Please see latest RTC photos here.

I step out from the relative shelter of the grassy enclave onto the beach and into the roaring, fiercely exuberant wind.  "There you are!" bellows the wind.  "I was hoping you would join me in celebrating the power of my windness."  And I do.  I set off jogging dead into the wind, pumping my arms and knees against its unrelenting, gusting gusto.  The wind squeals in my ears and presses into my eyes.  My lungs are drunk with oxygen.  The whipped ocean is crashing to my right and the evergreen trees shake in stiff defiance at the top of the beach to my left.  My sandaled feet pound the pebbles and sand where the north end of the Haida Gwaii Islands meets the Pacific Ocean. A smile is plastered across my face and every few minutes I let out a whoop of delight.  I feel entirely alive, though a few short minutes ago I had been on the brink of heading back to my tent for a nap.

This wind reminds me of my time river guiding in the Yukon, northern BC, and Alaska where I met the most fierce and brutal winds of my life.  I often dreaded the arrival of those winds, but would then revel in the hardship as I discovered the vigour and wildness of the further reaches of my constitution.  There is no real hardship in this beach run.  I have no goal for this run, nothing to accomplish other than a little exercise to warm up for a refreshing dip in the Pacific Ocean.  I can't stop smiling and continue to shout to the wind for no other reason than to celebrate the sheer power of Mother Nature and my aliveness within it.  There is nothing like the wild and passionate embraces of Mother Nature for kicking me in the ass and enjoining me to drop my dramas and endless distractions and look a little closer, deeper, longer, wider, further.  When I take time to listen, she says, "Pay attention.  Feel into the openings.  Give your heart a chance to get into the game and you may find yourself moved without effort."

Eventually, I turn and start jogging back, the air seemingly still with the wind at my back.  I miss the wind immediately.  I finish my run by galloping into ocean, leaping over waves and diving into the brisk water. Finishing a run with a dunk in cool water is one of those sweet entry points into genuine joy.

Weeks have passed since my dessert and alpaca adventures in the Robson Valley.  From Kakwa Eco Village I traveled on to give workshops in Prince George, Smithers, and Skidegate.  My late surge of marketing for my Prince George workshop did not result in overwhelming registration, but smaller groups lend themselves to more intimate workshops.  My Smithers workshop, with twenty-nine participants, was my largest up to that point.  With such an interest in peace and consciousness it's no wonder Smithers is known as the Nelson of the North.  The community is alive with culture and surrounded by glorious mountains.  I had the blessing of staying with a local and getting introduced to some of the community with trips to the market, an art studio opening, and some local hiking.  Apparently, Prince George has a growing arts scene too, especially with the addition of the university, but I wasn't there long enough to experience much it.

My Haida Gwaii workshop in Skidegate was also a smaller affair, (summertime is better for hiking and camping than it is for workshops) but we found some points of connection that were hard to put words to.  The workshop took place in the Haida Heritage Centre, which is a very impressive, multi-million centre that has a museum on one side, a totem pole and canoe carving facility on the other, and a life size replica of a traditional Haida Long House.  Do not miss this place if you ever go to the Haida Gwaii Islands.

My Mother joined me for the trip over to the Haida Gwaii Islands and we had a great time exploring the beaches, trails, restaurants, and artists.  I could probably write several pages about our time on Haida Gwaii.  We took the overnight six-hour ferry from Haida Gwaii back to Prince Rupert and boarded right onto the fifteen-hour ferry to Port Hardy/Vancouver Island.  All of sudden I was leaving the north behind.  (Of course, I had only made it a little ways past the mid-point of BC, but the landscapes, climate, and smaller population fit into my sense of "north country".)

I am moved and unnerved by the North Country.  I don't enjoy being cold or wet or cold and wet, and I'm certainly not fond of mosquitoes, noseeums, and biting flies.  But the magnitude, immediacy, and wild beauty of the northern environment calls to me.  I'm like a lover who is afraid I will be overwhelmed by the woman of my dreams. 

In the north one trades in a degree of comfort and convenience and earns vast and unknown magnificence. The North Country, through its exquisite fragility and its ego souring ferocity, dares me not to notice, not to feel and acknowledge and attend to something greater, to what some have called the active side of infinity.  And really, when it comes down to it, if I have even the slightest inkling that there is more to this game than keeping up with to-do lists and accomplishing goals, than I want to find time to move towards those moments that help me connect with and expand into the greater pulse of the universe.    In the wilderness of the north, in the concrete of the city, in the space between self-doubt and my next breath, or in this moment in the midst of a rambling sentence, there is always an invitation to stop and listen, open and connect.   There is something about those northern invitations though...

Like a lake connected to a river she will
Slow me down
And together we will rise
With the melting sun
In this sacred space, I'm surrounded by mountains
And I love it best when we listen
And I love
The ice is falling

I could tell you so much more about my time the in the north and the people I met there (in fact I'm planning a post on some of the people I've met on my Road to Compassion journey).  I could on about the wonders of the Haida Gwaii Islands and the relaxed pace of life there.  And I could go on and on about all I loved and learned about my time with my Mom.   But my trip is almost over, and I need to prepare for my next workshop in Vernon, so I will let your imagination and the pictures speak for me.

Eric Bowers

Back