Last year right around this time, we were twiddling our thumbs at the airport. The helicopter was late; something about a rescue. You can’t argue with that. We were itching to hop on our chopper and head in from Golden, B.C. to our home away from home for the next week – Amiskwi Lodge – but patience was required.
Bags and boxes and skis and poles were stacked high in the hangar. We paced a little, chatted a lot, took yet another bathroom break, paced some more – and then it was on. Rush, rush, rush – do this, don’t do this, put skis in here, bags in there, buckle up and we’re off.
Amiski Lodge – the view from afar. (Credit: M. Kopp)
We flew above the Blaeberry River, all eyes on mountains passes, avalanche paths and snow-covered meadows, as if it were possible to judge the potential for a good week of touring options from the air. It didn’t matter. The trip wasn’t really about the skiing, it was about the journey.
The backcountry retreat. (Photo: M. Kopp)
It was about forging new friendships over shared meals and dice games. It was exploring the thrills of open slopes, testing skills in treed glades and standing still to soak in views from ridge tops. But most of all, it about escaping the turmoil of the outer world to find a sense of peace – for me, at least.
The inner sanctum of Amiskwi. (Credit: M. Kopp)
Such is the magic of getting away, of travelling (near or far), of letting go and finding yourself within.
The Ride It all started when we asked Hilal, our pansyion owner, if he could help us arrange a ride to another town for a one-way hike back to Üçağiz. No problem, only 50 Turkish lira (TL). When he ushered us out onto the street, I stared slack-jawed at the little blue sedan. Loading our packs into the trunk and avoiding the rusted holes revealing glimpses of cobblestones below, I crossed my fingers that the packs would be there when we stopped.
The car tilted as the driver plunked into his seat, which leaned back at an angle and rested against my legs. I looked out at the driver’s mirror hanging on by a wire. The rearview was shaking so hard as the engine coughed and spluttered that I couldn’t look at it for long. Fumes wafted through every crack and crevice. The gas gauge read empty. No wait, it wasn’t empty. None of the gauges were working. We chugged slowly up the hill out of town and then sputtered to a halt. Stalled mid-road, our driver calmly turned off the engine, started it again, pumped the gas a few times and we were off. We could walk faster at this point.
Creeping up the hill past the bus parking, it was all looking good – and then we crested the hill. At this point, I had a second to wonder about the brakes before we started flying down around the first corner. Up and down we go, blasting past the big new shiny mosque in Boğazcık before coming to a rolling stop beside the Lycian Way trail – our destination.
The chariot. (Credit: M. Kopp)
The Trail
Standing trailside, we stared at the trailside marker. There were three route options. The sign didn’t point to any of them. It momentarily threw us for a loop, until a local came out and kindly mimed that the sign was angled slight off kilter.
Full of ankle bending rocks and rubble, roadway crossings, navigational challenges, spectacular and seldom-visited ruins, and close up encounters with all kinds of “wild” life – we wandered along the route for almost five hours through olive groves and abandoned homesteads before reaching Aperlae and the unexpected opportunity to avoid the remaining three-hour trek back to Üçağiz in the heat of the day.
“Wild” life along the hike. (Credit: M.Kopp)
The Boat When the price dropped quickly from 80 to 60 TL, we hopped on board. Or would have, if it was our boat. This one – with sunshade and pillowed seats – belonged to another group of hikers. Our boat was on its way.
“Only 40 minutes,” the harbour master muttered under his breath. Forty minutes? Maybe we’ll walk.
“No, no,” he spoke up quickly, “15 minutes.” Now we’re talking.
Forty-five minutes later our one-armed captain jumped spryly off the worn little vessel, deftly avoiding the empty beer bottle just to his right. Not a chance there’s going to be a single life jacket on this puppy. Good thing the wind – and a strong one at that – was blowing at our back.
All aboard! (Credit: M.Kopp)
When our captain left the tiller to skip forward and share a tale about the blood money used to buy yachts like the massive black one pulling into the harbour, I clung to the centre, oddly cross-shaped pole. Sideways in the waves we went – only to be distracted as flying fish soared past.
I was almost sorry the trip was over as our tiny vessel nosed its way between a row of boats to pull up dockside in Üçağiz and the captain killed the motor – by putting two bare wires together.
“Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity, but in doing it.” – Greg Anderson
There is something about being outside that puts everything in its place. I headed out for a four-day ski trip up the Icefields Parkway in Banff National Park with a mind full of clutter. I came back home with a clean slate, refreshed and relaxed.
Why?
Take a look at the picture below.
Looking across to Bow Summit. (Credit: M. Kopp)
Did you spot our vehicles parked roadside near the lower meadow?
“What are men to rocks and mountains?”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
It felt clunky and awkward. Words fell onto the blank page only to disappear in fury of eraser bits and dust. Writing without a laptop or iPad was surprisingly difficult. I couldn’t edit as easily, I couldn’t grab a word and move it up in a sentence. I couldn’t make it work… at first. And then the scratching of the lead against fine wood fibres began pulling me back into the art of writing old school.
Mosquito Creek Hostel provided the perfect writer’s retreat. (Photo: M. Kopp)
Spending a long weekend away from the distraction of internet a mere keyboard click away forced this writer to focus on getting the ideas down, rather than editing or breaking the flow to deal with the business aspects of being a freelance writer. Long after the lights of the hostel dorm dimmed, my headlight shone brightly on the notebook tucked firmly in a little corner of my bunk. The blue pencil flew across the page as thoughts and impressions and ideas poured from mind to page.
Productive? Definitely.
Do again? Absolutely.
When was the last time you took a break from writing with a computer?
Today I skipped out of the office and enjoyed a bluebird day on the slopes of Nakiska brushing up on rusty tele turns.
Outside inspiration. (Credit: B. Kopp)
You wouldn’t think a ski hill – groomed and open – as being a place for wildlife. Nakiska is set in the Rockies. We have watched lynx crouched quietly in the tree on nearby slopes and once saw a wolverine from the Silver Chair. It hovered slope side, pacing back and forth as it waited for the opportune moment to cross. Today, the woods were silent, but the sky was alive with action as Chinook clouds painted ever-changing scenes on a cerulean backdrop.
I didn’t come back from today’s outdoor adventure with an incredible wildlife sighting or fantastic adventure tale or writing epiphany, but I did come back relaxed and happy and ready to work. That is more than enough for me.
What takes you out of the office and lets you come back in a positive frame of mind?
P.S. Came back to find an ad seeking an outdoor travel writer. Yes! Except that it’s for Ontario parks. However, it does feed the dream that outdoor travel writer jobs exist!
It’s just a flip of the calendar page, but the new month that faces us is full of promise. Of lives lived stronger, of work done harder, of promises kept better.
One of the promises I made to myself was to focus on this blog and make it matter. It is a reflection of one writer’s life, but it is also a tool for motivation – whether for writing, or getting outside, or travelling to new lands.
With this in mind, I’m going to blog 3 times a week. Tuesdays will tackle writing-related topics. Wild Wednesdays will be all about the great outdoors. Thursdays will focus on travel themes.
The posts may be a simple as a photo, a link to a published article, or a new market for writers. They may be long-winded pieces about epic mini-adventures. They will be all me.
Hopefully you find something to make you smile, to make you think, or to make you do.
