Hello everyone!

At long last it is time to move on from British Columbia and recount events from my time spent in the second province on the way from west to east. This summertime trip to Alberta returned me to many of the locations visited during my Christmas excursion here: whilst I was favourably struck by the interesting differences inherent when visiting such places in both the deepest depths of winter and the height of the warmer months of the year, nonetheless I feel comfortable in detailing this section of my trip somewhat more concisely than what is to follow, when I shall recall places and provinces as yet unfamiliar to me or this blog.

I arrived in Canmore or, more precisely, Harvie Heights early one evening, into the midst of an unforeseeable confusion. I had been hoping to stay with my good friend Aja, of Dunbar fame, for the duration of my time back in the Bow Valley region, home to Canmore, Banff and some of the most glorious of all Canadian landscapes. However, in typical fashion on this trip (perhaps, to be brutally honest, in typical fashion per se), I had arrived rather spontaneously (such a fluid, likeable word): whilst I had forewarned Aja of my impending arrival via e-mail, the exact date and time had been left undecided until some twenty-four hours previously, at which time Aja had been in the midst of a journey home from a family wedding and quite unable to coordinate every detail that I was hurriedly transmitting. To cut to the chase; I arrived in Harvie Heights to discover Aja still busy at work and her home quite unfit for my presence within the next couple of days. The entire episode was quite surreally confusing and confused, but nevertheless I was without a bed for the night and some walk from Canmore and the promise of reasonably priced hostels. I hesitated for the length of time necessary to sigh internally, whilst cursing my wretched timing before gathering my faithful baggage and setting out.

The walk to Canmore was estimably pleasant all the same: the majestic peaks swept down into the valley from both left and right, lush foliage crowding the lower slopes, the peaks themselves standing bald and proud, breath-taking hunks of granite radiating the dying light of the early evening sun. I walked with thoughts conflicting, but the sheer beauty of the scene unfolded before me was quite enough to transfix whatever dark, internal emotions threatened and replace them with thrilling rushes of affection and humility for the grandeur and eloquence of my setting. I had last seen this area in such a similar state of warm summertime glow the first time I arrived here, back in the summer of 2006 and in the company of my wonderful family: naturally, I hold many magnificent memories that fired so easily in the face of the familiar composition of sunlight and mountainside.

The course of my stay in the region yielded many repeated moments of joyous nostalgia, of unexpected yet wholly welcome jolts of recollection for a building visited, a sight regarded, a conversation conducted during that happiest of holidays in 2006. Of course, complimenting these memories now, enriching the composition were those additions fashioned during my winter visit here at the turn of this past year, with my dear friends Kelsey and Seb. The natural scene so much closer in depiction to that providing the backdrop for my family visit, it was quite understandably these memories which often yielded themselves up first and foremost, triggered by visual stimulants for the most part, although it is probable that once my mind was reminded of an aspect of that wonderful trip, further memories fired quite free from such visual dependency. Once these memories had fired, however, details from my Christmas trip here with my two great friends crowded in riotously alongside, boosted by the shorter lapse of time since their composition; besides, the scene was not so radically altered by the changing season as to be rendered wholly disconnected from my winter experiences in the valley.

The scene was not transformed completely, but the differences were remarkable and not solely visual of course. The complete absence of snow from all but the tallest of local peaks, replaced by the verdant colouring of spring and summer, was most obvious in my eyes. Canmore seemed much more open, freed from the crowding forms of hulking piles of shovelled snow, littering pavements, parks, embankments with crisp, innocent debris. This was the apparent visual disturbance, but the physical memory extended beyond this realization: the air was loaded, muggy in comparison to the clean crispness associated with winter temperatures. This air crowded around me as the snow had once seemed to do, yet far from blocking my route so obviously, this murky, laden air wrapped itself around me, cloaked my limbs in a sheen of sweat and assaulted my nose and mouth with its clotted, lugubrious nature. An energetic biking excursion from Harvie Heights, where I was at this stage residing with Aja and her family, aboard a bicycle lent to me by my friend herself, highlighted this oppressive seasonal dynamic especially. Whilst I cycled swiftly, the wind whipping past my face, I was released from the burden of the heavy air. As soon as I rested for any period of time, to take on water or to admire the splendid views, that same air that had so recently been assaulting my face in stinging buffets, now turned to embrace me with cloying proximity.

Something of the nature of the air on my bike ride mirrored the emotions kindled by the crowded memories of my previous trips to this area: at times the intrusion of a memory would jolt me in the manner not so much of a buffet across my face, as of a warm, lingering caress. The mannerisms are similar, their effect altered: far from feeling oppressed or jaded by the onslaught of such potent memories, the very stimulation of their presence, their existence wrought in happiness, was a balm to me. These ameliorant memories cooled my heated brow, even as they warmed my soul. Strolling down the high street in Canmore one afternoon, I passed the same gastro-pub - 'The Grizzly Paw' - where Seb and I had so enjoyed our leisurely afternoon's lunch and conversation, whilst Kelsey and Todd cross-country skied in the neighbouring hills. Smiling at this memory, I turned my eyes to those self-same hills, where my sight alighted upon a cluster of miniature hoodoos, earthen pillars shaped by the eroding power of the winds. Clumps of more durable rock sit atop the pliant earth in certain sections and these rocky scalps stand firm as the weaker earth falls away around them. Over time, these rocks and the protected earth beneath them grow into isolated towers or 'hoodoos'. It was amongst these very same hoodoos four summers previously that Beth and I had cavorted on our way up and down the hill into town from the house in which we were resident throughout our stay in Canmore. These realizations, crashing in upon me with such urgency and such proximity to one another, sent thrills through my being.

On this latest trip to the Bow Valley, I decided to spend more time in Banff, a location familiar to me beforehand only as a touristic mecca, although undeniably beautiful at the same time. Cycling down potted asphalt roads that wound their way through the gorgeous, manicured greens of the town's famous golf course, walking beside the calm, emerald waters of the Bow river, rich in the minerals that afforded the waters their brilliant colour, strolling down picturesque, if rather crowded, streets, Banff certainly demonstrated to me its proven charm. My bike ride through the sleepy lanes, so close to the civilization inhabiting the aforementioned golf course and yet simultaneously so deliciously removed, was a special highlight. I cycle far less than I would desire on this trip, largely through logistical and economic hindrances: this was a worthy workout that offered brilliant, captivating vistas and opportunities for quiet reflection beside smooth, flowing waters, surrounded by sunlight, stately mountains, friendly trees and delightful birdsong.

On one such stroll through Banff, I called at the tourist office for a fuller realization of my general bearings around town and was interested to discover an open-air cinematic event occurring that same evening: the local AIDS awareness society were hosting a showing of 'Jurassic Park' on the lawns of the local museum, with free popcorn in attendance. I reflected upon the appropriateness of a film detailing creatures that had been afforded the opportunity to explore and appreciate (perhaps) the fabulous natural world that has so captivated me on my travels and here in Canada especially. How appropriate also that the film be shown there in Banff, so close in proximity to the dinosaur discoveries made around the city of Drumheller to the east, beyond Calgary. I dropped in at the event, grossly delayed in a pleasingly languid fashion, out of simple curiosity, grabbed some popcorn and remained for the majority of the film (I have never particularly appreciated the sequences back on the mainland, when the female Tyrannosaurus runs amok). The crowd was good-natured, excited and humorous: there transpired the customary, as well as one or two unusual, jokes surrounding first the obligatory adverts warning against unprotected sexual episodes, then a prize-draw conducted by a condom and a vagina (yes, there were young children present, bless) and finally upon first witnessing the playful, murderous nature of certain inhabitants of the eponymous park within the film itself. It was a pleasure to be treated to such a great film, in such a beautiful, natural setting, beneath a starlit sky, surrounded by friendly, welcoming people. I was left wandering back to my hostel down the quiet, moon-bathed streets of Banff to reflect, as I have been able to do so often during this trip, upon the relaxed, open and connected culture fostered so carefully and oftentimes so successfully here in Canada.

This culture of openness and relaxed friendliness came to the fore the following day, during a hike beside the Vermillion Lakes to the east of Banff. I had run through restive, shaded groves to reach the expansive waters and was caught in happy, contemplative repose when a people-carrier drew alongside my still form and a voice asked if I would care to go kayaking. By the best of coincidences, I had crossed paths with Bob and Debbie, Aja's parents, out for a spot of kayaking on the lake. After waving away my assertions that I had no intention of disrupting their happy outing together (they had only two kayaks with them), I found myself on the water with first Debbie, exploring the lakes themselves and later Bob, journeying down tranquil waterways leading back to the edge of Banff and to civilization. Both excursions were great fun and I particularly enjoyed my time with Debbie, when we shared a conversation detailing our similar philosophies concerning the need to explore and discover life for oneself, to fall as often as necessary, provided that one proceeds to pick oneself back up again ("Why do we fall, master Bruce?"). Debbie is often a quiet, reflective character and so it was nice to be afforded the opportunity to reveal a little more of her personality, amongst the contented scenery of the lakes.

My latest stay in the Bow Valley region and in Banff drew to a close with one final summer's evening outing with Aja into Banff town-centre and a date with a glass of juicy red wine at a suitably smart restaurant. We sat outside, perched on elegant high-chairs facing each other across a wooden table supporting our amply sized glasses and proceeded to discuss some of the finer aspects of life, from wine-production and the intricacies of its taste through to the nature of love and a smattering of its various complications. We were both in suitably reflective mood and the conversation was one of those deep, rich explorations in which two friends can pioneer forth to reveal something of their true selves in a steady, patient manner so rarely afforded in amongst the rush and hum of daily life. This has been a particular gift and a special pleasure bequeathed to me by my travels: experiencing so much richness as I do, analyzing and accepting as I am able, I find myself often predisposed to such flights of emotional worth. Furthermore, many of the friends and acquaintances whom I meet along the way seem to understand, to expect even, that this should be the case, that I might be able to shed some light on personal problems, issues, questions that most people do not have the time to consider in sufficient detail; after all, life is a demanding series of processes, malignantly complicated by the presence of mortgages, work and various other haunting necessities. I am far indeed from a counsellor of any worth, nor do I claim or ever seek to be, but I do enjoy discussing complex emotions, feelings, experiences with people whom I love; with friends, family and kindred spirits. The intensity of such a process imbues such relationships with additional strength and value, in my mind and I see such conversations as an important aspect of my meditation upon and self-reflection of myself, my trip and all that I hold dear. This was one such situation and I thank Aja and my circumstances for the opportunity for such an appreciably beautiful exploration of two people at important crossroads in their respective paths.

As my time with one close friend drew to a close, so life responded with its usual trick of playful recompense, bringing closer my anticipated reunion with another great companion: Kelsey was coming to town and we were soon to be laughing together again.

Best wishes to all!

David xxx