Mount Willingdon, Crown, and Tower – July 28th 2018

Life was feeling like it was coming together and falling apart at the same time. My family back in Alberta was preparing for my grandmother’s funeral. When the elderly in your family is on their deathbed, it seems inevitable that a funeral will come. You can never be as prepared for the future as you want to be, and that is the whole point of following the path you see. You don’t follow it blindly, it cannot be denied.

I had just returned to British Columbia after my trip up Mount Denny, and it was already time to depart again. I was still attempting to volunteer with my time, and caught up in making my life better. I had rolled into Williams Lake, showered, re-packed, and hit the road for Vancouver Island. I was so scattered across Alberta and BC that I forgot to cancel the first aid course that I was in with TRU. I had been asked to go to a wedding on the island, and an opportunity like this to share smiles with a family that means so much to me was a narrow focus. Lessons… slowing down and being prepared is not about looking ahead. This balance is one I am still striving to achieve.

The island was a great reminder of the reasons why we need to return from our trips. No different than the trip of this life, and our time-locked reality, we also go through cycles and return to a similar place that we once visited on our path. The trip passed by without me saving any memories from it. The photos I took ring a bell, but I have nothing of importance that was worth learning from.

This to me is perfection. These moments where there was no failure, there was no tragic event that caused me to hold onto a fear, there was no cycle of inition where I needed to let go of some wrong I felt. Sure, this does mean that I did not grow from the experience. Albeit, I would have done better for myself ditching the wedding and taking the course that was paid for by a 3rd party. Yet I suppose that lesson was what I took from leaving my puddle in the Fraser Plateau.

As soon as I returned from Vancouver Island, it was time to ready myself to go to my grandmother’s celebration of life in Alberta. Living with zero incoming money, and no work, is a struggle to say the least. Climbing mountains, and affording the travel for trips, is a whole different issue. So naturally, my girlfriend, my family, and my friends, knew that there would be a major trip on my way back to my hometown. I had a traverse of Mount Willingdon in my sights, and Ian Curran – the rad dude from Yamnuska Mountain Adventures whom I did AST1 with, had just ran the summit and provided the community with enough beta to know she was a go. I immediately contacted Catlin.

Catlin had invited me to lead him through the notches on the SW ridge on Cline earlier in the year. We had bonded over the experience. Yet, it had now become so much more than a bond. Over the last 6 months, Catlin had been a huge influence on my life. He had become a positive individual who lived with action, not talk, and it was always positive. After Cline, and the learning that went on there, Willingdon was in the books with him. I do not plan ahead too much with our mountains, it is about picking summits that are in good condition and have solid weather windows. Plan A through Z need to be considered in the Canadian Rockies. You do not get your first pick often.

After trying to plan trip after trip with my partner, I was ready to give the smiling man with the big heart my confidence that we would get Willingdon. The universe provides if you have zero doubt, and Catlin happened to have the week off, but needed to spend the day with his son before his next rotation. Catlin worked in a high risk environment, and had moved up enough to sit at a station during his worktime. His strech of days off were of a focus, his son. If he had any chance of spending time with his son, of which we talked of taking our kids out together in the years to come, that was priority. If he had any free time, it was in the mountains. And after sharing more than just summits together, I knew he was the man I wanted to spend such an important trip with.

It was not the objective that was important to me. Traversing Willingdon, Crown, and Tower, there and back, was easier than my solo trip to do the Fryatt Traverse with no summit. The time spent in the backcountry, in the alpine, and in my head, was the trip. I would have two days maximum to squeeze in the trip, and it just so happened that Catlin has the same two days. The universe speaks to us beyond comprehension. I knew that this trip, to move fast and light, to be safe and watch each other’s backs, and to spend a night on the shores of a huge tairn, would almost be a NAM.TAR moment. Yet, in this case, there was zero choice in the matter. A destiny moment, that felt like it was fate. And the trip provided to be just that.

The trip was intense to say the least. I left Williams Lake in the middle of the night, no sleep, and drove through the night. I met up with the dude whom I owe so much to, and we packed. We set off on our approach, and we shared smiles down the trail. The feelings between us were pure, lighthearted, and held zero worry or doubt. I do not know how well Catlin could see NAM, yet we both saw the true outcome of this trip. We would both return with an understanding of life beyond anything a typical experience could possibly provide.

We had no issues with the trail. The path forward was clear, even if the trail was faint. The ascent to Quartzite Col was full of Talus. Steven Song’s report showed that they were heavily off trail and ascended a pile of rocks that looked tiresome and lengthy. We cruised up the col by sticking to the right, and soaked in the sunny afternoon.

Our descent into the alpine valley below was a moment of awe. The smoke from the fires back home, and the view of Willingdon, stopped us in our tracks. The moment was here. We had arrived to the point of pure meditation, and we both shared this unspoken agreement. There was no more talk except the neccessary until we reached our camp and the sun was setting. Our skills were clearly different, and we saw our strengths and weaknesses reflected in each other. We would move forward as one.

The night beside Upland Lake, which is really just a tairn or giant puddle, next to the Devon Lakes was intense. There was no conversation but just an understanding until the moon began a traverse between a gap, only to be cut off when it disappeared behind Devon Mountain.

I knew at that point that this was Catlin’s last trip with me. Due to our subconscious all being of one energy, he knew as well. We talked about the energy that surrounds us, that is us, and how we need to follow the path not blindly, but embrace that which we see coming for ourselves with zero fear. The time that the moon was visable was too short. We talked about Mount Smuts again, and how I was not going to be able to make it. And how it would be his last trip. Past, present, and future became one for the two of us. The understanding that he gave off was unreal. A truly humbling moment.

I did not sleep, but meditated the 3 hours we had alloted for ourselves to rest our bodies. We arose to a beautiful and clear night. We ascended the mountain. We gained the ridge North of the col. And we were both humbled by the sight of the summit. The sun had risen, and we were into the terrain that we were after. Racing the sun and crossing the alpine ice and snow was serious, and we had dropped the jokes. Yet, the positive vibe was still there. We moved with zero doubt in our actions. It was not about blind faith, but diligence and clear observations.

A summit was gained, and Catlin allowed me to be the first to gain it. Not only that, but he had straight up waited and told me to pass him on the final steps. Catlin was content. He always was. He was willing to go home, Willingdon in the bag. There was no way I would allow that to happen. We were standing on the same block that housed another 11000er and I knew that this was time together that we needed to relish. We could make it home in the dark, and the later we waited to ascend the icy col hidden in shawdow on our way back to our vehicles, the colder it would be, and that would be all the better. The day was warm and we were both glad to be off the snow, and back on a dry rock ascent of another two peaks.

Crown and Tower were bagged with ease and we were back to the col too fast. The walk and climb over Quartzite Col was ahead of us, and there was no more talk. The understanding between us was positive, clear, and unlike anything I have experienced. We walked out on a well maintained trail in Banff National Park in pitch black, and we were both in our cars driving towards Red Deer before I knew it. The trip was done, I made a short post in the 11000ers facebook group to help others get up her, and Mark Klassen made a comment that hurt.

The gist was that we did not take our time. A 34hr push, including a 3hr nap, was not the way to enjoy the area. That was all the time we had, and the time was some of the best I have spent. Other things happened. I went for other objectives. When Catlin told me he was leaving for Mount Smuts the night before his fall, I sat down and wrote a 3600 word obituary about why we do what we do. I used it a few days later when his family asked me to make a post to the community about his passing. The hardest part was knowing. Knowing that he knew. And knowing that we both needed to let it happen, and follow the path. The unspoken view of the reality around us is the source of all anxiety, and there was none. I am still coming to terms with living my life with such a clear path ahead, and not having anxiety knowing that the harder I try to avoid it, the harder my life will be. Embracing that is which to come, living in the zone, and loving every moment of the present is what Catlin and this trip meant to me. I am ever thankful for the 34 hours I spent with him then. They will sit with me forever.

Mount Denny, Kananaskis – July 9th 2018

The balance I am seeking lies somewhere between ego, confidence, and the guilt I feel when speaking my mind. The heart is open when we are weak, and it is a challenge to keep it open during our day to day life. Strength is not found by holding on tight, it is found when you can let it go.

On my way back from my trip to Cline with Catlin, I sat in my car alone and thought. I often have had ample time to be in my head and work on myself. Of late, I have had no time to myself, which is an obserd thought as I have had all the time to do with as I please. My thoughts were on what was to come. When the future is the same as the present, and NAM makes life clear, it often leads to more pain due to the simple fact that you realize that you cannot control what is to come.

I did not know the way to my own heart. Seeking the help I needed was far from myself at the time, and seeking to help others had become a strange and awkward experience. I am no one to help anyone else with meditation or positive thinking and I ended up driving the opposite direction than was home. I drove to my parents house and hit the hot waters to soak.

There was ample time to work on myself, but I was caught up in nothing. I was not focused on mountains, I was not focused on myself. I came home to my mom stressing about the funeral for her mother. I had been trying to help others too much, yet preaching to the community that working on yourself is the way to help others. Everyone constantly sees what they hate in themselves in the people around them. It makes sense, in the sense that we are all one. The reflection of our true self is evendent in the community that surrounds us. The narcissist is all of us, whether we see it or not. Everyone acts on this, and it defines our friends, our family, and our community lives.

My mom was a wreck. She was not spreading hate very much, yet that is something she can dive deep into like the rest of us. She was full of worry for the future. The passing of my grandmother was hard on my family. It was seen from so far away, and the things we cannot change, but see, has the greatest affect on our confidences moving forward. My mom was telling me I needed to pray for others. She was saying I should have been praying for my grandmother. I have not prayed for anyone else in years. It is not like I am praying for personal gain, I have just realized that praying for others comes in a two-fold issue.

First off, one must work on themselves. You cannot go out into the world trying to save it, if you cannot save yourself. It relates to the biblical mesage that you must take the speck out of your own eye before attempting to remove the twig from your neighbor’s. We are almost always blind to the hate that we have buried inside of our heart. This hate affects our descisions, our actions, and our outlook on life. There is no sane way to give anyone advice, in any situation. Period. We all have original sin. We all harbour hate inside. It is about understanding that you cannot look inside anothers head. You cannot know what motivates another. You can only see thier actions, which can give insight to their intent. Intent is all that matters, and no human can ever judge another, for the simple fact that you will never have enough information to know where their heart lies in the situation. If the intent is pure, yet the action is flawed, it is still up to the individual to come to terms with it, and learn.

Secondly, if one is praying for another, it is selfish. And that is a simple fact. If you are praying for another, it is because it leads back to yourself. There is no way that you can pray for another, that does not lead to a benefit for someone other than the person you are focusing on. The one who ‘needs’ the prayer can only be helped by the grid if they are open and accepting. Praying that someone will wake up to thier own reality would be the best way to pray for another, and then they would really only be helping themselves. The grid is ever present, and it is constantly showing it’s power to those with an open eye. It is the individual who chooses to see the signs of the path to move forward, and just like intent, there is nothing another can do for them if they are not already doing it for themselves. If you are praying for another to have good health or luck, it is really the grid that is providing these things, and they are always there if the individual wants to accept it. You are praying for another’s health because of how it will affect your life, or other’s lives that are entangled.

I expressed this thought to my mother in the simplest of ways. She called me selfish in such an angry and hateful way that it still hurts more than I ever thought words could. How dare I not pray for my grandmother? How selfish was I to only be thankful for my provisions, seek understanding with the community, and ask deep forgiveness for seeking my own life, when there is a clear path that I constantly ignore? My mother was triggered. She was pure hate. Hate is such a contagious safety blanket and it is uber painful to watch others go through the motions of having it come to the surface, only to be buried in order to feel better. No one wants to purposely entertain hateful emeotion and thoughts. And I certainly do not want to spread hate to my mother.

The relationship between myself and my family is fucked beyond anything I thought would ever happen. I am not living up to thier expectations and I am not the person that grew up in thier household. I am a man in a body. I am a man that will change everything that is me to grow and learn. I left with my entire extended family behind. I cared not for them anymore. They have their own paths, and mine is the only I should focus on, for it is the only one I can change. I cannot help another, without helping myself first. Is that ego? Standing up for myself is an issue I have. It draws on the Left, and ego can follow, so I would rather bend over and make you feel strong and important.

I met up with a climber that I had met at Will Gadd’s house the year prior. An individual that is beyond a life that I can describe. An idividual that is too easy to describe, yet also one I cannot fully understand for the clear reason that I truly do not care. We ascended Mount Denny together in an event that I am still hesitant thinking about. I was the epitaph of shit. That may be my own opinion, but I have learnt so much since then, and my opinion has only become clearer. Not on him, but myself and my own actions. The aspects of the ascent was mundane. Our conversations bland. I had summited just to do a summit, and that was done for the wrong reasons.

I am not going into the details of this trip. It does not matter. Some random ascent of some rarely ascended peak in Kananaskis. We found the FA tin film cannister and I handed it into the ACC in Canmore, and I shared the stoke. I actually did not care, yet was excited for what it meant to the community. I came home more lost than I ever have been before, even more lost than when a family that was fucking with me drove me 100km away from where I was expecting to go, and dropped me off homeless in the woods with everything that I owned on my back. The solo time I needed in the mountains was never found. I was more lost than ever when I returned to the Fraser Plateau. The urge to get out of the hole in the ground called Williams Lake was so strong upon return that I broke down and became something that was so far from what I was.

I sought validation. There is no reason to ever seek it, yet it is a thing that can help so much once achived. Validation gives confidence without ego. Yet seeking it only brings the ego. The balance I had between Ego and Id was fucked beyond belief. I returned to the place I called home with a stress that was settling in more than I ever thought that a place could give me. I did not move forward. I remained stagnate. And Catlin and I started to plan our trip to Willingdon, a trip that was only going to happen when I was to return to Alberta for the funeral that was so heavy on my family’s heart.

True beginnings.

Time. The importance of it, and the negation of it. I am lost in a sea of time. One where the current is ever flowing and I relax enough and let it flow, I can tell exactly where the current will bring me. Currently I am sitting indoors, hiding from the smoke here in BC, and I am reflecting on the past month, or years, and how it has brought me here.

I suppose if I am to start writing about my beginnings in the alpine, it requires an alpine start, preparation, and of course – a ton of beta. So I am sitting here, at 3am, many weeks after I completed the Alpine Skills Solstice Long Weekend with Jeff Bullock (Alpine Air Adventures), and I am reflecting and ready to write.

I am going to take this back. I am going to write in my half-hazard, hard-to-follow, and deranged style of writing that typically only makes sense to the dedicated reader who sticks it out. I am writing here for my spirituality. The mountains are my church, and unlike Will Gadd has said, ‘Freedom of the Hills’ is not my bible. Don’t get me wrong, the book is the working word on the facts about what we do, I am just a man who has spent enough time alone in the woods to find his inner light. A light that I often have to strive to listen to, for my window of life tends to get dusty and I can get preoccupied with desires to clean it and continue to see clearly.

Why do I climb mountains? I get asked this question more often than I thought I ever would of late. The funny thing is, is that I do not really consider myself a climber, or at least have not until recently. Yet, that is what I truly am. While I do climb to attain summits, or at least attempt to, the reason I venture off into the woods, and eventually the alpine, is for a chance to listen to myself. Climbing is an activity where one can follows one’s desires, and keep the internal window clean. Finding ‘The Zone’ and the oneness within happens when you are low on food, have tired the body, and have been in your head constantly making decisions with your intuition or instincts, that ‘gut’ feeling. Climbing 5th class terrain only increases the strain on the food intake, bodily wear, and the need to be ‘flowy’. For this reason alone I consider any outdoor ascension, of any hiking/scrambling class, to be climbing.

The avid Alberta Rockies scrambler is a mountain climber. They climb, albeit they may be on Class III or lower, but it is technically a ‘freesolo’ ascent. Just one where the risks are not quite the same as Alex Honnold on El Cap. This should not stoke the ego of all the scramblers out there, but instead instill a sense of reality that what they are doing is truly climbing, and there seriousness of their activities are far more serious than they may think.

As a trekker, one who mostly hangs out in the valleys and camps below the alpine, I knew the wildness of the mountains. I grew up going to the mountains with my family to camp. I returned there as an adult in search of powder. And I kept returning to continue to find myself. The mountains hold a special power for me. The are truly where I call home. They are the only place where I can breath easily and relax. They are the place where I am myself, and my window does not acquire the same amount of dust.

I took the mountains seriously, but my actions and words with the community did not reflect my internal seriousness. Maybe I had relaxed? I suppose I must have become too comfortable. Too much ego. I thought that I could do anything I wanted, and that was because I thought I knew my limits and only wanted to stay within them. The mountains always win. Whether it be in the fact that they will not leave your mind, or they will take your life, there is no activity you can do without leaving some of your safety to the Apus.

As I ran into a series of unfortunate events in my life, I turned to the mountains. The things that derail our plans in life are often the blessings that we don’t want to see. I returned from Peru in 2016 with my marriage already over. My wife and I had stopped talking while on our trip, and I was sleeping on the couch back in Canada. I wanted nothing more than for my marriage to work out, and for us to get into counselling, and spent too much time worrying about a wife (and life) that I could not control. I returned from Peru with a renewed vigor for the mountains. Before I treated them as a escape, now they were truly life itself. I had always been active, but also a drinker. I would often be hungover on day hikes, or backcountry shreds, despite being up and ready to go. Always pushing to go further and faster. Things were changing at that time for me. No longer was I the landlord. No longer was I even a husband. I was just a man, sick in the stomach – from Peru more than likely, and alone in his head for the first time in a long time.

I returned from Peru with a few changes to my psyche. My wife was very keen on doing ayahuasca while we were there, and as much as I was in constant fear of opening my mind to the experience, I had zero idea what that even meant. I wanted to quit drinking, and that was my motivation for wanting to go through the experience. I had no clue of what was to come and just how much my internal frame of thought would change. The doctors that administered the treatment told me that the drink was just the beginning, and that the changes it started would continue. I have found this to be true. 2016 was a hard and trying year for me. I was getting married, and I suffered a concussion at work. I spent the summer in a brain injury clinic, where they geared my recovery back to hiking (At the time I was hiking well over 52 days a year, filmed the trips as my band character ‘persona’ for YouTube, and was starting to put together my trail guiding resume for TRU). The head injury made it easy to drop the one beer a day that I had got myself down to, and I was well on my way to becoming what I thought was ‘fit and healthy’. The time I spent sick and truly alone on the couch when I returned cleared my whole mind.

The two changes that are most evident with my returning from Peru was my drinking, and my fear of heights. As in they were both no longer an issue. The path to reawakening my spirit begun on that trip, and I quickly discovered that I had zero mental addiction to alcohol anymore. My active life and healthy eating had just got a serious boost. The time I had spent at the pub with my wife, was now being spent on the trails. I begun to take training seriously. I begun to care about being the best that I could possibly be, and that meant you could have a beer in front off me, or I could crack one open, and I did not even want the whole thing.

My body is a temple, a machine, and vehicle, and I intended to use it. Once I would drive down Highway 40 and list all the mountains with trails, now with my fear of heights – and all unjustifiable fears – behind me, I planned to climb all the peaks without them. Ever had I dreamed of actually climbing mountains – for I did not consider scrambling climbing at the time. Now I knew I had the ability to actual climb them, just as anyone who has the desire to do so can.

As my relationship with my wife turned into a living hell, and my wife was turning to using her fists to get me out of the house, I gave up. It was the start of a long process, a process I will ever be going though. I packed up my gear, spent Yule outside at my parents, and spent the next stretch of months looking for myself. Not truly lost, but no longer the person I was before. I do not feel that the time was wasted, as the outcome from that time spent alone in the mountains is beyond any experience that I have thought possible. Yet, I did not do much. I climbed a bit. I shredded some powder. At night I mostly sat around fires, far from any other human, disconnected.

I never really solved the GI issue. I went back to work. I got sick again. I wanted more mountains and a career there, so I focused on getting ready to apply at TRU for the 2018 year. I wanted to trail guide, and no longer as a part time thing to work towards. I was trying to move to Calgary or Canmore. I wanted to be closer to doctors. I needed to find work that would help me pay for the schooling I wanted, not to mention the amount of debt that I had racked up since my concussion in early 2016. I eventually landed a job at a fast food joint. I have a BSc, but worked and ran kitchens throughout university, and the promise of managing a fast paced fast food joint in Canmore with a scholarship program was enough for me to give up on the last shred of stability I had left in life to go all in on my dream. Life of course had different plans for me.

I moved into the staff accommodations in Canmore after climbing Mount Edith before my work orientation meeting on Oct 31st 2017. Life was amazing. I lived in Canmore, winter was fast approaching, and I was on a mountain before or after work pretty much every day. I trained daily. I studied Freedom of the Hills and knots. And I worked my butt off. I was finally making money again and wanting to start paying back all the debt I had built up… and then my roommate was drugged. The police and EMT’s in the ambulance said it appeared to be something called ‘Flakka’. I had to look it up, and sadly the video I watched was exactly the behavior that my roommate had been showing. As scary as the situation was, my life was only going to get worse.

After hours of waiting for the ambulance we called, and attempting to restrain a flakka enraged human with my ice axe, the police finally showed up. Then we gave statements. Then the police came back to wake us up for more statements and the news about our roommate being rushed to a Calgary hospital. He was dying. I had to work early in the morning, and did not get to sleep. I picked up overtime, as the roommate was on life support, and the police came again for more verbal statements in the middle of the night. 3 nights in a row the police came after midnight for statements. I picked up the roommates shifts, asked to be sent to a grief therapist daily for the first few days, and ended up crushing 21 days in a row with pneumonia and a smile – because Canmore.

Just a little over a week after the incident I finally had my general manager come say hello to me. He did not ask me what had happened, no one ever did from management at work, but he did hand me a card with a therapists number on it. I was already so sick at that point in time and working so many of my half-dead buddies hours, that I was beginning to loose sight of why I came to Canmore in the first place. The flexible closing and opening shifts I was promised on hire, had turned into a sunup to sundown slog with daily overtime, and zero days off.

I eventually was sent home from work due to my cough, because the managers could not hide how sick I was anymore. My best friend had mono, and the doctor thought I did too. A doctors note saying I had developed pneumonia from having EBV, and going through a round of antibiotics as well, was not enough to not have my job threatened on a regular basis though. I was definitely at work, talking at a whisper at best, coughing non-stop, and being told if I did not put in overtime I would be fired. I was so amped on making money and staying in Canmore, I honestly was glad my supervisor tossed out my doctors note and told me to work instead of sending me home. Such a foolish thing to not look after one’s body. I ended up sick, and unable to move much out of my bed for a few weeks. After I was cleared for work by the doctors and showed up to work, I was sent home and work made me wait 3 more days and had me get another doctors note. I walked Lady MacDonald’s West Ridge at night during that time, my first outing in far too long, and returned to work so stoked to be back. I thought my life was back on track. I was so wrong.

My first day back at work was all smiles, I was so stoked to be back to life in the mountains. It was December 19th, and a good layer of snow had fallen while I was in bed. Ski season was in full swing. There was a note on one of the glass cooler doors saying, “Please do not use”. I saw every other person at work using the door and asked what was with the note, but no one in the kitchen knew why it was put up. I was using the cooler door next to it when a coworker ran up and used the door with the note on it. The door came off it’s hinges, and the next thing I remember clearly is living in Kamloops.


Turn’s out I took a nice bump to the head, was put on the cold and wet tile floor in the backroom for several hours, every winter jacket in the place piled on me, in the hopes that I was going to get up and return to finish my shift. Off-shift coworkers were called to bring me to the hospital, and by the time I was being released from the hospital in Calgary, it was December 28th and I had missed Christmas. I do not actually recall Christmas, and that is probably a good thing as I was in a city with no family around, and my friends I knew that lived there were not even contacted. My family came and picked me up and brought me to Red Deer to enjoy some Christmas family time and I started trying to get a hold of work. My boss finally returned one of my calls, in the morning of January 1st, and right off that bat asked me if I had moved out of the staff accommodations in Canmore yet. Thankfully, since this was not my first major head injury, I had the foresight to get a call recorder and let everyone know I needed to tape my calls to remember what was said in them. Unfortunately, with not much to do while in recovery, I listened to them on repeat.

So that ended my time living in Canmore. Half of it was spent covering my roommates shifts while he chilled on life support, and the other half of it I was in bed with pneumonia. I used the last of my money, and borrowed more, to have my car and my stuff moved out of Canmore. I was unable to drive and waiting to get into a brain injury clinic at the time. And WCB, the Worker’s Compensation Board, delayed the start of my payments by almost 30 days. I ended up homeless, as I had nowhere to move to and no money for rent. Work was claiming I owed them rent money for while I was off work as well. Before Canmore I at least was able to drive and look after myself if this situation had occurred. Now concussed, confused, and everything I owned back in my car – yet being unable to drive or walk much, I was kinda fucked. I don’t think I had ever been so fucked before in my life, and did not think it could possibly get any worse, but it did.

According to my recorded phone calls, my WCB worker was perfectly fine with work kicking me out of my house while concussed from a workplace injury. I tried to stick around Calgary for a bit, but was not getting any money from WCB and could not afford to put down a deposit on a place. Also not thinking clearly, nor having any working memory, really did not help. Thankfully a friend of mine was moving to Kamloops from Canmore, and WCB said that if I went with her, that they would fly me back to Calgary for the brain injury clinic. WCB never set up a single flight for me despite many other phone calls where they clearly say that they will. Fast forward to the last few days of March, and I find myself on the mend, out of the brain injury clinic, and packing up my stuff in Kamloops to move back to Canmore. Work had been dodging my phone calls and emails for a few weeks, I had been cleared for a back to return plan on March 12th, but WCB moved me out of the program anyways and I was ready to get back home. It was the day before the Easter weekend, and my big move home. New renters would be moving into my place, and I had to be out. I had lost almost everything I owned, including my car, at this point. I was so ready to be back to work and in Alberta.

And then my manager finally returned my phone calls. I was being laid off. WCB was still thousands of dollars behind on their payments with me, I was in collections with zero money in my Albertan bank that I couldn’t even access in BC. I had no car. I had no job. And I had no house. The nearest friend or family member I could try to visit was 800km away. Work gave me a pretty sweet Christmas present, but I think their Easter gift was even better. Now I was homeless, with everything I owned on my back. I had to leave the little amount of stuff I still had behind, and set out on foot. In a city I did not know. Knowing not a single soul I could call on in the whole province. Going from a suit wearing, new car driving, landlord in Calgary – owning a fully furnished 6 bedroom house, to walking down the streets of Kamloops alone, with everything I owned on my back and not a single memory of how I go there was a blow to my brain worse than either of the concussions.

I did it for the mountains was all I could think. All that mattered was the mountains. I was happy and could relax in the mountains. Apparently my time between January and March was spend training, studying ‘Freedom of the Hills’, and climbing after the doctors cleared me. I honestly do not recall much of it, but what I do recall is mountains, knots, and beta. All I could focus on now was getting back to the rockies. I had a mountaineering course lined up for around the Solstice in June. The doctors at the brain injury clinic had told me that I would not be insurable as a hiking guide anymore, so I had zero direction with a career. It did not matter much anyways, as I was homeless, yet the things I had in my pack on my back were chosen well. I had my mountaineering gear and nothing else.

I ended up in Williams Lake somehow, I really don’t know. I was taken in by an amazing family that did not know me. They fed me. I trail ran. And I prayed daily. I found the Salvation Army and did the paperwork so I could help make soup for the soup kitchen. I found friends with no money or home. I met people who’s hearts were so big that I was sure that their chests would burst one day. I met a quality of people that I never knew existed, and I continued to grow.

The desire to make it to my course in June was the only thing that ever kept me going during this time. No one would hire me. I was at the point where I was going to walk to the Columbia Icefield for the course if needed. I was wearing the same 3 pairs of clothes that I had with me when I left Kamloops, and that was enough. I trained. I climbed. I mediated. The 3 days with a guide in the Icefields was coming.

I made it to the course with the help of my new friends and my mountaineering partner. Without these people in my life, I would be nothing. That is the point of today’s blog. It is not the pity party – because we all live a story like this. It is not about spreading hate. It is not about the journey this time either. Today I write this for hope. I write this in a nice house with AC, on a laptop, with clean socks on my feet, tea in my mug, and a smile on my face. I am writing this with love in my bed, a Taurus Wagon in the driveway, and a closet full of gear. I have been up and down since running a fundraiser from the backcountry, and getting an EP on iTunes and Spotify last year. I made it to my course. I climbed Mount Athabasca. I climbed Skyladder on Andromeda, and had to climb back down it in an ice storm. I have gone off to climb Mount Cline, Mount Willingdon, and others in the few weeks that have past since the solstice. My road has not gotten any easier. If anything it is getting harder. But I am not backing down. I am not stopping. I am going to continue to train. I am going to continue to climb. I never lost sight of who I am. I never lost sight of what I want in life. If anything, my time alone in the woods, in the cities, and meeting some of the kindest souls while finding my own spirtuality, has let me grow the light inside. And if what has happened to me in the last few years was not able to stop me, but only made me stronger, you better believe I will be working even harder to attain my goals. If I learnt anything over the past few months, it is that Hope is stronger than Fear.

Adulting.

I finally feel like my life is coming together. It is clearly an ongoing process that will never cease, as I will always strive to be a better man.


My routine here is getting to feel comfortable, and I am beginning to feel at home. It has been a long time since I have truly felt comfortable and in control in a house. Leaving the ‘real world’ to go meditate in the mountains in 2016 set me back, and I still do not even own a bed. Life is good though. I have a bike, a room full of gear, my dog, good friends, and everything I need to train for alpinism.

I have not been running much in the mornings of late and that needs to change. My morning meditation and yoga routine, followed by breakfast and working out, is going well and I feel complete. Afternoons are walks, studying, gardening, and music.


I ordered internet today and aquired a kitchen table, plus some bedroom furniture, so I feel mega adult-ish at the moment. I have a bill in my name, a bank card, and a tenancy agreement. My not-so-busy life is non-stop. I am active all day long and I expect to become more active soon. Having a home, a garden, and a community to be a part of has brightened my smile to a level I never thought possible. Well, if I was on the rope more, she could be brighter I suppose.

Welcome to hell.

If you want to choose this prison as a sentence to pain, then so be it. There are other ways to spend your time here, and for me it is escaping to the mountains.

Life goes on. Things grow. People change. The thing that gets me out of the bed in the morning is my plans. I have plans to do some serious mountains. I need to train. I need to look after myself so that I am able to follow through with what has been set up. And this is what keeps me going.

The people I meet on a day to day basis here in BC is an eye opener. Daily. It is a non-stop deal. I am constantly reminded of my place, where I am, and what life can be to those who take it on their knees.

I love that I have the escape I do. My freedom here is self chosen, and by doing so I am giving up many luxuries that many could not deal with. I do not have a TV. A computer. Not even wifi. My days are spent on foot. I live this life, finding epic daily. I strive to have fun, but also be prepared.

Life is truly what you make it. This place is a prison, but it is the nicest one in the galaxy.

Software upgrade?

If your brain is a computer, and your pineal is connecting you to the grid, do you ever need a software upgrade?

The problem with this thinking, that we can somehow better ourselves with training, is that it is wrong. There is an issue within each of us. Such is the nature of humanity. The original sin if you will. We all are corrupt. If you love the bread, do you toss the whole bag when one piece has mold? If you have lived like I have, you don’t.

Every part of us is cherished. No energy can be created, nor destroyed. As many times as we, as this concious energy, have gone through the cycle, our energy is still here, hopefully growing.

We are hardly growing, or have not been. Things are changing. Times are different now. There is a hold, stagnation of sin. Stagnation of previous instinct. The Balance needed between community and the self is as ever present. The shedding of ego must go on for most of us, as we are a survival species, suffering from a catastrophic amnesia. To prevail in any hard time to come, the Balance must be found.

To find your balance on a wall, on a ridge walk, or in your life, it takes great strength. A strength that most of us do not have. Training will hardly improve us enough to make this work. Instead we must throw off the balance by leaning far past centre, into unknown territory, pushing past and letting go of the holds we feel comfortable in.

Am I training to let go? If that is a training at all, then yes. It is not always about a software upgrade to better ourselves, it is about removing the virus. Removing the limiter we place on ourselves.

Today I struggle. I am back to routine, but am dying for more. I feel like I need to be training more, yet there is nothing to be done but wait, reflect, and let go.