The Hike.

Having spent a significant potion of my life at least close to nature I, of course, like most other B.C.er's have developed an affinity for the outdoors.

I've always felt very at home in both the forest and the ocean. Like most little girls I loved almost all animals - the cute ones for sure. And that love stayed with me as I grew into an adult. Maybe less like little girls I later also made the choice to love most insects and tiny creatures as well.

I say it was a choice because liking bugs didn't come naturally to me. I hated them when I was a kid. Spiders especially. My Dad always had to come and rescue me from them. But he'd never kill God's little creatures and I remember he would always take them outside in a cup.

Back then I always secretly thought, 'Why not just kill them. They're gross.' But he never did.

Then as a late-teenager living alone in a cabin in the woods(ish) I was so bombarded by bugs and so exhausted from spending my nights straining my eyes to see the creepies in the dark and spending my days dreading the night that I finally just decided to like them. I reasoned it would be easier to convince myself that bugs were beautiful than it would be to continue listening with my eyes and seeing with my ears in a cold sweat in the dark.

Whatever. What I'm getting at is that I've always been a nature girl. I love being in the trees, being near the trees, sitting quietly and listening to the trees. I love the ocean. I love the salt in my hair and the seaweed against my legs and the pebbles under my toes.

But since moving to Smithers I've realized a flaw of sorts in my nature-loving.

I was graced with growing up in probably one of the only corners of the planet where both the forest and the ocean hosted really almost nothing at all that could hurt you. Not badly anyway.

Really. Where else is that true?

Most of my nature time has been spent on Hornby Island or much less-so, around the Lower Mainland.

So the feeling in my heart that I am so at one with nature, the confidence that I know the surroundings, that I'm at home in Canadian woods, that the ocean and the forest are my cradle is very much a house of cards. An illusion of strength and very flimsy at best.

This has briefly occurred to me over the years. Like the odd summer when a bear or a cougar were rumoured to have swam over to Hornby. Some sheep would go missing or there would be a few sightings and suddenly my walks home late at night with only the moon as a flashlight would be more edgy. I'd stress a little and once even freaked at a deer in the bushes and ran all the way back to my boyfriend's cabin to make him walk me home.

It was in those moments that I'd remind myself how safe the island really was. But of course I'd forget within days of hearing the beast had been trapped and relocated off-island.

So, I've never really had to worry about nature. Oh, there have been bees and jellyfish and spider bites and rashes and prickles. But nothing more.

Even when I trekked into the Amazon, I took my illusion of safety with me. By then I was so used to being comfortable in the outdoors and so disillusioned both by my crazy island-bubble back home where nothing had ever "gotten" me (because there was nothing to get me) and the general sense of immunity that comes with youth that I felt only slightly out of my element in a land that harbours literally thousands of natural killers. I swam with piraña and caiman and trekked through the rainforest with abandon.

But since having a baby I've lost a lot of my guts. I'm more nervous and much more cautious. and I'll let you in on a secret:

I always have been pretty nervous. What most would probably perceive as bravery or possibly stupidity in me when it come to my boldness with nature, is really just me attempting to counteract all the paranoia that I was raised with.

I had a very, very nervous mother and as I've read somewhere, "How you speak to your children will become their inner voice" which I believe is very much the truth. Probably because of my mother I've always had warning bells in the back of my mind. Goose bumps on my flesh and hair standing up on the back of my neck. Those little warning signs that you're supposed to listen to. Well those are genetically entwined in my existence. I have them all the time. Fears. Worries. So in order to ensure that I wasn't controlled by them the way I saw that my mother was, I sort of got into the habit of forging ahead regardless of whether the danger was real or apparent.

I've always had a hard time differentiating between the two. I can never tell if I'm just being overly-cautious or down-right paranoid or if it's actually common sense talking. In my twenties it didn't help that I surrounded myself with people who took the same risks as I did. So even if my voice of reason was so loud that I did take pause before crashing through the woods in the middle of the night, my friends often made me feel like a worry wort.

Now that I have Babe it's become even harder for me to distinguish the legitimate fears from the imagined. I can't seem to find the lines between adventure, common sense, parental concern, parental over-protection and paranoia. I'm trying to figure it out but I'm constantly questioning if I'm being too care-free or too-careful. It's a balance that I can't grasp.

So after moving here and starting to explore it became clear quite quickly that I wasn't as prepared for the woods as I would have liked to think I was. All of a sudden there are black bears and grizzly bears and moose (which apparently are more viscous than they sounds when you type out the word) and cougars and fucking packs of wolves.

And here I am, a single mom. No bring-home-the-bacon-fight-off-the-wolf-pack husband to lead the way and break the cobwebs. It's just us.

So now I'm stuck between desperately wanting some sense of the adventure that I had in my old life and needing to protect my daughter from harm. And again, I can't find a balance. You think it would just be common sense, right? But some people would say going for a half hour hike on a popular trail alone with an infant is totally normal and other people would say it's not a good idea at all. And I don't know who I am!!!!

So, we've been easing in with little adventures. But in keeping with the Nothing Is Ever Easy theme of my life, our little adventures so far have been completely just us. It's summer and I've been expecting other tourists to be out in the same areas as us but so far we've been pretty much alone.

Today I took Babe on what the Internet assured me was an easy, family-friendly, all-ages hike. Now, by family-friendly I suppose they meant it's not very steep. But when I read family-friendly I imagined there would be families there. When we pulled off the road to the parking lot(ish) I was a little concerned that the sign said it was two-hours round-trip, but we were already there by that point and I'm really stubborn.

Despite the promise of rain I really did expect other people to be hiking the area. I guess that's the city girl in me, you can never fucking get away from people...EVER.

So my heart sped up a little when it was clear by the lot that, just like last week, we were the only ones out there. But as I strapped Babe into the ERGO I reasoned others would be along shortly.

OK. So Smithers peeps who read this will probably think I'm insane for being nervous in this area but please remember - I just got here. I don't know this area from the next and I do find A LOT of comfort in the familiar and knowing what is around the next bend. In fact, I was much more comfortable on the way back having already passed everything once and being able to picture the area from the top than I was on the way out. New terrain scares me (nowhere more so than with technology but...)

So for the rest of this post I'm pretty much just going to take you along our hike - in my mind. This is it.

So Babe's on my back and it's like 10:00 in the morning. It's grey and a little misty but there's some blue patches

...and I have this folded note with directions in my pocket because they don't believe in signs up here.

I have snacks - But bears can smell food. I also have my period, so...

But I have bear spray so there's a little sense of safety there. And my cell, so that's good.

We start out through a field and it's really pretty.

Those are most definitely some patches where animals have slept. It reminds me of exploring the fields on my grandpa's farm and my Dad saying, "A moose was here last night".

Maybe it's just cows. The instructions said to keep the gates closed. It's probably just cows...

This grass is long. I can't see very far. Anything could hide in there.

Then the field trail transitions into a forest trail.

OK. So the instructions said a narrow forest trail. We're going the right way.

What was that?!

(I'll save you reading that line five thousand times. Let's just assume for the sake of time-saving that I thought "What was that?!" 5000 times on our hike. Please also note that I spent the entire time that I wasn't scanning the bush for bears, scanning the trail for signs of bears; footprints, broken sticks, trees that had been rubbed raw, poop...anything bear-ish. So basically that's what I was doing the whole way.)

Babe is chattering on my back. Right in my ear. It's hard to hear if anything is sneaking up on us. I wish I had a husband to keep her quiet. That makes no sense. He'd probably just be talking too.

Be quiet. I'm trying to hear danger!

Relax. Just get lost in the beauty of it all...

Seriously. Shut up!

This path is longer than the instructions led me to believe. I should've guessed that when they said it was only three km to the lot from the road. Whoever wrote these instructions had no sense of distance. Or didn't care.

Fuck this path is long.

It's probably not that long. It's the fear that drags it out.

Babe says her legs are getting scratched by branches. Shhhhhhhh! Quiet!

This is scary. I'm only gonna go a bit further and then we can just turn back.

We'll come another day when I have a friend here.

No. By then it'll be snowing and it won't stop until July. We must take advantage of the summer while it lasts.

Shhhh!

Quiet! I'm listening for wolf packs.

(It should also be noted that I turned around to look behind me a lot. And not just casually, but like some crazy gingerbread-house witch just tapped me on the shoulder.)

On My God! That bird just scared the shit out of me! My heart is racing.

Is that a moose print? If it is that's a fucking huge moose.

My Dad would probably like to shoot it.

I wish he was here. He'd confirm if there was a moose with dinner plate-sized hooves in the area.

Funny how he won't kill spiders but he is such an avid hunter.

Is that a bear?

Nope. Just a stump.

This path is soooooo long. Just a bit further and then I'm totally turning back.

Where the hell is that gravel road we are supposed to be coming up on?

Is that a bear bed? Was a bear sleeping there?

God. These trees are closing in on me.

That's definitely a dog print. A hiker with a dog from yesterday? Or a wolf?

Why did someone have to mention wolf packs after the city hall meeting the other night? I didn't even think about fucking PACKS of wolves until someone said it. That fear wasn't even on my radar.

I wish I was Mantracker.

I wish I watched more Mantracker.

I've seen enough Mantracker. I can do this.

Shhhhhh! Stop singing Frere Jacques. The wolves can hear you.

We're gonna die and it's gonna be because I taught this kid how to sing.

Fuck. I remember this National Geographic show...or maybe it was Planet Earth, where the one wolf jumps out and scares the shit out of you. And meanwhile, while you're running for your life, the other ones circle around and come in from the sides and take you down.

Yeah. It was Planet Earth. I think it was a baby gazelle or something.

Dammit! I wish I could tell the difference between a wolf print and a German Shepherd print.

I'm just gonna turn around. This is stupid. I should just turn around. I have a child.

Baaaahhh! Stupid bird! Goddamit! I hate birds! I hate all the birds! What? They can't hear us coming from a mile away. I'm stomping through the woods with a 25 pound mini me singing french children's songs at the top of her lungs...like there's not a care in the world...like she isn't just a beacon for the wolf packs to hone in on and these fucking stupid birds are all startled when we land right on top of them. How are they not extinct yet?

Ooooh! I see a house through the trees. Sweet. OK that's nice. I could make it to that house if I had to. They'd hear us scream.

If there were lots of bears around the people who live there probably would've erected a sign or something. They'd warn people. They might even hear us and call out and say it's not safe.

Fuck. If I see that bird again I'm gonna rip its beak off and use it to pull staples in my office.

Hmmm. Fear makes me cranky.

Talk. Talk to the baby...

Sound happy. This is fun. Yay!

Why did I watch the Blair Witch Project so many times?

Jooooooosssssssshhhh?

OK, at this point I can't run back to that house anymore. They might hear us scream but we wouldn't make it.

If we just sit down here how long would it be until someone came by? Maybe we can wait at the top for someone and then walk back with them. No. That would probably be annoying.

Did a bear break that branch? Did a bear push that tree over. Did a bear kill that frog?

Holy Hell! Is that the road?

Yes! We're finally on the road. This is awesome. There's some more space. I don't feel like something can just leap out anymore. I can see further than three feet.

Being on that path was like being one of those horses at Stanley Park with the blinders on. The ones that pull all the tourists.

OK. This is better.

But the directions said it's still 30 minutes to the lookout.

Great. Babe wants to walk. It's gonna be another hour to the lookout.

OK. So walk!

No. THAT way.

Go.

Go.

GO!

OK. This is kinda fun. It's really pretty. Nice fields.

Wolf or dog prints? Wolf or dog prints?

Dog. Surely it's a dog.

Please walk faster baby. You're dragging out Mommy's fear. Let's just get there and get home!

No. Let her walk. This is supposed to be fun.

Hey! Horse poop. Awesome. That means a horse has been through here. Maybe it scared the bears away. Hopefully it was through here recently. It smells recent. Gross.

Common Babe. Chop, chop. Quick like a bunny.

Common...

This is nice though. Just me and Babe. She's having fun. I'm glad she isn't scared. Look at her. All trusting. She has no idea that I'm putting her in danger. Am I? Am I a bad mom or a good mom? Is this good parenting or bad parenting? Probably good parenting if you're a family and you're all together. Probably bad parenting if you're just a single mom dragging your kid through the woods.

But that's not fair. We don't have a husband/daddy.

But I have bear spray. I'm a good mom.

Urgh! Except I'm out in the woods in an area that I'm not familiar with. And it's just crawling with huge animals out here. And here I am; 5 foot 3 with the flu and a chattering little bundle of blonde, bobbing ten steps behind me who probably reeks of vulnerability and veal-fresh meat.

This. This right here is why people get married. This is the reason.

Shhhh! Quiet. Please. Please. They'll eat us! Don't you get it. There's b-e-a-r-s out here.

No there's not.

Hey! The top! Holy Hell. We made it to the top.

Oh. This is steep. I probably shouldn't be doing this sick. My head feels like it's going to explode.

Who invented going up stuff. Going up stuff is haaaard.

So that's it. Basically that's exactly what was going through my mind on our walk. Honestly. I know because I made an extra effort to remember it. That actually helped keep me calm. Trying to remember my crazy thoughts.

The view was really spectacular. And Babe and I had a little picnic. And a couple other people did come and go. Two on a quad and two on mountain bikes. So on the way back I could see their tracks and I knew they had been through and maybe scared off any creatures.

Actually, when I asked the one bike guy if he had seen any bears he laughed and said no. It kinda sounded like he thought I was paranoid. So I felt a little better like maybe it wasn't likely that there were any around those parts.

And I texted on the way back which took my mind off my fears.

We actually really lucked out because the clouds were coming in fast and I hadn't brought a coat for Babe or myself. And as soon as we got to the truck it started to pour!

What luck.

And just as I was pulling out to drive away...

A black bear! He just meandered across the road and into the woods we had just stumbled through. I don't know if it was luck or a warning. Maybe someone telling me to heed my fears or telling me that everything would be OK. I have no idea.

It did confirm my worries - and calmed them at the same time.

*Update: Last night after this hike I found a list of all the people known to be killed by bears since the late 1800's. Just like a true researcher, I read every one. I doubt that this information will help me at all in the future.