northword
ISSUE NO. 76
magazine
boats
boots
slow repair
WINTER 2018-19
slow pace
|
THE SLOW ISSUE
burns
slow recovery
|
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COVER CONTEST!
Find the in the cover photo for a chance to win a special Northword mug! Email contest@northword.ca with your best guess. Correct entries will be entered into a draw & the winner announced December 18.
ON THE COVER
LAST ISSUE
Cabins provide refuge from the elements and they are great spots to slow down. Photo by Matt Simmons.
The N was hidden in ripples by the swimmer’s right shoulder. Congrats to Denise Pedro from Kitimat for being the lucky winner!
A note about the annual...and other things: With this issue, we sign off for 2018 but we’ll be back in the new year with plenty of great content. First up, we’ll be publishing the second edition of our little side project, the Northword annual. If you missed the first, the annual is a different size, format, and style and features fiction and poetry as well as thought-provoking and inspiring articles. Keep an eye out for it, in February! After that, we’re going to settle into a quarterly publication schedule, kicking things off with a spring issue. Between now and then, don’t forget to keep up with us in the digital world. On the web, we’re at northword.ca & you can find us on both Facebook and Instagram.
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CONTENTS ISSUE NO. 76 | WINTER 2018-19
8 LETTERS 11 EDITOR’S NOTE FIRSTWORDS 13 Profile: Eden Robinson 15 Writing contest 33 TRAIL MAP To Break, or Not to Break BACKWORDS
35 Jean-Michel Blais 36 David Sedaris 36 Big Red Machine 37 CROSSWORD Holy! by Barbara Olson
38 MARKETPLACE
FEATURES 18 Postcards Fort St. James writer Ruth Lloyd says the art of composing a message for a postcard is like writing a tweet—but so much better. 20 Slow The photographic eye of Talon Gillis is always on point. As an adventurer, Gillis gravitates toward self-propelled travel and his take on “slow” reflects this tendency as well as his love and passion for the landscapes of northern BC. We pair the final photo in this segment with a poem from Paul Glover, Watching Paint Dry. 28 Carrying Cultures When we are forced to carry a heavy load at foot pace, we view the world differently. Dave Quinn makes a compelling case for the carrying cultures of the world, and for us here in the North to take advantage of our remaining road-free landscapes. 30 A Simple Boat Repair Sometimes the “quick fix” takes a whole lot longer than we’d hoped it would. Patrick Williston spills blood, tears, and laughter as he works on his family’s sailboat. 31 Slow Burn What happens when you process chilis for a deer sausage recipe with just one glove? Haida Gwaii-based Allison Smith has the story...and the heat-haunted memories that go with it.
Winter 2018-19
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Letters
We don’t get a lot of letters—but we love it when we do. Especially when they come in the form of actual, pen-onpaper letters. (Don’t worry, though; if a keyboard is more your style, we like emails, too.) But it has to be said: Snail mail is one of those things that has largely been usurped by the more immediate and accessible email, which, in turn, is becoming usurped by text and other various forms of digital messaging. The allure of “slow communication” is pretty appealing. We received Shawn’s letter (above, front) awhile back but because we knew the “slow” issue was coming up, we saved it. Shawn is a self-described “middle age homeless single white male with no addictions.” He writes, “I still have my health (except for bad teeth + poor eyesight) and am literate.” Because he’s homeless, he left no return address and told us he’d been reading Northword in a public library. His fourpage letter covers a bunch of topics, shares insights into his
SUGGESTIONS FROM SHAWN I don’t know why I was surprised to hear that even Haida Gwaii has homeless people. (Haida Gwaii Housing, May/June 2018). After all, homelessness has even reached the far corners of Nunavut and Northwest Territories! I can’t imagine how tough life would be to be homeless on Haida Gwaii. You guys have some extremely talented writers and contributors. Keep those trail map articles about mountain, lake + hiking trails a regular feature. Same goes for ‘Marketplace’. I do have one suggestion that I hope you’ll indoctrinate as a regular feature. Bring in a ‘Letters to the editor’ page (or 2). How ‘bout it? Also, throw in a word puzzle page, or book review page. — Shawn Shawn, we can’t imagine being homeless on Haida Gwaii
8 Winter 2018-19
life and life story, and references plenty within our magazine’s covers. Shawn included in his letter a full page of great article ideas, ideas you might see in future issues. It was a pleasure to receive and read. K’s letter, another handwritten missive, was also a pleasure. She praised our pages, with one exception, a complaint about small white text on a dark background being tricky to read. We’ll keep that in mind. Also, readers with access to internet can check out the audio section on our website. This is where we share recordings of our writers reading their articles aloud. We’ll be updating soon with new content. If you’ve got something to say, we want to hear it. Email your letters to editor@northword.ca or send us snail mail to 1412 Freeland Avenue, Smithers, BC, V0J 2N4. Here’s an idea: check out the story and “template” on pages 18-19. We’d love to receive some mail and hey—maybe you’ll be featured on this page in a future issue. — Ed.
either. And we’re sure it’s no picnic for you, though you sound like you have some serious northern street smarts, especially given you’ve been living “rough” since the late 1990s. Thanks for your suggestions. Check out page 37 for the latest addition to our mag—a crossword puzzle, crafted by a Canadian creator based in Nelson. And our book reviews can be found in the BackWords section. This issue we’re taking a peek at the new David Sedaris. — Ed. DOVES IN TERRACE Hi - I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the July/Aug Northword. This one seemed really interesting and I found myself reading every page. One article I found very interesting was the writeup on Eurasian collared doves. I live on the bench north of Terrace and about three years ago, we started hearing doves calling. But only in the last two weeks have I actually seen them. There are two and they
sit on the back fence every day and before I read the article, I noticed how small their heads were compared to the rest of [the] body. But because of eyesight, I cannot see the crescent-shaped black band. However, early morning I know they are out there. Their calls start up about 4 AM. But where do they go in winter? — K. Williams, Terrace Hi K! It’s a good question, so we put it to UNBC professor Dr. Ken Otter. The short answer is: They don’t go anywhere. Collared-doves are non-migratory and Dr. Otter says they’ve been showing up on Christmas bird counts and have been spotted in Prince George in December. He suggests that the absence of their calls is not because the birds aren’t there: “They may simply not be cooing as much at the moment. This is the doves’ advertisement calls that will be highest during the breeding season.” — Ed.
FEATURED CONTRIBUTORS
TALON GILLIS FACUNDO GASTIAZORO
Talon Gillis Talon Gillis is an adventurer at heart with a strong passion for photographing people. He combines the beauty and excitement of being outside with a relatable human element that allows the viewer to identify with his images. A self-taught photographer who grew up in Prince Rupert, he now lives in Terrace. To see more of his work, find him at talongillis.com. Allison Smith Allison Smith is a writer and filmmaker living and working on Haida Gwaii. She combines her background in community economic development with her love of creative storytelling, to showcase immersive stories of nature, mental health, women empowerment and community. She’s always up to learn something new, especially over a game of crib and a cup of coffee. Find her on Instagram: @allisonjoannesmith or braidfilms.com.
ALLISON SMITH
RUTH LLOYD PATRICK WILLISTON
Facundo Gastiazoro Facundo Gastiazoro spends his days in Smithers expressing his art by painting murals, creating animations, producing videos, illustrating concepts. His illustrations are featured in every issue of Northword. Facundo is trying to be in the present, but the past is nagging at his heels and the future is tripping him at his toes. Patrick Williston Patrick Williston writes poems, prose, fiction, and non-fiction with a regionalism born of a life spent in the mountains, on the rivers, and among the coastal islands of northern British Columbia. He has written two chapbooks, two musical fables performed by the Valley Youth Fiddlers, and a handful of fictional stories, and is a frequent contributor to Northword.
Ruth Lloyd Ruth Lloyd rides bikes, writes things, and takes photographs—not necessarily in that order, and not all at once. With the help of her partner and fellow photographer and cyclist, she specializes in combining bicycles and travel all over the world. Ruth is based in Fort St. James, where she appreciates large gulps of air in the wild spaces overlooking Stuart Lake.
Winter 2018-19
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northword magazine
MAIN OFFICE | Smithers 1412 Freeland Ave. Smithers, BC, V0J 2N4 t: 250.847.4600 | w. northword.ca | e. editor@northword.ca
PUBLISHER/EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Matt J. Simmons NATIONAL SALES/AD DESIGN Sandra Smith CONTRIBUTING EDITOR Amanda Follett Hosgood ILLUSTRATIONS Facundo Gastiazoro
DISTRIBUTION We distribute 10,000 copies six times a year to over 300 locations in more than 30 communities across northern BC, reaching over 30,000 readers.
CONTRIBUTORS Nikki Dodd, Sian Fullerton, Facundo Gastiazoro, Talon Gillis, Paul Glover, Morgan Hite, Emma Kivisild, Ruth Lloyd, Barbara Olson, Dave Quinn, Allison Smith, Patrick Williston
SUBSCRIPTION To receive Northword Magazine in your mailbox, or to give it away to a friend, please complete the subscription process on our website or give us a call. Subscriptions make great gifts!
DISTRIBUTORS Ainsley Brown, Frances Riley, Richard Haley
CONTRIBUTIONS We’re always happy to hear from new writers and photographers who have a unique perspective and a northern story to tell. Have a look at our submissions guidelines on our website.
ADVERTISING SALES Sandra Smith, sandra@northword.ca Matt J. Simmons, matt@northword.ca
SPECIAL THANKS Thanks to our contest judges, Nikki Dodd, Nikki Skuce, and Patrick Williston. Special thanks to the “work party” crew who helped out at HQ. And thanks to Finlay for helping hide the N...on the other cover!
ONLINE Find articles past and present, photos, audio, and much more on our website, northword.ca, and remember to check us out on Facebook and Instagram.
Sandra Smith
National Advertising sandra@northword.ca
Paul Glover is a piano technician,
Nikki Dodd moved to Smithers from the big city in 2016 and hasn’t looked back. In her spare time, she enjoys hunting for morels and cuddling with her cats, book in hand. This is her first contribution to Northword.
Sian Fullerton is a new arrival to
Morgan Hite has lived in Smithers
photographer, writer and home-grown naturalist. He lives in the hills outside Smithers where he compulsively grows way too much food and pays rapt attention to the natural processes unfolding around us. Kitimat. As a writer, she’s making the most of her experience in beautiful northern BC, and is perhaps too interested in observing her first grizzly in the wild.
Amanda Follett Hosgood Contributing Editor amanda@northword.ca
Dave Quinn uses boots, backpacks, kayaks, canoes, skis and a keyboard to explore the interface between modern society and wilderness. In addition to Northword, his work is showcased regularly by BC Mag, Westworld, Patagonia, Kootenay and Coast Mountain Culture Magazines, among others.
for 20 years, makes maps, goes hiking, gets lost, writes articles, reads things, and dreams about travel. His maps are featured in every issue of Northword and can be found at bvtrailmaps.ca.
Legalities and limitations Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved. No part of Northword Magazine, in print or electronic form, may be reproduced or incorporated into any information retrieval systems without written permission of the publisher. Information about events, products or services provided is not necessarily complete. The publisher is not responsible in whole or in part for any errors or omissions.The views expressed herein are those of the writers and advertisers, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the publisher, staff or management. Northword assumes no liability for improper or negligent business practices by advertisers, nor for any claims or representations contained anywhere in this magazine. Northword reserves the right to cancel or refuse advertising at the publisher’s discretion. In no event shall unsolicited material subject this publication to any claim or fees. Northword welcomes submissions but accepts no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Copyright in letter and other materials sent to the publisher and accepted for publication remains with the author, but the publisher and its licensees may freely reproduce them in print, electronic and other forms. Please refer to northword.ca for contribution guidelines.
10 Winter 2018-19
photo: talon gillis
Matt J. Simmons
Publisher/Editor-in-chief matt@northword.ca
EDITOR’S NOTE
photo: talon gillis
The Slow Season I’m at the lake. It’s night, cold. The moon slips behind the ridge, a shimmering silver tail flicking out from behind a gap in the trees. Her last dance for tonight. Little sounds play in the darkness and in the distance a train, its clacking and rumbling reverberating around the basin that surrounds me. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, open them again. I’m not really thinking—just observing. Slow down. Look at what’s in front of you—now and always. Let your eyes wander, your mind ponder. Drift. Where is this, this beach dusted by winter? Look at the sand in the picture. Sand is slow, its very presence a reminder of geological time. The northern tide stretches out languorously, tugging at infinite particles, playing at patterns until the beach is an expansive piece of ephemeral artwork. And look at how the page breaks through. Because we’re not really on the beach. “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.” Magritte. What then are we looking at? Paper—a page ink-stained with words. Once a tree, old and quiet. Impassively weathering change. And then—transformed. Now turned from tangible tree into intangible beach, the frozen sand, slow. And the words, too, a product of every moment I’ve been alive and so many more before—the history of the English language itself,
everything I’ve read from Maurice Sendak to Immanuel Kant, a teetering pile of knowledge passed on. It’s funny how perception changes everything. The beach, the lake, the tree. Look at things closely and you see their distance. The water glass isn’t just half full, it’s packed with complex processes and a long, slow history—evaporation, condensation, weather patterns, vast journeys through the sky. Turn on the tap. But slowness isn’t easy. That tap needs to be fixed—it drips. Time can be such an unfaithful friend, too often rushing by like the white quickness of a turbulent river. Thankfully, though, there are things in life which are suited to slowing down. Winter is one, for me anyway. Something about the hushed and dark nature of northern winters speaks slowness to me. The music I listen to changes with the seasons and winter is deep, moody music, slow and measured, like the careful steps of a climber on a mountain ridge. Long evenings lend themselves to warm reading or a deck of cards. Short, snowy days make for slow-paced excursions into the white and shadowy environment. And all these slow moments—whether a season’s worth or just this moment right now—mean so much. “Things can sometimes move slowly here on Earth,” writes Oliver Jeffers in Here We Are: Notes for Living on Planet Earth. “More often though, they move quickly, so use your time well. It will be gone before you know it.” — Matt J. Simmons Winter 2018-19
11
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FIRSTWORDS
EDEN ROBINSON
As her popularity soars, the Haisla storyteller stays true to her roots
For the stories of
First Nations people to endure, they need to be relevant. That’s the view of Kitimatbased author Eden Robinson, a Haisla and Heiltsuk woman of growing renown in contemporary Canadian literature. Robinson is enjoying considerable attention at the moment, largely due to the release of her new
photo: submitted
OUT THE Y... OF DINAR OR
book Trickster Drift. The movie adaptation of her award-winning novel, Monkey Beach, was also recently shot on-location in Kitimat. Robinson was out of town during much of the filming, narrowly missing a meeting with the some of the principals, one of whom is Adam Beach. She also
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decided against a cameo role, distancing herself from the production process. The author penned an initial draft of the script, and then abruptly fired herself. “I don’t love adapting my own work,” she admits. Her sister, Carla Robinson, is very much involved in the movie as an associate producer, and guarantees Robinson isn’t entirely out of the loop. A writer who crafts her work from personal experience, Robinson has set many of her plots in northern BC. It’s no stretch for readers familiar to the region to place themselves in Robinson’s scenes, as characters engage in everyday tasks such as working at the Kitimat DQ or catching a bus to Terrace. Her hours devoted to working on Trickster Drift elicited intense, messy moments for her in real life. “I have a weakness for dysfunctional family drama. My stories aren’t gentle and I like complex characters; I cry when they cry,” she says. Robinson’s emotional connection to her protagonists is a bond she’s nurtured over time. The Trickster trilogy began as a short story several years ago and seemed to gain a self-sustaining momentum, evolving first into a novella and now, a three-part series. She’s had a difficult time moving on from the characters, not unlike the experience of her readers.
Winter 2018-19
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“I’m comfortable in creating my worlds, as long as I’m not stepping on cultural toes. Some stories are off the table, while others are fair game. It’s important to share these with our children.”
A large part of Robinson’s audience is comprised of teenagers and Monkey Beach has been hit the prescribed reading list at some BC schools. Robinson says the writing workshops she held with students were insightful and inspired her to continue reaching out to a younger generation. “That’s the kind of energy I wanted for Son of a Trickster (the first instalment in the trilogy),” she adds. When she was younger, John Robinson, Eden’s father, would relate stories and local legends to his daughter, who soaked up the alluring tales of Wee’git, b’gwus, and others. The author sought to ensure the messages and magical realism weren’t lost over time. She conjured modern narratives with old bones, works of fiction boasting elements of cultural tradition that young people could relate to. Trickster Drift is dedicated to John Robinson and his influence that remains a contributing factor to his daughter’s art today. The preservation of Haisla history is a priority for Robinson. She reveals that as of last year, there were only 99 native Haisla speakers left. That’s a discouraging plunge from the 240 fluent Haisla speakers reported by the Kitamaat Village Council to the First Peoples’ Language Map of British Columbia in 2010. There is a certain responsibility that goes along with being a storyteller, and Robinson is very aware of this. It’s more a role she assumed, rather than coveted, some years ago, when Indigenous voices were not as strong as they are now. She said the pressure to be primarily an ambassador has eased.
“I’m comfortable in creating my worlds, as long as I’m not stepping on cultural toes. Some stories are off the table, while others are fair game. It’s important to share these with our children.” A national promotional tour, university lectures, and family commitments leave little time for relaxation. But Robinson grabs it when she can. Perhaps unsurprisingly, reading in the bath is a favourite indulgence. Self-care and personal health are a priority, too. She made a conscious effort to prepare for the book tour, which required considerable stamina, organization, and a willingness to socialize on demand. An introvert, Robinson said one of the most valuable experiences in her early career was doing improvisational theatre and overcoming the heckles of her devoted friends. Whatever her creative process involves now, it’s yielding success. Her work has been recognized with several awards. Robinson made the 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize shortlist with Son of a Trickster, she won the Writers’ Trust Engel/Findley Award in 2016, and her widely-distributed Monkey Beach took the 2001 Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize. Monkey Beach also made CBC’s Great Canadian Reading List: 150 Books to Read for Canada 150. Eden Robinson exudes warmth and contentment, with a dash of near-hysterical laughter on occasion: her sunny nature a contrast to the darkness of her work. With the Monkey Beach movie due out in 2019 and the final Trickster novel not far off, Robinson will likely have more reason to entertain us with her infectious giggle. And if you hang around the Kitimat Library often enough, you might even get to hear it in person. — Sian Fullerton
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A
t the beginning of the year, we published our very first annual—a once-a-year publication in a different size, format, and style to the regular magazine, and featuring timeless content including fiction and poetry. In that little special, we launched another first for Northword —a writing contest. The so-called Paint Swatch Writing Contest prompted many aspiring writers to get creative and write a short piece connected to the name of a colour paint swatch. We received numerous entries and had a great time immersing ourselves in your creative output. A huge thanks to everyone who entered. The judging panel convened this fall and, with the help of some wine and cheese, chose the winners. Drum roll, please... In first place, Emma Kivisild with her piece, Limoncello. The Prince Rupert writer and artist links the paint swatch to time spent in southern Italy—and much more. We won’t spoil anything here for you; you can read the story on page 16. The judges agreed that the story was written with thoughtful
precision, and it seems evident that the writer has a true love for words. Congrats to Emma for winning! In second place is Wood Anemone by Jenn Marx, from Stewart. It’s a story about death, loss, and a Yorkshire wildf lower. It’s a great read— check it out on our website, northword.ca. Last, but not least, we have two honorable mentions to, well, mention. Baxter Huston from Terrace managed to include not one, not two, but three paint swatch names in an eight-stanza poem he calls West Coast Fury. Another entry from Prince Rupert also caught our attention. Accompanied by a Canadian Tire paint swatch, Not Pecan by Caroline Dudley is a quirky little story about air travel and the colour of a husband’s hands. You can check out all of the above on the website. Thanks again to everyone who entered and to our thoughtful and decisive panel of judges. Stay tuned for the second incarnation of the contest, coming with the 2019 annual, early in the new year. Winter 2018-19
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limoncello by Emma Kivisild
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n my kitchen is an apron with a recipe for limoncello on it. Organic lemons, white sugar, water, and pure grain alcohol. After peeling and stirring, and days of sitting, limoncello comes out, opaque and pale yellow. It is strong, lemony and delightful, the raki/ouzo/ grappa of Southern Italy. Drink this in the land of lemons and oranges, Vesuvius and Pompeii, Naples and the Amalfi Coast. I was there for one week once, in Massa Lubrense, in an apartment looking out over the Mediterranean, past a giant lemon we kept on the railing. Every morning we saw Capri and the boats trailing white wakes towards it. Every evening we were impressed by the sunset. Every night we heard bats and owls—night hunters—signalling and then diving down the hill. The road to our house was all switchbacks, and each car honked at the corners. We sat on the deck sipping limoncello, listening to the quiet hunters and the friendly cars. I have MS, and someone keeps moving the goalposts on me. I just get used to things and then they get worse. I can button my shirt and then I can’t. I can tie my shoes and then no. I can read but then I need an e-book. I could get dressed in the morning. I could walk up the stairs. I have used them all—the cane, the walker, the manual wheelchair, and finally, the motorized one. It’s like I live the tragedy over and over. But it can’t be tragic, because if I let tragedy get a foothold, I can’t bear to think about where it will go, so I don’t let it in. This is not heroism. Everyone does this. How do I feel? I don’t know. I know it will get worse, and I am resigned to that. I was using a manual wheelchair on that trip. I was mostly stuck in the apartment, feeling the slow warmth of the alcohol. At the best times, I forgot about things being difficult and let my mind wander. Limoncello was a holiday door opened away from my boring repetitive world. Through that door I saw a wholly different landscape where I might wear different clothes, where the sun shone hot on umbrella pines, as though the
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lemon alcohol was entirely other than what I was used to, because it was based in curly yellow peelings on the other side of the world. I imagined myself in a convertible on treacherous and beautiful coastal roads. I wore sunglasses, and a scarf to protect me from the wind that would mess up my hair. Yellow peels. I was able bodied once. I played tennis and I remember the feeling under the lights on a summer night. I remember playing with friends on a bright dry day. I remember the particularly Canadian experience under the bubble in winter, hitting the wall with my racket to dislodge the frost. I remember winning a match by sheer will. I remember, I remember. All those memories add up to something. Maybe, like those lemon peelings, I can mix them with water and sugar and grain alcohol and time, to make something I can use, a new door to replace opening a new can of balls and absorbing the smell. When I went to Europe, in 2009, I could walk a bit with support or use a cane. I could haul myself up a f light of stairs, using the railing. What possibilities I had! I couldn’t see them then. If I had known, maybe I would have lingered there. In Southern Italy, my partner and our daughter pushed me in the manual wheelchair most places. In Massa Lubrense, looking across the Mediterranean at Capri, I was trapped. We couldn’t walk any where with the wheelchair on those narrow scary roads. There were spectacular hikes marked by Roman-era signs but I couldn’t go there. No one would assist me getting into a small boat. Ha! Trapped. We found a wheelchair accessible ferry across to Capri, with its pants and famous lagoon. The white wake would be ours. Turns out Capri is just one steep mountain, ascended with the help of the world’s slowest stair lift. When I think about that time, I dream I am a swooping bat, diving with my wings pressed close to my body, ignoring the friendly horns. Following yellow sonar.
p h o t o : a b h i j i t t e m b h e k a r, v i a w i k i m e d i a c o m m o n s
Emma Kivisild is a writer and artist living in Prince Rupert BC. She published three books with Press Gang Publishers, emceed the Vancouver Folk Music Festival for seven years, and is now active with Complete Streets Prince Rupert. She lives with the painter Suzo Hickey.
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Celebrating our 50th Anniversary!
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p h o t o : a b h i j i t t e m b h e k a r, v i a w i k i m e d i a c o m m o n s
2019 Celebrate Prince George Events
Coldsnap Music Festival • Jan 25-Feb 2 Downtown Winterfest • Feb 11 A Day of Cultures • June 22 BMO KidzArt Dayz • July 5 & 6 Downtown Summerfest • July 14 BCNE • August 15-18 SIP Wine Festival • Fall
Visit www.celebratepg.com for more details Winter 2018-19
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by Ruth Lloyd
H
ow do you summarize a life-long relationship in 600 words? Perhaps you don’t. I have had an affection for postcards for most of my life: sending them, receiving them, looking at them posted on my fridge door, and even creating my own. As a youth, long before I had travelled alone, I owned a series of books, the first of which was called Griffin & Sabine: An Extraordinary Correspondence. It was a romance-slash-mystery-slash-graphic novel about the correspondence of two supposed strangers, illustrated with incredible art in the form of handmade postcards. The series was a beloved gift, one I received in instalments, happily unwrapping the newest release over a sequence of Christmases. It was a magical tale, and while I always devoured the books immediately, I also returned to them again and again. Thus sparked my love for postcards and the romance and mystery of slow correspondence. On my first trip to Asia I travelled alone, and I sent plenty of postcards back home. It was long before Facebook and a time when even the internet was only sparsely available in internet cafés. Rows of desktop computers sat waiting for the traveller to put down some baht or rupees for a bit of “hi-speed” dial-up on Internet Explorer. Even email took time and effort and
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people weren’t likely to respond quickly. Postcards were a nice way to send a note home, fill the silences of meals eaten alone, and while away some time on a beach or in a humid city hostel. They were also usually available in any tiny destination I found myself in. Internet was not. Writing postcards was a chance to truly savour the experience and to simultaneously feel more connected to the friends and family who weren’t there with me. Not unlike Twitter, I had to try and say something worth saying in a small space. And like Twitter today, what I wrote wasn’t always worth saying. But at least with postcards, the effort of sending it showed that I care—not necessarily so with Twitter. Even choosing the postcards was fun, as there were so many tacky shots to wade through. That was also a time before digital cameras, and when I had my film developed, I would sometimes opt for the small surcharge to have double prints made, using the second set to make my own personalized postcards. I pictured my smiling image on a Vietnamese beach staring out at my relatives from under a fridge magnet. Later in life, I moved to a place in northern BC where the first glimpse
Feel free to cut out this template and make your own postcard.
of the landscape stunned me with the beauty of it, and yet I could find no decent postcards. So I found a way to print my own photos and had some made. Now I send postcards from my own town, sharing out images of the beautiful place I get to return to after my trips abroad. Yet, despite this lifelong love of postcards, I find myself sending fewer and fewer of them. Our relationship is perhaps in its twilight years. My time is so easily filled now with staring at screens that a piece of paper and a pen are hard to squeeze between them. Instead, transit time consists of TripAdvisor and Airbnb for making the plans, reading reviews and narrowing down options. There is of course Google Maps for navigation and company websites for checking in and booking the tickets for the next event, transportation, or destination. Convenience can complicate things. Not only am I on my screen when I travel for practical reasons, but how and why do I fit in
postcards when there is the much broader reach of Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter and the like for keeping everyone abreast of our adventures? A screen is there to fill any empty space or vacant time with information, updates, messages, chats. The selfie with the beach backdrop has the added bonus, of course, of instilling envy in a much broader audience than one postcard ever could. Is this more fulfilling? It is instant gratification. You don’t have to find a stamp or a post box and the receiver doesn’t need to wait weeks for delivery. But what does the slow-moving postcard have that social media does not? It’s the personal touch. And the staying power. My parents still display in their guest bathroom one of the postcards I sent them. It reminds me of the trip each time I visit. A picture is worth a thousand words, but a postcard is worth ten times that.
My time is so easily filled now with staring at screens that a piece of paper and a pen are hard to squeeze between them. Winter 2018-19
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s l o w photos by Talon Gillis
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Watching Paint Dry I always did like watching paint dry, Ice crystals forming on a puddle, A patch of snow melting in the Spring
These processes, whose increments are so tiny They are nearly imperceptible, Like watching kids grow, Or trees…
It helps if you look away, Then look back. Is there any change? Look away again, longer this time.
Suddenly, kids are tall and Trees are shading the house. When did that happen? If I hadn’t looked away Would I have seen each infinitesimal change?
Now I will watch this paint dry, This ice form, This snow melt. This time I won’t look away. This time I won’t miss anything.
— paul glover
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carrying cultures words & photos by Dave Quinn
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C
anoeing is supposed to be easy, especially on a fast-moving, mostly f lat river like the Lower Stikine. Just sit back and let the river do the work, right? Watching for riff les and gunneleating eddies and boils, life slows down to river time. Easy. But easy is not the word that comes to mind as you schlep impossibly-heavy food barrels and corpse-sized dry bags back and forth from boat to camp; or when you labour under the 18-foot beast of a boat whose bow keeps catching on alders and spruce branches as you haul it from the main river up to Glacier Lake, or around the ice jam at the outlet of Shakes Lake. Whose idea was this side trip any ways? When sweating under a canoe, food barrel, or overloaded pack my thoughts often turn to the increasingly rare, isolated parts of the world, mostly mountain-bound, rugged landscapes, where life still moves at foot pace. While roads have brought “civilization� (whatever that means) to much of the modern world, there are still inhabited areas of the great mountain ranges where foot paths provide the only transportation corridor between villages, over passes, or to seasonal grazing and farming areas. Big chunks of the Himalaya still defy machines, roads and all that they represent. Smaller areas of the Andes remain quiet and slow, as do some remote areas of Africa, mostly protected by wetlands or impenetrable forest. Parts of remote Papua New Guinea have mountains, forest, and swamp on their side to stem the threat of a D8 gouging out a f lat track fit for motors and wheels. Still not defined by permanent human settlement, much of northern BC is similarly accessible only at a slower pace, although like the rest of the world our roadless heritage is rapidly eroding. No doubt perspective comes into play here. For those of us privileged enough to roam the planet searching for inspiration and wonder, and for whom quiet, slow, authentic culture and nature are the purest nectar, roadless areas are the height of what remains of the natural world.
Conversely, for those born into the carrying cultures of remote, rugged landscapes, roads may mean something else altogether. For those who have seen family and neighbours die due to lack of quick access to medical aid, or who have spent many a hungry winter wishing for a way to access a source of food or a way to get out to seek employment to better insert themselves into the modern capitalist global economy, roads may spell relief, connection, security. That same porter you cross paths with whose load of smoked cardamom makes you stop and inhale deeply the pungent mix of spice and human sweat, and whose simple garb and lifestyle seems so appealing compared to the craziness of life back home is likely wishing his load could be carried on a truck, and that he could have more than tire-tread sandals on his cracked and f latted arches. Or perhaps that his youngest child was still alive, and might yet be if only she had had a road to get her to a hospital last winter. The last of the real trails really do speak to self-propelled travellers, however, and sharing these trails as they wind their way through seemingly impenetrable gorges, over passes in the clouds, and through vibrant, ancient forests (forests that inevitably disappear once the road arrives to carry them off to the mills below) is one of the rare, real experiences left on the planet. The opportunity to truly slow down and travel at foot pace in surroundings that do not threaten to overwhelm that pace is rapidly disappearing. For a real dose of slow, seek out the ancient Inca Trails that connect Andean villages to this day. Walk the old Ruta de los Pioneros that parallels the recently-build Caratera Austral in Patagonian Chile, or seek out the trekking joys still to be found in many parts of the Himalaya. Or better yet, grovel up the old moose and grizzly trails in the Swan Lakes Protected area in the upper Kispiox, hop gingerly across lava beds to explore Mount Edziza, or follow the caribou and moccasin-shaped trails of the Spatzizi Plateau. The slower you go, the more you experience. Winter 2018-19
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A Simple Boat Repair by Patrick Williston
[Blood] A bolt has six sides, and an open-ended wrench has two positions available to grip the head of a bolt. The space in the engine compartment was so tight that it was necessary to use both positions, one after the other, to move the bolt 1/12th of a turn at a time— twelve grip changes for each painful rotation. It was tedious, but the day was young, and I was making measured progress. Why is the first so often the easiest? The second f lange bolt had different intentions, and no amount of effort would turn it. On the good advice of nautical friends, I applied magic penetrant (an elixir of acetone and vegetable oil), heat, and several solid whacks with a hammer. Still nothing. What then? Drink coffee. Think about it. Try again. Like some kind of miracle (aided by a wrench attached to a short cheater bar), the bolt turned for the first time since it was tightened 42 years ago. It turned again, even easier—hooray! It turned three more times, and then fell right out. Or at least half of it did. The other half of the bolt remained firmly nested in the exhaust manifold, its twisted end bright with newly exposed steel, gleaming in the soft glow of a trouble light. My simple repair had just become a lot less simple. The old muff ler was removed, and somewhere far above, the sun crested in the summer sky. I raced to the hardware store for cobalt drill bits and a bolt extractor. I would not give in so easily. Cobalt drill bits are harder than steel, but they are also brittle. I broke a few while trying to keep steady pressure on the drill as the bit skated around on the broken bolt. After nearly an hour, I had made a slight depression. Another hour passed. I peered at my effort, looking carefully for signs of metal shavings. At long last, the drill bit sunk in to the chuck. I was through. I laughed out loud. [Laughter] The extractor would require a large hole to gain purchase on the remaining steel. I replaced the bit with a larger one and returned to my toil. Keeping the drill speed low, I attempted to bring a fragile calm to the tender task. Wrong move. The sharp edge of the bit sliced hard into the steel, driving deeply into the hole. This is when the cobalt bit
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broke off. In the hole. The hole that I had just spent nearly three hours drilling. [Tears] Time for coffee. What do you do when you have a cobalt drill bit stuck in the hole you have drilled through a broken bolt? You reassure yourself that you are not the first person to do this, and then you consult the wisdom of the internet. There are some good ideas on the internet, but precious few I could attempt within the confines of the engine compartment. For example: “Weld a nail to the end of the broken drill bit”—but then what? One idea caught my eye. I gave it a try. I carefully fed thin-gauge steel wire through the f lutes of the drill bit until the wire emerged on the back side of the hole, inside the exhaust manifold. I reached my fingers through the exhaust port and was able to grasp the far end of the wire. I gently worked the wire back and forth like dental f loss. Out popped the drill bit. A loose tooth. [Elation] How can such a simple, meaningless event elicit so much joy? I have no idea why, but I assure you, it can. An extractor works by reverse-threading into the hollowed out bolt shaft, unwinding the bolt from the inside. After a few squeamish attempts—now certain that the extractor, too, would shatter in the precious hole—I resigned to enlarging the hole and re-tapping the threads. At any rate, I only had a few of the larger cobalt bits left. This time I excavated at high speed, and metal shavings sprinkled like fairy dust. The tap mercifully found the old threads, and atom by atom, the bolt was removed. How long does it take to remove a couple of bolts on an old motor? I know the answer. It takes as long as it takes, and sometimes that can be a pretty long time. Of course, the new muff ler did not fit quite the same way as the old one, and I had to quickly return to the marine supply shop for hoses and clamps before it closed. As day turned to night, eagles squabbled in the hemlock trees, and the new pieces of the exhaust system were wrestled into their proper places. I did not have the courage to start the motor that evening. It did, however, start fairly well the next morning. It doesn’t always.
photo: allen watkin, via wikimedia commons
I
t took eight hours and had the emotional amplitude of an Italian opera. Blood, laughter, tears, elation—all were to be experienced on our beloved 42 year old sailboat. Not the birth of a child. Just a simple boat repair. When the exhaust f lange cracked on the gas inboard, we got by for longer than we should have using high-temperature silicone to fill the gaps. It prevented the carbon monoxide alarm from sounding for a few weeks, long enough for me to order a replacement muff ler. Meanwhile, we all stayed out of the cabin while underway. I timidly approached an early Saturday morning armed with tools, the replacement parts, and considerable reluctance. Flange bolts experience tremendous f luctuations in heat—they are prone to rust, and these bolts in particular had an orange and ornery look to them. They were deep in the belly of our boat, which is to say, difficult to reach. When I finally got the first bolt to crack (with a good, knuckle-splitting tug), I nearly melted with joy.
Slow Burn story by Allison Smith
photo: allen watkin, via wikimedia commons
illustration by Facundo Gastiazoro
T
he recipe called for 500 grams of arbol chilis. That’s a lot of chilis. That’s what the clerk said when we bought them. I eat meat. But I don’t hunt and I don’t particularly like skinning or butchering. I prefer the tail end of processing: making sausage, salami, or even just vacuum packing. This past February, after a successful deer hunt on Haida Gwaii with a group of friends, I volunteered to prep a harissa deer sausage recipe, starting with the mundane task of deseeding the chilis—all 500 grams of them. It was a Sunday morning in Sandspit and we assumed our roles. I sat down at the kitchen table with two large stainless steel mixing bowls. One full of chilis soaking in warm water, and the other waiting for the deseeded chili skins. I had one glove. I didn’t come with just one glove; my gloves were commandeered by the upfront processors doing the butchering. All that was left was one little glove. In hindsight, I definitely could have found more gloves somewhere— in the kitchen or out in the shop. But at the time, I thought one would do. “Make sure you wear gloves,” my partner Joe said as I settled into my role and he made his way to the shop to butcher.
“Oh, I know,” I responded. Typical. I snapped the lonely glove onto my right hand and got to work: Slicing open a chili, running my thumb up the middle to detach the ferocious seeds, dipping it in the water bath, and finally placing it in the second bowl. I did this again and again and again. One at a time. A meditative task. As the chili seeds started to accumulate, the water warmed and smelled of spice. Over time I got sloppy. I chatted about Netf lix and Joe’s weird obsession with the Interstellar soundtrack. I was distracted. My left hand wanted to help out and the warm water felt so nice. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about—neither of my hands were burning. Maybe these chilis were different? I had to head home earlier than the rest of the group. Since we were on Moresby Island, I caught the last ferry back. I finished two-thirds of the chili deseeding task, and felt pretty good about my progress. I was looking forward to a quiet night catching up on chores, and walking my dog. I snapped off my glove, hopped in my car, and made my way to the terminal. As I waited for the ferry to arrive my left hand started to tingle. It was nearly 5:30 p.m. Winter 2018-19
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Bowls of spicy milk were scattered around the kitchen among the pools of oil and baking soda and vinegar.
By 6:30, the slow tingle is a distracting burn. I tried folding laundry and washing dishes, but I couldn’t focus. At 7 the burn sharpened and was gnawing at the back of my eyes. I try to distract myself with TV, knees bouncing, and teeth clenched. I could barely handle it. Google! I began googling with my precious right hand. Thank god for the one glove. I searched “how to stop chili burns”. The list of options was long. I was so thankful for the other know-it-alls who processed chilis without gloves and were letting me learn from our collective mistakes. I clicked on a forum where people from all over the world shared their home remedies. I was saved. I started with Paul’s recommendation of olive oil. I poured it over my hand. It felt nice. Cooling. It pulled the heat right out of my skin. I sat back down with my greasy, cool hand and continued to distract myself on my computer. But relief was only temporary. The oil warmed and dripped onto the counter. The burn persevered, and somehow it was getting worse. Back to the forum. I tried Kim’s recommendation of baking soda. I wiped off my hand with a dishcloth and in a panic, poured baking soda from my fingertips to my wrist. It spilled onto the counter and stuck to the pools of oil. This had no effect. No cooling or temporary relief. I was just making a mess. Thanks a lot, Kim. Next: cold water. The pain f loated away, and twirled down the sink. I held my hand under the tap for as long as I could. But every time I took it away, the burn returned. Soothing, but it wasn’t sustainable. At this point it’s after 8 p.m. and I’m desperate. My jaw was permanently clenched, the 32 Winter 2018-19
f-word sitting on the tip of my tongue ready to be screamed, and nothing in the stupid forum was working. I tried everything else Google had to offer: rubbing alcohol, vinegar, gin, dish soap, more baking soda, more olive oil, then baking soda again. I used a scrub brush to remove a layer of skin under cold water. Then another. And another. The kitchen was a disaster and the smell of alcohol was making me sick. Nothing worked. 9:30 comes...and goes. Milk had come up in a few different blog posts as a relief, not a cure. Joe drinks milk and there was a nearly-full carton in the fridge. I no longer cared if it was wasted—I could buy another. I poured a bowlful and submerged my now-raw hand into it. My back relaxed, the hint of a smile crept onto my face. A lone tear fell from my eye. Cured. I took the bowl of glorious milk and sat down to watch TV. The five minute mark passed and my hand felt fine. Fifteen minutes later the milk was warm. And as it warmed it lost its medicinal effects. No problem, I had this: just refill and relax. I repeated for about an hour until the carton was empty and bowls of spicy milk were scattered around the kitchen among the pools of oil and baking soda and vinegar. I was tired. Very tired. I had to work in the morning and it was almost 11. I was manic at this point. I tried everything again. I even raided our camping first aid kit for after burn gel that did nothing for chili burns. Nothing. Then I remembered the giant tub of yogurt at the back of the fridge. Yogurt wasn’t on any of the blogs. I droped the scrub brush in the sink, grabbed the tub, ripped off the lid, and plunged my hand into the heavy, thick bath of the bestdarn-yogurt I ever had. A pool on a hot summer day, sex after abstinence, the holy light at the
end of the tunnel. Thank god Joe is not lactose intolerant. Bring on the fat! I crawled into bed with my yogurt container. Normally this would seem like a sad Bridget Jones moment, but it was the best decision I made all day. I put it on the f loor with my hand dangling into the container, and then moved it to the middle of the bed so I could lay on my back. If I stayed just still enough, the yogurt wouldn’t spill and I could sleep. But it was all a lie. That fatty yogurt wasn’t at all what I thought it was. It worked longer than the milk...but it was like all the rest of the remedies. False hope. Was I going to have to go to the hospital and explain this to my nurse friends? Do I run water over my hand all night and not sleep? What was I to do? I needed something, anything. Ice cubes. I filled a ziploc bag and put my hand directly on it until it went numb. Yes I was risking frost bite but it let me drift away into a frozen sleep. It let me numb the pain. At about 2 a.m. I woke up in a puddle of water and soaked sheets, with a burning hand. I refilled the ice, laid down a towel, and went back to sleep—until 4. And then again at 6. By 8 the burning had finally ended. I crawled out of bed with a vulnerability hangover. I went into the kitchen to find bowls of warm milk, after burn gel, and a bottle of Bombay gin, cap strewn carelessly on the counter. I pulled the wet sheets off the bed and threw them in the wash. I put the yogurt container in the recycling, wrote “milk ” on the grocery list stuck to the fridge, and returned the scrub brush to its home under the sink, next to the full box of latex gloves.
TRAIL MAP
To Break, or Not to Break...Trail words & map by Morgan Hite
As snow falls and the holiday season approaches, do our hearts not turn to thoughts of snowshoeing? Whether you are a neophyte or a seasoned guru, opportunities abound around Smithers. The beginner asks, “Is snowshoeing like hiking?” It would be, if overnight precipitation could wipe a hiking trail right off the ground. It would be, if you could see on either side of you the tracks of all the animals that had passed by—even the wing prints of birds taking off and landing. It would be, if a change in the weather could fundamentally alter the experience of walking that trail. And then there’s the other thing: snowshoe trails have to be broken. “Breaking” trail is setting the first tracks in the fresh, undisturbed snow. It is hard, noble work. Depending on how deep and heavy the snow is, it may be very hard and truly noble. Although snowshoes are designed to “float” on top of the snowpack, the reality is that you sink down a lot, and every step forward while breaking trail may involve repeating, tamping down, and perfecting the hole you just made. One step forward, two steps in place. But once you have broken the trail, it is much easier for the people following you. So
it is an act of service, a calling of self-sacrifice, and a fine workout in the interest of the common good. Remember to fantasize about all the others who will thank you silently as they follow your trail on future days. But should this go to your head, breaking trail is also good for reducing your ego, because each new snowstorm erases all your good work. It’s a metaphor for...something. In the forest on the edge of Smithers sit the mountain bike trails of the Bluff. The local mountain bike association will set a few of these trails with a groomer for use by fat-tire bikes through the winter, but snowshoers commonly break the other trails. Remember that cyclists have right-of-way on the groomed trails. The popular summer trail to Malkow Lookout works equally well in winter. Be sure dogs are on-leash for the first section of the trail until you pass the first gate and enter the woods. Up at the Prairie Village (the cabins around the t-bar at our downhill ski area) the route to Miller’s Gulch keeps you in the trees (good for windy weather) as it traverses west without much climbing. The route to Crater Lake, by contrast,
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is quite exposed and more suited to the advanced and confident snowshoer. Be sure to carry a compass and know how to use it in a whiteout. There can be a lot of wind up here, so dress appropriately and expect to find the snow wind-sculpted or crusty. The Canyon Creek ski trails on Babine Lake Road are excellent for snowshoers. There is a wide variety of trails here: level, steep, long, and short. Some are groomed for skiers, and on these snowshoers should stay to the edge. (In general, etiquette prescribes that one avoid snowshoeing over a ski track someone else has put in.) Note that just a little further on Babine Lake Road Billabong will be ploughing a parking pullout at the Beaver Meadow bridge. Advanced snowshoers may want to explore west from here into the Canyon Creek headwaters. But this area has significant winter hazards, including deep snow wells, avalanche potential, and getting lost if you carry no map. Finally, a word about the hazards. Winter travel means you have less of a safety margin at all times. Make sure you’ve got the right gear, and are dressed in layers so you can remain in the zone where you are neither sweating nor chilled. Don’t go farther afield than you are comfortable with. And watch out for tree wells: it’s easy to fall in, hard to climb out. For more maps, go to bvtrailmaps.ca.
CUTTING CHRISTMAS TREES ON CROWN LAND If you are of the Christmas persuasion, you may want to employ your snowshoeing abilities to retrieve a tree from Crown Land. The actual rules for gathering Christmas trees on Crown land, whether you chose to follow them or not, are:
Breaking trail is an act of service and self-sacrifice...and hard work.
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Search “christmas tree permits” on the BC government website and print out the form for your resource district. (Smithers and Hazelton, for example, are Skeena-Stikine; Houston is Nadina; Prince Rupert and Terrace are Coast Mountains). On some of them you need to fill in the blanks and sign. Carry it with you when you cut your tree. It’s free. Pay attention to the restrictions about where you can cut, e.g., not in parks or tree plantations.
BackWords
music jean-michel blais Dans ma main, Arts & Crafts, 2018
Jean-Michel Blais is a young, neo-classical Québécois composer and pianist, based in Montréal. While most of his music is ostensibly solo piano, Blais is known for incorporating ambient sounds into his recordings, embracing and responding to the world around, instead of isolating his compositions in a tightly-controlled studio environment. His first album, Il, was recorded in his Montréal apartment and on it you hear rain outside the window, kids playing, people talking, Blais’ breath, the keys of the piano itself. Something about this clear, but undefinable presence of life pulls the listener in, especially if you listen on headphones. You end up feeling like you’re sitting there in the room with the pianist—which is exactly what Blais was going for. Dans ma main is his second solo album and it was shortlisted for the 2018 Polaris Prize. Blais recorded the 10-song LP in a Montréal piano store, after hours. The music exudes its nocturnal urban surroundings and once again incorporates ambient noises— vehicles passing by, a car horn, people moving around in the room itself, and of course the distinct characters of different pianos. Inspired by a collaboration with electronic musician Michael Silver (CFCF), he
introduces samples and electronic production techniques, for example the layered reversed piano in “forteresse” or the electronic rhythms that appear in “igloo”. Despite these electronic additions, the focus is still very much on the piano. In “god(s)” high dramatic chords and slightly menacing melodies ring clear over a low moody contrabass, a crescendo of sorts building a few minutes in with hissing white noise, whispers, and ethereal synthesizers. The result is enchanting, and almost cinematic. In the same way that the neo-classical genre can act as a bridge between traditional and contemporary composition, Dans ma main is a connection between the experimental and the accessible, the acoustic and the electronic, and the old and the new. — Matt J. Simmons Winter 2018-19
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BACKWORDS
books david sedaris Calypso, Little, Brown and Company, 2018
I fell in love with David Sedaris’s quirky candour seven years ago when I read his essay “Santaland Diaries,” a true account of his experience working at Macy’s in New York as an elf named Crumpet. Since then, I’ve consumed everything Sedaris has published with enthusiastic devotion. I’m consistently in awe at how he can make the most mundane task, like picking up garbage on the side of the highway, an enthralling page-turner, and how he brings humour to gritty subjects like addiction and suicide. Calypso is no exception. Sedaris’s most recent collection of essays contains the usual cast of characters: his parents, his siblings, his long-time partner, Hugh. I laughed out loud for the entirety of “I’m Still Standing,” wherein Sedaris recounts touring the US with the flu, worrying about soiling himself on stage in front of thousands of fans. I loved his ridiculous descriptions of shopping for ripped shirts and overpriced culottes in Tokyo and spending time at his family’s cottage, the “Sea Section.” But I was surprised and a little disappointed that the final essay, “The Comey Memo,” ended the collection on such a sombre note by detailing some depressing realities of aging. Perhaps that’s why I like him so much: he faces reality head-on without apology. — Nikki Dodd
music big red machine Big Red Machine, Jagjaguwar, 2018
On the surface, Big Red Machine is a collaborative project between Justin Vernon of Bon Iver and Aaron Dessner of the National. Both are acclaimed musicians and, in terms of musical aesthetic, the match makes a lot of sense. But this album isn’t just about them. Back in 2016, the pair—along with Dessner’s twin brother and some other mutual friends—launched PEOPLE, an artist collective and a response to the corporate side of the music industry. “We are a steadily growing group of artists, freely creating and sharing our work with each other and everyone.” This kind of shared creative experience with a wider artistic community is of course made possible by technology, but it’s also reflective of a growing cultural movement, in which ownership isn’t always the highest priority. This concept is refreshing and inspiring. While Vernon and Dessner are definitely in the drivers’ seats on Big Red Machine, Vernon has been quoted saying there are collaborators on it he doesn’t know and has never even met. To dig in a little deeper, check out the collective at p-e-o-p-l-e.com. Oh, and the music is great, too. — Matt J. Simmons
rses rs u d u e o o ental C d T i R r u e r o l G t i a • e era mob che G n le Op i a Snow l b a o Av m ler & Snow i C a S r T C , • obile m w o • Sn
SmithersSnowmobileTours.com • 250.917.8728 36 Winter 2018-19
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Holy! by Barbara Olson © ClassiCanadian Crosswords
ACROSS 1
“I don't care if you
4
Tends to a “wet spill in aisle two”
33
Don’t hog
(The Cars lyric)
5
Bambi aunt
34
Cavity-filler’s deg.
6
Sgts. and Cpls., e.g.
6
36
Found fully fun
10
Former Kamloops NDP MP
7
Toaster’s sound?
37
Per-item menu style
Nelson
8
“To a Mouse” or “To a Louse”
38
Scheer or Harper, politically
14
President called “Tricky Dicky”
9
His or her, to Henri
39 Kerfuffle
15
Ye-shoppe connector
10
Prince
40
Line of clothing?
16
Cafeteria coffee brewers
in BC)
43
Battle of the Blades contestant
17
Cattle pasture “land mines”
11
Attached using heat, as a patch
44
“Duck Hunt” gaming platform
19
Partner of pans
12
Where Springsteen was born,
46
Live like a single dude for while
20
Referendum votes of séparatistes
per a hit
47
Seeing the sites?
21
Dominate, as in sports
13
Bacon-frying sound
48
Recorded to watch later
22
Phnom
18
Stompin’
50
Aromatic bush bloomer
23
Brit. mil. flyers
22
Rivals of Macs
51
Division of a play
24
Trick used to conceal a ploy
24
Kyle and Kenny's South Park
52
“Here's looking at you,
28
Took an engaging position?
pal
56
Trimmed with a Toro
30
Not paid on time
25
Erasable computer chip
57
Smithers-born singer Mangan
31
Dabs away moisture
26
Disappoint a date seeker, in a way
58
Swipe alternative at the checkout
35
Suffix for sugar compounds
27
Maiden name preceder
59
One
36
Breakout role for Miley Cyrus
29
Res. care aide
60
Female bear, in Spain
32
Alberta town known for its corn
again”
, Cambodia
2001 computer 40 Holy! 41
ways about it (for certain)
(cruise ship stop
Connors
Result of getting up on the
wrong side of the bed Across 42 Lou Grant portrayer 1 45 "I don'tMetal care worker? if you ___ again" (The Cars lyric) 49 Cloud phenomenon resembling 6 Sgts. and Cpls., e.g. fish scales 10 Former Kamloops NDP MP 53 “As Is” singer DiFranco Nelson ___ Lamb's laments 14 54 President called "Tricky Dicky" 55 Where vous êtes on a mall map 15 Ye-shoppe connector 1155, in Roman numerals 16 56 Cafeteria coffee brewers Pub missile 17 57 Cattle pasture "land mines" city at one end of Lake Erie 19 58 PartnerU.S. of pans Old-timer, in Austria 20 61 Referendum votes of séparatistes 62 Not of (unimpressed by) 21 63 Dominate, as inboars, sports Pigs and collectively 22 64 PhnomNY ___,Met Cambodia or SF Giant 23 65 Brit. mil. flyers Show anxiety, as a father-to-be 24 66 Trick used to conceal ploy table Chipped in at theapoker 28 Took an engaging position? 30 Not paid on time DOWN 31 Dabs away moisture Pop open, as champagne 1 35 Suffix for sugar compounds 2 Sitting Bull, by heritage 36 Breakout role for Miley Cyrus Alimony recipient, typically 3 40 2001 computer 41 Result of getting up on the wrong side of the bed 42 Lou Grant portrayer 45 Metal worker? 49 Cloud phenomenon resembling fish scales
1
2
3
4
5
6
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20
21
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© ClassiCanadian Crosswords 8
9
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12
13
19 22 25
26
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29 31 36
11
16
24
28
kind
by Barbara Olson
15
14
32
33
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40
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50 54
5 6 7 8
7
”
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48
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Bambi aunt ___ ways about it (for certain) Toaster's sound? "To a Mouse" or "To a Louse"
47
53
52
55 59
46
60
34 36 37 38
Cavity-filler's deg. Found fully fun Per-item menu style Scheer or Harper, politically
Winter 2018-19
37
MARKETPLACE
Baker Extraordinaire
Baked fresh every day!
Christmas baking starts December 1st! Call ahead for orders. Tues. to Sat. 10am-6pm 4630 Park Ave., Terrace (across from Dairy Queen)
Before
250.615.0419 . 1.877.775.3535 www.bakerextraordinaire.com Find us on loveterrace.com & Facebook.
Stone Moth
After
Canadian Goods & Vintage Collectibles
Wood Wizards
We carry Canadian designed and made fashion, jewelry, beauty, gifts, and more, alongside quirky one-of-a-kind vintage pieces. There’s always something new to check out! Come have a look for yourself.
Making weathered wood look good Using high performance, environmentallyfriendly cleaners & wood oils, we stain all wood exteriors—log homes, post & beam, siding, decks & railings. Rotten log replacement & structural repairs. 20+ years of experience. Servicing all of northern BC.
1257 Main Street, Smithers 250.877.9570 . stonemoth.com Find us on FB & IG: @stonemoth
Roger Jaques 250.846.5944 woodwizards.ca | rogeryogini@gmail.com
HornCraft Music
Professional repairs, rentals, and sales of violins, brass, and woodwind instruments Visit our website for a listing of local music instructors. Contact us if you are an instructor anywhere in northern BC and would like to be listed on our site. 3877 13th Avenue, Smithers 250.847.0318 . michael@horncraft.ca horncraft.ca
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38 Winter 2018-19
Northword
Get your subscription now Subscriptions make great gifts! Head to northword.ca for easy paypal payment, or send a cheque, with the name & address of your gift recipient to our main office. 1412 Freeland Ave., Smithers, BC, V0J 2N4 Canada: $30 | US: $40 | International: $60 northword.ca/the-magazine/subscribe
Aquabatics
College of New Caledonia
Harris & Wick Goldsmiths
smithers.aquabatics.com
cnc.bc.ca/ce
harrisandwick.com
The Argosy
Community Futures Nadina
Harvey Mt. Adventures
theargosy.ca
cfnadina.ca / coworkhere.ca
smitherssnowmobiletours.com
Baker Extraordinaire
Dr. Kathy Graham, ND
HornCraft Music
bakerextraordinaire.com
smithersnaturopath.com
horncraft.ca
Bean North
Eagle Bluff B&B
Hudson Bay Mountain
beannorth.com
eaglebluff.ca
hudsonbaymountain.com
Body, Soul, & Spirit Expo
Edmison Mehr Accountants
Hyland Backcountry
bodysoulspiritexpo.com
edmisonmehr.ca
hylandbackcountry.ca
BV Pool & Recreation Centre
Fireweed Motel
Little House Antiques
bvpool.com
fireweedmotel.com
littlehouseantiques.ca
om
MARKETPLACE
Little House Antiques / Antiques, Artisans & Oddities Two downtown TERRACE locations:
George Little House — VIA Rail Station
First Nation Fine Art, Jewelry & Maps 3100 Kalum St. | 250.638.8887
Antiques, Artisans & Oddities
Antiques, Fine Art, Jewelry, Pottery, Vintage Toys, Country Chic Paints, & Stencils. 4626 Park Ave. | 250.631.9116 Find us on loveterrace.com & Facebook
Eagle Bluff B&B
Naturopathic Family Medicine
Prince Rupert getaway
Dr. Kathy Graham ND
Come to the coast for the perfect winter getaway! Our tastefully appointed guest rooms and warm hospitality of your hosts will make you feel at home.
Naturopathic medicine blends centuries-old natural and non-toxic therapies with current scientific advances in healthcare. Treatment plans are individualized and take into account the whole person. Detailed informaton can be found on my website.
250.627.4955 . 1.800.833.1550 eaglebed@citytel.net eaglebluff.ca
3839 Second Ave., Smithers 250.847.0144 | SmithersNaturopath.com
Bulkley Valley
Hospice Society
se Cl$o ,000 for 2 s to ving$ 0! a y 2 s in onl
Bulkley Valley
Child Development Centre
The 2018-19 edition features 69 participating businesses in Houston, Smithers, Telkwa and Hazelton. All proceeds go to support the BV Hospice Society and the BV Child Development Centre. Contact the BVCDC to find out where you can get a copy. 2018-2019
ELEVENTH EDITION Sponsors
Community Spirit Coupon Book
Support and save!
1471 Columbia Drive, Smithers 250.847.4122 . www.bvcdc.ca
InteriorNEWS THE
69 Participating businesses in Houston, Smithers, Telkwa and Hazelton
Local Supply Co.
PS Pianos
Tourism Prince George
Zikhara Yoga
localsupplyco.ca
pspianos.com
celebratepg.com
zikharayoga.com
Mills Office Productivity
Skeena River House B&B
Tourism Prince Rupert
mills.ca
skeenariverhouse.com
visitprincerupert.com
Murray Ridge Ski Area
Sleeping Beauty Estates
Tourism Smithers
murrayridge.com
sleepingbeautyestates.com
tourismsmithers.com
Nisga’a Tourism
Stone Moth
UNBC
nisgaatourism.ca
stonemoth.com
unbc.ca/northwest
Northern Acreage Supply
Sunset Studio
Wood Wizards
northernacreage.ca
sunsetstudio.ca
woodwizards.ca
Powder King
Terrace Yoga Studio
Yoga Shack BC
powderking.com
terraceyogastudio.com
yogashackbc.com Winter 2018-19
39
skier photo: Andrew Strain
I K S Stay &
a c . y a t s d n a i k s . w w w
www.TourismSmithers.com