Talking Tonquin Valley

In a valley behind Mt. Edith Cavell
Stretches the Tonquin pass
A wide and very long valley
Home to many fishing camps and bears
Filled with trails for the pack horses
The Alpine Club of Canada in 1970
Their annual summer climbing camp
My sister Yvonne made me her guest
The club having lowered the age
To sixteen for membership.

At last a sport in common
Between the elder and myself
Swimming and skiing a big no go
The love of the mountains
United our interests at last
With a stop in Banff for
Helmet, harness and ice-axe
We headed to the trail head
Oh, happiness the pack horses would
Carry all our belongings for the week
While we walked the
Fourteen miles into camp.

I remember the concern that
Fourteen miles loomed long in my mind
But the day passed pleasantly
The trail not steep, the forest friendly
Halfway we met a little white-haired lady
Her younger companion sat resting with her
I didn't know then as we paused to greet
She was a mountaineering legend
Phil Munday now in her eighties
Wrecked her knees in the coastal range
Carrying heavy loads in pioneering
And legendary climbs.

The memories that filter
Through my present mind
Are sparse and fleeting
I found the mountain air
Cold at either end of the day
Lived in a borrowed down jacket
My biggest use of time spent
Talking to Walter, a climber
Businessman from Toronto
Older and happy to engage in lively manner
The optimistic mind of sixteen years
I don't remember the subjects but
We kept in touch by letter long afterward
He found my optimistic mind
Ready to tackle the world
I found him kind in reply and manner
And the hours sped by with
A few mountain climbs
Between conversations.

Every day the stories of exploits
From the expert climbers in high camp
Would filter down to be reviewed
Mulled or added to
While we in the main valley camp
Strolled through our adventures
With no such tales to boast
One day we climbed a local peak
Imposing in its height
My memory of it being
A four a.m. rise before the sun
The day's length the greatest challenge
We played hide and seek as we climbed
The Rockies filled with loose rocks
The greatest danger being
The climber above and the rocks dislodged.
I wore my helmet.

One day we went to a glacier
To practice ice and snow drills
The crevasse hidden dangers
To the unwary with snow covered fissures
A trap hidden from view
Being the youngest person there
I was lowered into a modest
Crevasse not too wide
Hanging on the end of a rope
After an imaginary fall
The climbers working above
Setting up a definite rescue
While I waited in my ice palace
Writing the names of those I loved
Onto the icy wall that resisted
Any of my intentions.

Mid-point a small group of us
Dawned packs and set off to
Another valley with a cabin by a lake
The trail through the Tonquin
Meandered in alpine meadows
Beside small smiling creeks and marsh
Past fishing camps with horses in corral
To a small lake with
Alpine Club cabin of unimaginable
Luxury for its location
That night a thunderstorm
Shook me awake as I slept in the loft
Loud and menacing as I lay there
Deciding if I should be afraid
But fell to sleep before I could decide.

The next day we climbed
The large glacier that led
To a high peak whose name
Unremembered but the snow
Laden valley was the beginning
Headwaters of the mighty Fraser
With many miles to travel
In seaward direction
My imagination finding delight
That such humble and mysterious
Source of greatness  beneath our feet.

On the last day
We arrived back at the car park
To find the horses had bolted
Frightened by a bear
With our belongings held hostage.
My sister and I found our cousin
Who hosted us for the night
In the morning's light the horses
And our packs were recovered
Leaving only the drive home
Our final task together
With three mountain peaks I was
A new Alpine club member
If only for a year.

August Valhalla

In the cool mornings of youth
The finding of virtues call out like
A town crier in one's soul
In urgent tones to follow the journey upwards
Unto the mountains of wisdom from past ages
First taught in youth with images
Sometimes with experience of those lofty peaks
Expressed for me in a week spent happily in
Slocan's Valhalla range named from
Norse legends of the halls of
Slain heroes and home of the gods.

It was a surprise gift from Helen Butling
Defender of our alpine world
First woman on Gladsheim for me to second
I was just past my fourteenth birthday
For that early morning that began with meeting new people
The long drive to the trail head to begin
A nine mile walk in the heat of day
The early August foliage of devil's club
Looming over my head with stifling presence
Stealing the oxygen air until the halfway point
A forest glade with creek water, and rest
To banish my fatigue, cool my veins
Renew hope of the final ascent
Into the Mulvey basin
Surrounded by rugged mountain peaks
Crowned by Gladsheim
Home of the gods brooding over
The pristine valleys.

There among the alpine flowers
We pitched our tents in the
Fragrance of alpine trees
Stunted and misshapen from long
Winter's grasp with perfume breeze
Unique and intoxicating
Heaven's own garden beneath its dome.
But then there were the endless horseflys
Terror of my younger days
As I quickly learned to hit them hard
Learned it was best to punch them
Before they could take their morsel of flesh.


The art of rock climbing with the use of ropes
And in my case, elbows and knees
I was invited to ascend Gladsheim
In the care of a mountain guide
Both kind and sure footed
We started out through the midst of boulders
To the ridge razor backed with
Another valley whose mountain we could see
Aptly called the Devil's couch always watching
Never benign to those who would
Journey upwards to speak with things of heaven.

I can still see the sheer rock wall
Falling it seemed for miles
As I slipped yet safely roped
Scrambled with only a quick downward
Glance that etched itself in my memory
The vast possibilities of harm not
To be dwelt upon or given second thought
But only to venture onwards in relief
Gain the summit where at the top of Gladsheim
A cairn with names written to be added to
And survey mountain range upon range
Unknown by name to me reaching
Into endless horizon and mystery.
We ate our lunch in the wonder of
Creation's form and rested to begin
The long descent with me relying
On the soon to be worn out
Seat of my jeans.

I gained an unearned reputation
From my fellow mountaineers that day
For being a talented climber, fearless
Thus nvited to scramble the Batwing I ran
Into fear from not being roped into
Safe passage along small edges
Wavering dangerously in my own mind
Did my discomfort manifest itself I wonder.

And then midweek it snowed
All hiking ceased as large white flakes
Descended on the alpine flowers
The reds, blues and yellows
The purple and greens mixed with
Falling white that melted
Upon the ground as I
Walked through the small meadows
Amazed by the mystery of this beauty
Filled with joy in the whispers
The silent happiness in this lonely place.

The final mountain ascent of Asgard
Through swirling mists we
Carefully climbed into the clouds
Hurrying past us on urgent business
Perhaps the souls swirling from earth
Were passing by and then were left behind
As above the clouds we stood
Their thick cotton wool texture hiding the valley
With only the mountain peaks dark and pointed
Piercing this eiry stillness like lone sentinels
Guarding the movement of all time
As the clouds slowly rose to engulf us
Flowing into the vast unknown to
Treasure as memory.

Camp Lourdes

It is the rain
Drumming on the aluminum roofs
In the warmth of a summer storm
That are memories of summer camp
Echoing in the maze of memory.

For the first time I walked
The miles along the railroad tracks
Running close behind the camp
Perched on a sandy spit
Up against the shoulder of the
Mountain slope leaning close
Towards the lake.
I still feel the trembling of the ground
As the train rumbled past
In daytime or in night's late hours
The smell of the tar coated ties
Weighing on the hot summer air
The heat radiating off the steel ties
As around the corner the train
Would suddenly appear to thunder  by
Into the passing distance.

Much of my life ran through
This little piece of paradise
The threads of my future
Entwining in the web that is my life still
Filled with the light reflecting off the sunlit waters
Or the moonlight a beckoning path
Cutting through the silent darkness
After the leaves that sang with the
Breezes blowing off the afternoon lake
Fell quiet for the night.

There were sorrows too
Youthful dreams that wandered
Dangerously towards the shadows
The bitter truth of human failings
Especially my own
But it is the quiet
Inside the small wooden
Clapboard chapel
With the hiss of the propane lamps
Illuminating with beauty
The eternal drama of salvation
That  urged and fed the youthful soul.
The old wooden launch plied
The waters between
Shores busy and quiet
Those seven years that took
My youth in stride.

One final night the campfire
Sending sparks and our voices
Up into the night sky
Grew cold as dawn's fingers
Crept over the morning horizon
As we sat huddled in the cool morning air
Aware we were saying goodbye
To a privileged time.
I have more memories to mine one day
Now that the camp is gone
I see it on the shore from a distance
Now a stranger's summer property
But I still hear childrens voices
Echo where time has taken its rest.

A Safe Refuge

At sixteen the world
Is still a new place
While young to leave home
Many have begun their vocation
Indeed, it was a year
To learn the gifts given
For eager I had set off
A new school, in a new town
An extension of summer camp
With new friend's met
A chance given to be at a
School run by my faith.

Without regrets, oh, callow youth
I dusted off my hometown roots
Sailing into adventure wide-eyed
Safe in my journey, not looking back.
But in three weeks time
The reality of my change
Hit my youthful optimism
My feet slipping and unable to feel
The rug of familiar ties.

So to the church I fled
One night, plotted carefully
Aided by my room mate
I brought my sleeping bag
Tucked it under the side tabernacle altar
And hid beneath until the church
Was to be locked for the night.
I could see the priest
Genuflect in front of me
His eyes not directed downward
Preoccupied in thought
As I held my breath
And then he was gone and I
With the Lord above me
Was all alone.

Ah, the silence broken at last
By an outpouring of youthful tears
The aisles paced in the safety of solitude
As I wondered out loud
At my hastily chosen fate
My newly made friends
Had busy lives
It was I who had the task at hand
To find my way
Sustained with prayers from home.

At last I was calm
Tired from the struggle
To sort my confusing thoughts
I sang as I sat on the altar stairs
Not unlike the times of old
When music raised questions
Before the Lord.
Then weary I crept to
My bed upon the floor
My heart emptied and still
And there I slept until
Awoken at six when a vigil
Candle glass exploded.

It's true that dawn
Brings hope
Stiff and sore but content
I listened for the elderly
Caretaker to finish his morning prayers
I carefully appeared in a pew
Aware that his eyes were suspicious
At the hair unkempt and the noiseless entrance
But I kept my head down
Ready for my coming year.

It was in this church
Almost forty years later
Face down on the floor
Our new shepherd
Received his ordination
The Church sending forth
Future's hope into the world and
Safe refuge for Her own.

The Heat of Summer

When the sun
Bears down on the earth
To bring the bustle and noise of the world
To slow motion and to rest
It is the lazy
Tsch, tsch, of the tall sprinklers
At work in the hay fields
That speak to me of summer and the
Oppressive heat where the lone
Loud chorus of grasshoppers sing intently
In the tall grass and sweet smelling
Alfalfa soon to be mowed and
Left lying in hillside sun 
To dry in rows, then haystacks
Stored in the barn's loft
For the winter's feed.

In irony, I, who was born
On one of the hottest of summer days
Was usually reduced
To a blubbering  puddle of tears
Unable to bear the heat that usually
Marked my passing years in time.
In the aftermath of my meltdowns
The acacia spread its
Branches in kindness
To shade me from the sweltering rays
Where I could sit and listen
To the sounds of summer's song.

Or sometimes on the covered front porch
I would gently swing in the little hammock
Watching the late afternoon sun
Dance in the Virginia creeper leaves
And  then we would be friends again
The sun and I.

The Liturgical Ghetto

Here in the heart
The home of God's house
Lies in ruins,
A ghetto filled with
The filth of indifference,
God now forgotten
As man glorifies himself.

It is a fearsome place.
No longer the refuge found
When I was young,
And my rosary was a train
To wile the time that weighed
Heavy to a young child.
Peace was always to be found in
God given silence that spoke
To my little soul.

The music in this church
No longer whispers
Heavenly anticipation.
Hades shouts its melodies
To beat and harass us.
I would avoid this place of torment
Except that He is here.
I hang on in hope
That the clamoring world will be sent
Outside once more.

Here in this liturgical ghetto
There is a stench and darkness in the air
Loathsome creatures that scurry
The rats are in charge of the ship,
Who like jailers
Would beat us without mercy
With their egos and vile interpretations.
I pray for hope,
That this sad time will
Pass before I do.

From the Edge of Mystery

Life has a lonliness in
Choices to be made
And it is we who chose
Within the uncertain
Reality in mystery veiled
As I stand on the
Edge of time passing
And pray for courage
To endure the changes
Inevitable in future guise.

It has taken time to learn
That hope does not have expectations
But a trust
In the goodness of the
Divine will stirring
The currents of life that
Find hidden places
To dwell in fullness.

Here on the edge I hover as if on
A sheer rock face
Shaped by the ages
Belonging to this world's past
Where grows the nodding plants
Gathering moisture
Falling from the mists now
Shrouding the river from sight
The clouds moving with urgency
Towards a valley filled with
The grace, as yet, to me unknown.