Crunching along the gravelly shoulder, my footsteps pay my respects to this despised piece of land.

Out of the dark I smile at passing drivers hoping to furl brows and ignite curiosity. "What the hell is he doing out here?", " You can jog in the winter?", "Idiot."

I arrive at the climbing gym, in the Community College, to a small group of stoked climbers. It feels great to be among climbers after months of separation. The wall is a good training wall for experienced climbers- even has a couple overhanging sport routes. While out west last summer, the New Brunswick climbing scene percolated in my head. I was anxious to come back and be part of it.

It's hard not to be excited for what's happening here but it's not like this everywhere. This scene is unique and I intend to spend my time getting to know what makes it different.

The Not so Hidden Valley.

In to the Hidden Valley twice more this week. I love showing it off to new people. Each time I get to relive my surprise when I first saw that mountainous rock and ice.

Saturday, December 20th.

With enough snow for traction the Connelly's and I were able to get deeper into the 3rd Side valley. Micheal found an iced up waterfall on the left branch above the cascades that I had never seen before. The waterfall was alive underneath its white icy skin. We stopped there to munch on our Christmas cookie ration and soak in that big old forest.

A trip to the Hidden Valley wouldn't be complete without a scramble up the 1st side valley. We walked up the drive stream bed and Bill lead us up some terrifying steep ice through the gully. The ice on the stream was just thin enough to kick foot holds into which was good, but then water started shooting out. The Hanging Pillar was there. But Bill was the only one wiry enough to scramble up to it's base.

Tuesday, December 24th.

By the time I returned with Joanna, Andrew, and my brother Peter, the snow was deep enough to ski in. Despite being Early in the morning on a holiday, spirits were high on the long uphill into the valley. We gave our attention to the 1st Side Valley (behind the Cabin) and worked our way up the somewhat dry river bed. At times up to our thighs in snow, we continued up the increasingly narrow stream valley. As we approached the cliffs we found a giant conical pile of snow that must have been funnelled down a rock chute. Like a miny avalanche! I swam my way through it unable to touch the stream bed below.

We continued up the streep rock passage listening to the water trickle below the ice. Up to our left hung the 15 foot ice Pillar. It must have been as big around as a barrell. We continued up on the iced stream bed until we found ourself in a narrow rock canyon. On one side 30 feet of thick white ice tumbled down into deep piled snow.

In here all sounds Stopped! All that remained was the electric hum of rushing blood and falling snow. It was a surprising juxtaposition to find myself between rock and ice. The permanence of rock, the transience of ice, and me in the middle. Yet we all grow and break down.
We slid back down the gullies on the frozen brook, laughing after leaps of faith that left us intact. Our early start was perfect. As we skied back to the car the snow began sticking like burdocks.

I'm glad the Hidden Valley is a little less hidden after this week. So much land like this to explore near Sussex. I've got some ideas about where to find the next hidden valley.

Pow' Days In November

Woke up this morning to P p p Powder! How is this possible it's only late November! I wolf down some breakfast, listen to CBC Radio's "Go", and dig around for my skis and boots which haven't been used since last March. The snow is falling fast and light. I decide to take over the snowy roads and head directly to a steep valley I know well from tobagganing.

Spending the last 4 months out West I heard talk upon talk of their premium white gold. BC'ers are addicted to their Powder. But from what I can tell I'm getting to enjoy the snow before they do this Season.

The snow is billowing around my knees as I cut through a big field on my way to the valley. It's a funny consistancy- weightless yet thick enough to keep me off the ground. I reach the trees and am suddenly in a twirling vortex of snow flakes. The blanketed spruce trees sag under the weight of snow.

I reach the valley from the top, look down at the creek, and let out a yell that echoes back at me. Hills always look steeper from the top. Which leads me to thinking "Should I go down this?" I laugh, thinking " Yes! If it's steep enough to make me think twice - then that's why I'm here!" Cross country skis are perfect for this landscape, light and fast for going miles plus 'exciting' on hills.

I kick off and immediatly start picking up uncontrollable speed on my old wooden skis. Careening through tufts of last summer's grass and hidden bumps I somehow to make it to the bottom. My heads buzzing and I'm laughing while my echo Woops around the steep valley.

I ride the hill two more times. Savouring the how the white rush in my head is so similar to the endless white hum of the falling snow. I can't believe I'm the only one out here. But I guess with so many hidden valleys and wooded hills to explore what are the chances of crossing paths?