26 Ticks and 127 Hours - Wildhorse Ridge

Normally, a long weekend in which you find 26 ticks crawling on you and your friends' stuff, and then almost 127 Hours-ing yourself (the movie about a dude who cut off his own arm after being pinned by a rock in a canyon), is not cause for celebration.   But celebrate we did, as we bagged two summit highpoints in the Rockies with an incredibly scenic kilometre long ridgewalk in between, on a lightly trafficked peak this past Saturday. 

So first, the ticks.  We didn't notice them during the hike at all, but when we got back to our vehicles and did cursory tick checks, the five of us wound up finding 26 of these little bastards.  Nothing a small does of flames doesn't fix though.

Next, the 127 Hours sequel I almost starred in.  On our descent, I was hopping large boulders, and stepped on one that appeared to be solid ground.  Turns out, it was only lightly wedged between two larger boulders, so when I put my weight on it, it gave way and dropped into a crevice, trapping my leg.  Another two rocks would then fall on top as well, landing on my shin, and behind my calf, solidly wedging my foot at an unseemly angle backwards, with no give in any direction.  Had I been alone, this would have been a serious predicament.  Fortunately, Keith was a Jenga master and extricated my limb before I had to dust off my 'how to amputate your own limb' Scouts badge.

Photos below: combination of digital and film, hence some that look like they were taken with a potato.


Social distancing on a summit.




A misstep here would be a bad idea.






Photo cred: Jas.


Summit Brew: Phantom Beer Co. Strata Conflict Nordic Hazy IPA.




The start of the kilometre long ridge walk.
















It was around here where I got my leg pinned in between some boulders.

Life in Lockdown

I've spent the past 30 minutes trying to find something meaningful to say... but the words aren't coming. So instead, here's a random list of facts about me from the past couple months of lockdown:

I baked more in these eight weeks than the past eight years.
I gained at least 5 pounds from beer and bread.
I averaged barely 300 steps a day for a few weeks.
I had enough hair to qualify me for Korean Boy Band status.
I have been leading a team of 25 people to help with Contact Tracing for Covid cases.
I discovered I detest burpees.
We've had to cancel our trip to Scandinavia.
I went 6 weeks without a proper bowl of pho.
I have severely missed going out for a pint with all of you.

What about you guys? Tell me about a high or low of your past two months.

With the gradual relaxation in restrictions, we have plans for another summit this coming long weekend. All is starting to feel right in the world again. Photos below from last weekend's hike up to the Col between Goat Mountain and Yamnuska.
























Summit Brew: Vice and Virtue's The Supplier IPA.

The Apocalypse and the Aral Sea

Since we're all cooped up trying to stave off the end of the world, why don't I show you a more Mad Max version of a post apocalyptic landscape I experienced recently. Perhaps by comparison, our temporary situation may feel a little less doom and gloomy.

While in Central Asia, we went to visit to the former Aral Sea, once the world's fourth largest lake, located between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. Due to decades of environmental mismanagement, it has shrunk to 10% of its original size of 50 years ago, resulting in a completely avoidable man made disaster that will serve as a case study for generations to come. The devastation happened largely due to over use of water for irrigation of cotton fields for the former Soviet Union. Cotton is an incredibly water intensive crop, and with the rise of fast fashion, it is ever more in demand. But I digress.

We drove for hundreds of kilometres through an arid Uzbekistan landscape with views of nothing but desolate scrub, tumble weeds, and cotton fields, before finally arriving at an endless desert expanse which was once the sea floor. Now rather than a body of water with thriving fishing communities along its shores, the only things left to see were a little museum describing the former region, and a small graveyard of rusted out fishing vessels long since beached on the dried up seabed, to serve as a reminder of what was lost. While the boats were in a picturesque state of decay, it was also a shocking sight to behold, and a reminder of our impact on this planet.