A Year in the Making (Part 2)

I'm about 6 months late on this one...I could blame life but sometimes writing feels like a chore, a burden, a mundane task that just feels impossible. Words come easy to me, they always have. At any given moment my mind is full of half written lines that will never come to life on paper, of far away worlds that only exist in my dreams and sometimes it feels all consuming. As though if I can't jot them down I'll just burst with everything but somehow nothing all at the same time. It's tough to share things, when I don't even know where they come from, so part of the reason I started this blog was hoping that an outlet for experiences would alleviate some of the scramble in my head and make it a little less chaotic up there. What I neglected to realize was that sharing my experiences was the most raw form of expressing my thoughts and while it feels empowering, it's also scary every single time. So here we are, because I owe to myself to keep my word, to not let life or things that feel impossible stop me from holding myself accountable to whatever journey this is that I'm on. My last post promised the story of my whirlwind and emotional fathers day and the most incredible white water rafting adventure so buckle in for some emotions because this story is a doozy. First, in order to understand the who, what, where, why and when, I'll give a quick history if anyone is reading this who hasn't been here from the beginning:

Fathers Day 2022 - Finding Dad Dad was part of the Canadian armed forces and in 1985, spent half of the year in Chilliwack at the Canadian Forces School of Military Engineering. It seems falling in love with the mountains runs in the family because he loved it there. So many stories of the good old days and some great photos for the memory box. Unfortunately, in the 90s the CAF closed the school and shifted everything to a base in Cold Lake. The buildings stood strong being used by the university until 2009 when a fire devastated most of what was left. But in their place a memorial was erected for all the men and women that trained in Chilliwack and for all the lives lost in the wars.

While I knew I wanted to spend Father’s Day exploring Chilliwack and what made Dad fall in love with the west, I also hoped that being in the mountains would bring me a certain level of peace on a tough day. I was wrong. Grief hurts no matter where in the world you are and the sooner you accept those emotions the quicker you can get on with your day.

I woke up on fathers day in Boston Bar, BC. For anyone that has been there, may I ask why? While the campground I stayed at was incredibly lovely and family run there wasn't much around worth exploring, I had used it as a halfway point and maybe that's the best part about it. When I rolled out of bed I was moody (an understatement) the weather was rainy, I was feeling so alone and I just wanted a hug. I am used to being alone without feeling lonely so on a day when I was already emotional, this was an entirely new emotion and I felt so disconnected. But being alone means you have no choice but to pick yourself up and find a way to thrive in spite of what feels heavy. So I cried my tears while I packed my van and I drove into Chilliwack.

I have no idea why the city was so busy on fathers day and why everyone wasn't home with their Dads but for a small town girl, navigating a foreign city in a campervan, while emotional, in the rain, and the fog, was a battle with my own sanity to say the least. I tracked down a beer store and grabbed a few Kokanee (Dads favourite) and managed to get some photos in some of the same places he had them taken. Since the day was foggy and the city has grown so much, it was a challenge but I found the same gas station and the engineers memorial site where I wandered around trying to feel him with me in some way but just feeling alone and frustrated.

After snagging some photos in the city, I had intentions to hike at a lake near the Chilliwack provincial park campground where I was going to set up my hammock and have a beer for him, driving nearly 45 minutes out of town I watched the bars on my cellphone drop to a flatline and tried not to let it bother me. I found the lake easily and the parking lot was significantly busier than I had anticipated with giant signs everywhere warning that car theft in this particular area was high risk and while trying to decide if it was worth the risk, I was approached by a family who told me I was almost guaranteed to have my campervan broken into if I left it and went for a hike. So...plans changed and I decided to head to the campground and figure it out from there. Except the campground was very confusing and it took me an eternity to find my site, driving through a campground passing families celebrating Dads, watching love rain down on their campsites heavier than the rain we were being plagued with from the menacing clouds and continued lack of cell service, I finally found my site and I cried. While I'm used to being alone with no cell service, on a day when I was already feeling alone and being surrounded by families, I used my satellite GPS to send a message to my mom, let her know I didn't have service and that I had no idea what I was going to do because spending 2 days being alone in a space full of celebrations was too much to process.

It didn't take me long to decide that I couldn't stay. So I wiped my tears, climbed into the drivers seat, began the confusing navigation out of the campground and back towards cell service and I asked Dad to guide me, wherever he thought I needed to be, in whatever capacity that meant for me in this moment and I just drove with faith he wouldn't let me down. I never bothered to turn my GPS on, I saw a few campground signs but didn't feel pulled to them so I kept driving, I came across a roundabout and something told me to go straight through, so I listened. I passed another sign for a campground but it still didn't feel right so I drove some more. I came upon another roundabout and took the third exit and saw a sign for a campground and knew I had to check it out. I found myself in a line of cars at Cultus Lake Campground, hoping they had a spot open for me without a reservation but also strangely calm knowing it was going to work out. I got to the reception desk and asked if they had a spot open I could park my van, and without hesitation they said they had just the spot for me and handed me a map and pointed me in the right direction. I found my site easily and breathed a breath of fresh air knowing that this was what was meant for me, my emotions calmed and I packed by hiking bag knowing I needed to get into the woods and that Dad would continue to lead me to where I'd find peace.

For anyone that knew Dad, you’d know that he LOVED his tea, any time of day. Due to his MS, he broke so many tea mugs, it was always a safe gift to get him because before long he'd need a new one and he always drove us crazy asking us to make him tea all the time. On my hike, when it came to choosing from 3 unmarked paths, I felt a pull to the right. And then at the next fork I stayed left, wandering wherever I felt pulled to go. And then I saw a Tea Pot dangling from a tree branch. And then a tea cup a few feet later. And soon, the entire trail was lined with tea cups and tea pots of all different shapes, sizes and styles. I was confused and appalled and could hardly believe what I was seeing. Little did I know, I was hiking Tea Pot Hill. A moderately steep incline leading to a lookout of the lake lined with tea cups and tea pots for kilometers. Do you know how hard it is to hike, not trip over roots and search for tea cups hanging in nature while you’re crying? It’s tough.

I found my way down back to Cultus Lake and finally had that beer for him. The sound of waves washing peace over me knowing the whole day Dad was with me and lead me to this place and space in time and that just as he and Mom always said "everything happens for a reason".

I knew Dad needed his own place on Tea Cup Hill so first thing the next morning, morning I drove to the store and bought him his own. I hiked that hill again and gave him a spot with a great view and I can’t wait for everyone to pass his cup and be excited, to bring a smile to peoples faces in awe of him as he did his whole life.

If you thought this story couldn't get any more strange, when I got home I was telling Mom this story in person, having skipped details of it over the phone and when I mentioned that I had found myself at Cultus Lake, her face went white, she had tears in her eyes and she said "what did you just say?" "Cultus Lake?" I repeated, and I was confused as she got off the couch and went to get one of Dads old photo albums from his military days, she started pulling out photos looking at the backs of them for Dads handwriting where he scribbled small details of what was in each photo when she handed me one with the inscription 'Cultus Lake 1985'. It turns out, the campground around the lake that I ended up camping at, was where Dad and his regiment went to unwind and when I posted about this on Facebook and tagged him in the post, one of his old military buddies actually commented on the picture of me drinking my Kokanee for Dad saying "I shared many of those same beers with your Dad in that same spot." I healed a little that day, the emotions running through me faster than I could process them, I felt helpless and broken and ended up finding exactly what I needed at the end of the day.

White Water Rafting - The Journey

This was my second time hopping in a raft. The first was my very first trip out west (if anyone has been here since that blog post I can't imagine why but also, thank you.) If you happen to want to read that sort of accidental adventure, click here: https://www.thebackwoodsblonde.com/post/everything-happens-for-a-reason

So this time when I knew I was going to be so close to the Chilliwack River, I was absolutely positive I had to raft it. My last experience in Golden, BC was picture perfect, the meeting point was huge log buildings with gift shops and wet suits hanging perfectly dried in the sun, with a massive gazebo where they did a 25 minute safety demonstration and answered questions before we piled into rafts from beautiful docks and hopped in the river right from the offices.

So when I pulled up to a dilapidated building with chickens running around a half fenced in but very overgrown garden and a man walking around in overalls with no shirt and 2 different rain boots I was second guessing all of my decisions. "You here to raft?" he asked, I nodded quite literally speechless. He pointed me towards a shed with a painted sign reading 'office', hanging on by its splintered frame and told me to sign the waiver. After I signed my life away, I was directed to a long cabin lined with mismatched couches and flickering lights where I found bowls of chili, salads, bread and brownies. I made myself a plate and wandered outside to find a group of girls sitting at a picnic table, I burried my anxiety in my stomach and asked if I could sit with them. They were some of the nicest, most genuine humans, a few being from within a few hours of where I live in Ontario who had moved out west and 2 of them being nurses which lead to us having a lot to talk about. After we ate, a guy came back and told us it was time to grab our gear.

We were lead through a dark barn with dirt floors and handed wet suits (literally...wet), mine had holes in the knees and the butt and the zipper barely worked. We were told to dig through bins for water shoes and neoprene socks, also soaking wet with barely any matching pairs or sizes. By the time all 8 of us were suited up we looked like a hilarious group of soggy misfits all wondering what we were about to get ourselves into.

We waddled onto the bus that was being held together by rusty panels and the overall wearing man saying "forgot to gas her up, hope we make it" before we lurched out of the driveway. About 10 minutes up the road, he pulled over to the side, chucked the raft into the water 25ft below and instructed us to climb down the steep section of rocks and into the raft. We were given a 5 minute safety brief by our guide which consisted of the words "just don't fall out" and off we went. While my first rafting trip was easy going at first, getting used to the boat, the paddles and the instructions while we casually floated down the river, this time was jumping right into class 3 rapids with a few practice runs of the guide yelling "get down" where we all hit the bottom of the boat and hoped for the best.

And then the fun began.

The most chaotic, terrifying, amazing ride of my life. We rode class 5 rapids, pulled over and explored a waterfall, ate granola bars on the river bank and rafted again. We took paddles to the faces, saved each other from falling out, swallowed river water and screamed for our lives and it...was...the...best! The ride somehow lasted forever and yet was over way too quickly. We ended at the base camp, pulled the raft out as a group where the overalled man helped us load it back onto the trailer of the bus and he asked if we wanted to go again. He told us he had no one scheduled for the next time slot so why the heck not.

4 of the 8 of us were ready for more so we loaded back onto the bus and away we went. The bus made it up the road again, we knowingly scrambled down the rocks and into the raft before we went for round 2. We took choppier roots, did our best not to flip over and and somehow managed not to fall out again.

I climbed back into my campervan that afternoon full of life and river water. I had made new friends, screamed, laughed, LIVED in a way I hope everyone gets to experience at least once in their life. And if you happen to want to have the most authentic rafting experience, let me know and I'll point you in the right direction.

For you, reader, whoever you are. Thank you for making it this far. For taking your time to experience my ups and downs, my emotions and my journey with me. Thank you for your patience as I took what felt like a lifetime to get this post to come to life. And thank you for giving me a reason to write, to pursue my favourite creative outlet that I'm always so terrified and anxious to share.

Until next time, The Backwoods Blonde.