Boots or hearts? Resting awhile in Mount Edziza Provincial Park.
In This Issue
The Skeena is the second-longest river, after the Fraser, to flow entirely within the boundaries of British Columbia and supports salmon and steelhead runs that are arguably the finest in the world.
With the rainy season coming to Terrace— October’s earlier and earlier sunsets and November’s gloomy days looming—I was googling Rupert’s average annual overcast days and Kitimat’s record snowfalls when I came upon a magical forest.
When I teach my Northern BC Literature course at UNBC, I always like to have a book or two that come from the North, but are not about the place— they don’t refer to place names or landscape or moose and pine trees.
From illegal-burning lookout to dandy day-hike destination
Ummmm. I think we might be in trouble. I have no Wi-fi and can't download the paddle app.
Dip your feet in a river. Sit, observe, be patient.
The dog slips farther into the hole and it becomes suddenly apparent that we’ve found exactly what we were expecting.
Morels like dead places. Brains on the outside. Greyish honeycombs on stems. That’s what we have in common. We aren’t pretty and we thrive in dead places.
I don’t believe in being a “war buff.” The term buff trivializes this particular subject, as if one can have an exuberant interest in combat’s destruction and despair like a bird watcher or a train spotter. It’s too close to being a fan.
One of my formative memories is driving down the Oregon coast with my dad. I was the proud new possessor of a learner driver’s licence and the feeling of cruising along the winding coastal roads, warm wind buffeting us through the open windows, a gas-station-purchased Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young cassette blasting out of the crappy stereo, was blissful.