A walk in the woods

On Sunday afternoon we went up to Gatineau Park to go for a walk in the woods. It was lovely, the undergrowth still low to the ground, making a lovely carpet for the towering trees above. The hoards and hoards of mosquitos on the other hand... 

So when we crossed one of the secondary roads in the park, we decided to take it on the way back instead. And on this short stretch of road we saw more wildlife than we did in the forest! A stunning swallowtail butterfly, a deer, a beaver, and a turtle laying eggs!

It's hard to see here, but she had dug a hole and was filling it with so many soft-shelled white, glistening eggs.
I sure hope she goes back into the forest after, away from the road!

“We need the tonic of wildness... At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us... We can never have enough of nature.” 

                                                         ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods

The most amazing geocaching scavenger hunt

At our 20-week ultrasound last week, Mark and I wanted to find out the gender of our baby, but keep it a surprise. We had the results written down, and we gave them to some good friends of ours, and told them they could reveal it to us, in any way they chose, at any time they chose, over the following week. (We had talked about this with them ahead of time to make sure this was something they were interested in! And they were!)

So on Monday night, as the snow began to steadily fall (because apparently this winter just will not quit), we got a text with our first clue: GPS coordinates leading us to the Arboretum, where we found the second clue, in an illuminated mason jar in the snow. They had created these ingenious lights using LED bulbs and some batteries to light up the jars bearing the clues. And each clue bore information and coordinates to the next clue. Through the forest we followed the clues to the final destination, a huge tree decorated with glow sticks, under which was a log bench with a blanket, thermos of hot apple cider, and a wrapped box. We sat down, cozied up, had some cider, and opened the box to reveal three cupcakes, which spelled out B-O-Y. We're having a boy!!

It was such a fun, meaningful, and magical treasure hunt, and we are so lucky to have such amazing friends to go to such elaborate lengths to create this moment for us!

All the clues — informative and directional!  :)

We found the third clue! (It's the illuminated jar on top of the sign.)

(Snow-covered) bench, blanket, cider, and box of cupcakes!

We're going to have a boy!

Wintery weekend in Vermont

For the long weekend, Mark and I went to Vermont with a bunch of friends for what has become an annual weekend excursion of wintery fun! You have your choice of skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, or just relaxing in the chalet by the fire or in the hot tub. And of course there's always lots of feasting and merriment.

Conditions could not have been more perfect for snowshoeing, as the area had just received several feet of fresh, beautiful powder (which made for a terrible drive down, but was great once we got there).

The first day we went to Gifford Woods State Park, and followed someone's snowshoe tracks along the campground road, but when that trail looped back toward the parking lot, we veered off into the forest following the yellow blazes on the trees. Mark had to break our path, as we were the first on the trail since the fresh snowfall. And in doing so we discovered a bizarre winter phenomenon that occurs when there's this much fresh, powdery snow. 

Because the yellow blazes on the trees were sporadic, and there had been so much fresh snow to completely obscure the previous tracks, it was difficult to know exactly where to create the path. Generally this doesn't matter when snowshoeing, as you can go wherever you want, which is one of the many things that makes it so awesome. But we discovered that when Mark stepped off the trail into fresh, undisturbed snow, it suddenly created a startling and incredibly loud 'fwhoomp!' sound as the snow in a large radius collapses, shaking the ground and the trees in the vicinity and echoing through the air, creating an event that feels not unlike a tiny earthquake. Which, when you're happily tromping through a very quiet winter forest, is rather terrifying. 

The first time it happened, we didn't know what it was, and I thought perhaps it had been a very small, (and very localized?) earthquake, or perhaps there was some blasting nearby, or maybe we had just collapsed a small bridge over a creek far beneath us under the snow. But it kept happening every now and again, and we realized what it was, and then we could actually replicate it. However every time it did happen, it made my heart skip a beat to feel the ground drop beneath me, so the next day we found a trail that had already been made, and followed their tracks. Much more relaxing!

Even though it was a bit out of the way, we came home via the Adirondacks and Lake Placid, and it was so wonderful to see those mountains again, as it's been a while since we were last there. So worth the detour to see my favourite view.

It was such a fantastic weekend, a last hurrah for winter. Now, I am officially ready for spring!

Trailblazing at Gifford Woods State Park.

Snowshoeing at Chittenden Brook campground, Green Mountain National Forest.

My favourite view. Algonguin is the highest peak in the centre, with Wright the first bump to the left
(the 3rd and 4th peaks we've hiked),  Colden on the far left, and Wall Face on the right.

Whiteface Mountain is the white peak on the middle-left. Adirondacks, New York.

Snowshoe in a bog

Conditions haven't been great this winter for snowshoeing. Most of the snow we have, fell in December. January gave us some bitter, bitter days, and a couple of warm spells, which really just led to ice. Not much accumulation to speak of. The trails have been so well-packed that you don't need snowshoes at all.

But last night we got about a foot of lovely soft snow — perfect conditions to get out for a snowshoe. And what a beautiful day it was! It's amazing how a fresh dusting of snow can create the most magical landscape. After spending a bit of time shovelling out the car this morning, we went to Mer Bleue to hike around the bog trail. I love bogs; there's something magical about being out among those old, shrivelled, scrubby trees. Even if the bog itself is entirely hidden...

Winter walk

A white-washed day making a world of whites and greys

Snowflakes on lashes

Snowshoes not actually required on the well-trodden path

So good to be out in the trees again

Must do better to get all the hair in the hood next time...

Friendsgiving, local meat, and my 300th post!

Now the green conifers stand out in a sea of gold

And suddenly, it was fall. Full-on. Trees are aflame with vibrant colours, fluttering to the ground, painting trails with rusty gold. It seems that the trees were green just yesterday, with only a tinge of the colours to come, but now they're suddenly scarlet orange.

To celebrate this (sadly) brief, but oh-so-wonderful time of year, we had some good friends over for a potluck feast of epic proportions, but not before a lovely hike in Gatineau Park together to fully soak in the delicious colours and that unmistakable scent of fall — what is that? Is it the fallen leaves? The earth readying itself for its winter slumber? Anyway, it's an incredible smell, that makes you happy and content with each deep breath.

What's more glorious than walking through a sunny forest in Autumn?

Happiness is: hiking

arm in arm, exploring

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early fall forest

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leaves just beginning to turn

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gentle forest streams, babbling softly

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sun-dappled light dancing on moss-covered rocks

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can't decide if it's mitten weather yet or not

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acorns, with and without their hats

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stitch-like marks etched in birch bark

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that point where I decide to tuck my pants into my socks to keep critters out (ridiculous. I know this.)

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so good to be in the forest again

Off again. This time to the West.

Barely two months home, and we were off again. But this time, we weren't gone nearly as long—it was still the same season when we got home!—and we stayed in the same country. What could possibly make us pack up our backpacks to hit the road again? Two very, very good reasons: Mark's best man getting hitched, and Mark's ultimate frisbee team playing at Nationals; both of which very conveniently happened to be in Vancouver, and only a week apart. In between all that good stuff, we had a couple of fun road trips in our stellar Rent-A-Wrecks* exploring beautiful British Columbia, and long overdue visits with friends and family.

Radiating out from Vancouver in spurts, we visited Tofino on Vancouver Island, taking in the magnificent splendour of vast stretches of beach (often enshrouded in impenetrable fog), towering cedars, mossy rainforests, and bogs full of lichen and stunted, gnarled trees. Then on to the mainland where we did a loop to take in Whistler (and happy relive our engagement there, 10 years ago this winter!) and through the mountains and glorious landscapes that changed with every mountain pass and curve in the road, to the arid Okanagan Valley where we tasted our way through the orchards and vineyards while ospreys soared overhead. Then back to Vancouver via Canada's desert (who knew?!) for all the wonderful wedding festivities befitting the most perfect pair, and happy reunions with old high school mates. Good times, I can assure you. There just may have been some jumps to the left and other such dancing-related shenanigans.

*A note about our car rental experience in Vancouver: Apparently August is a very busy and popular time for renting cars, so fleets sell out quickly, and for the remaining cars the rates are extortionate (like $149 per day; this is five times the rate for renting in Ottawa). But fear not! For a more respectable rate of about $40 per day, you can Rent-A-Wreck, which just means the car has a few more km on it than regular rentals, or has some other fun quirks that you will grow to love. For instance, our second rental, a Malibu with almost 200,000 km, was a bit bi-polar and prone to random freak outs (the car alarm would go off if the car was unlocked for too long, very embarrasing), with non-functioning A/C, and had a bit of trouble maintaining speed to get up those steep mountain roads. We lovingly called her Ursula, The Little Car that Couldn't. Well, she did, but barely.

First glimpse of the Pacific through the trees.

I love this quote seen on an interpretive sign in the forest:

There are themes everywhere... tender youthfulness laughing at gnarled oldness. Mosses and ferns, leaves and twigs, light and air, depth and colour chattering, dancing a mad-joy dance... only apparently tied up in stillness and silence. You must be still in order to see and hear.  —Emily Carr

Koyasan: the definition of serenity

And I thought Nara was serene! Koyasan is a peaceful and tranquil mountain-top town of centuries old monasteries and temples, and a pilgrimage site for Buddhists. Mark and I stayed at a monastery – the same one he stayed at when he came to Japan almost three years ago – and like his experience last time, we were the only two guests in the entire place! The long hallways were silent, save for the occasional pitter patter of the resident cat.

It was a traditional ryokan experience, sleeping on futons on tatami mats, and our lovely room looked out over the beautiful garden and coy pond. This unique B&B includes use of the onsen (bath/hot-tub), and a delectable, vegetarian, multi-course dinner and breakfast. Sort of like Japanese tapas. Or edible art. So many new and interesting flavours. And so much! Monks might eat with austerity, but they provide quite the feast for their guests!

We were also invited to join the head monk for his morning prayers. Since the morning prayer wasn’t until 7am, we woke up at 5am and walked along the Okunoin, the two-kilometre path lined with memorials, graves, and monuments, set amongst towering cedars, and leads to Gobyo Mausoleum where the founder of Koyasan, Kobo Daishi Kukai, is buried. It was so lovely walking amongst all this history, hearing the wind through the branches, while the morning sun began to brighten the forest.

Riding the cable car up to the top of Mount Koya.

Mark (Obi Wan) in the yukata robes they provide.

Our dinner and breakfast feasts were so beautifully presented!

Namaste, Nepal!

Thankfully Mark enjoyed his trek so much that he was willing to re-do a portion of it so we could trek together. After a couple of days in Kathmandu, we took to the foothills north of Pokhara, and were off for 5 days of trekking! Starting and ending our loop in Nayapul, we went counter-clockwise through Ghandruk, Tadapani, Ghorephani, and Tikkedhunga.

Mark, fresh off of 23 days of trekking through these mountains, acted as both my guide and porter, lucky me! He carried a big pack with our combined stuff (which he said weighed less than his pack, so really, I was helping), and I carried a small pack with the really important things, like snacks.

But still, barely weighted down, the often ceaseless steps (3,280 in one particular stretch!), steep ascents and abrupt descents were grueling and exhausting. A month of doing yoga 4.5 hours a day did not prepare me well for all this cardio. But of course all the effort was worth it to get beyond roads and honking cars and zipping motos and fully into nature. And after a month in dry, hot, dusty Rishikesh, my lungs were so happy to have fresh, crisp, sweet-forest-smelling mountain air.

Tantalizing glimpses of frozen mountain peaks rose up beyond cloud-filled valleys of green foothills (mountains in their own right!). Tiny villages of quaint and charming stone houses, strung along the terraced hillsides in clusters; blue roofs indicating tourism dollars (a guesthouse or restaurant) contrasting sharply against more traditional slate-stone roofs, or rusted corrugated metal roofs held down with rocks. Deep valleys plunge into depths unseen, but the distant whisper of rushing rivers and plummeting waterfalls echoed up to meet our ears. Pink carpeted trails of spent rhododendron blooms wound through beautiful, ancient forests dripping with moss and colourful prayer flags.

Children play and chase each other, stopping us to demand “sweets?” Naked, pudgy babies getting bathed and massaged in the sun. Locals and other trekkers greet us, namaste, as we pass with a smile. A ding, ding, ding, signaling a lumber-laden mule procession, causes us to pull over (mountain side) to let them pass. Rounding a corner, we are greeted by an enormous, horned, huffing, puffing buffalo, and we watch, mesmerized as it tackles the stone steps with such impossible grace.

Goats bleating and frolicking in fields and along the trail – one pair stood sentinel on a bridge we needed to cross, and when I stepped onto the bridge, one of them bit my knee! Thankfully their teeth aren’t very sharp, and we were able to shoo them along with our hiking poles. They’re lucky they’re so darn cute and endearing, even with their bitey tendencies (you’ve all seen this, right? Or this?).

As Mark mentioned, making friends along the trail is easy – when there’s only so many villages, with only so many guesthouses, chances are you’ll end up in the same place. And if you’re traveling in the same direction, you’ll likely keep running into each other. I even led my first yoga class (!!!) one afternoon to one such friend after she found out I’d just become certified.

It was incredible being on the main “road” that ran between villages – we were on the trail the entire time; no wasting time getting to and from the trailhead each day. Even in the biggest village, we were only ever a few steps from the main route.

Accommodation on the trail is unfathomably cheap. Cheaper than the food. A room with shared bath costs about 200 Nepalese rupees per night—about $2.50—for the both of us. But for these cheap rates, you are expected to have your meals at the hotel restaurant—in fact, if you don’t, you are charged an exorbitant surcharge. Dal Baht cost about 350 rupees, and western dishes would cost a little bit more, maybe up to 500 per dish. On Mark’s trek, in the higher and more remote villages (where supplies and fuel have to be hauled in farther), dal baht could cost up to 520, but the rooms might be even cheaper.

As it was the beginning of monsoon season, it would start raining daily at about 1 or 2 pm, and continue raining off and on for the rest of the day. Sometimes it would clear a little bit at sunset to expose an illuminated snippet of some massive rock face, looming impossibly high in the sky. Without their full majesty and grandeur laid bare against clear skies, they seemed even more frightfully massive.

Because of the rain (and also because we were lucky if we made it to 8:30 pm before falling asleep), we started our days early, and did our 4-6 hours of daily hiking before lunch. In Ghorepani, we woke up even earlier to ascend neighbouring Poon Hill for sunrise. And though the Annapurna range remained hidden, we were treated to a glorious and theatrical reveal of the Dhaulagiri range. Our small feast of delectable yak cheese made it a perfect morning before the punishing descent to Tikkedhunga (partly in the rain). On our final day we met up with the road again, and it was jarring coming back to the world of cars and crowds; Pokhara felt like a bustling metropolis after a few peaceful days on the trail!

Alright, let's do this!

Walking through Nayapul.

Annapurna Circuit + ABC

THE FOLLOWING IS A GUEST POST BY MARK! ENJOY!

While Amberlea was off contorting her body and uniting with the Cosmic Power in Rishikesh, I hit the trails of Nepal. When initially faced with the decision of how to spend a month on my own, I weighed a number of options but am very glad I decided upon trekking. Being active and outdoors with a set purpose was very satisfying and whenever I got lonely, there were always other trekkers to talk with or join for a game of cards.

Of all the treks in Nepal, I decided on the Annapurna Circuit. I read a lot about the trek before reaching this decision. Many professional sources claimed it might be the best trek in the world while some individuals told the tale of how the trek is being deteriorated by road development. My manager at Macadamian had done numerous treks in Nepal and it was his endorsement of the Annapurna Circuit that sealed the deal. And when else would I have a month to take on such a challenge? The shorter treks could wait.

Rishikesh: beyond the ashram

Rishikesh from Ram Jhula

India unearths your limits and pushes you to them, and sometimes a little bit beyond. It’s challenging, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. But there is beauty and magic, too, that’s difficult to put into words. So much colour. So many sounds. So many smells. So much of everything.

Though my days were long at the ashram, we had Sundays off and a couple of breaks in the day, and after meals (when it wasn’t too scorchingly hot), I would walk down to the river and through the bazaar, past the chai, vegetable, and jewellery sellers, among the babas, sadhus, yogis, and others at various stages on their path to enlightenment. Oh, and of course cows – that sort of goes without saying, since they’re nearly synonymous with India – high on their own sacredness, leaving fecal landmines willy nilly for us lowly spiritual aspirants to dodge.

Rishikesh is spread out along both sides of the Ganges, which, since it’s closer to the source, is much clearer, having not yet accumulated as much pollution as it will have by the time it reaches Varanasi. Also, it’s cold. Blissfully, frigidly so. And since the daily high was in the mid-forties – and there’s no AC anywhere, just fans to push the hot, dry air around – a dip in the Ganges is going to happen, fecal contaminants or not. The river rushes past the ghats at such speeds that holding on to a chain is necessary, while the sand from upstream gets swirled into your pockets and crevices (yes, women must go in fully clothed, this isn’t Koh Phangan). This isn’t a leisurely river swim by any stretch. It’s a desperate attempt to lower one’s core temperature to survive the inescapable heat for the following few hours.

The neighbourhood I lived in is called Swarg Ashram, near Ram Jhula, and it’s about a half hour walk from better known Laxman Jhula, which is full of restaurants, stores, and more ashrams. It’s a colourful, vibrant area to walk around, and go for a contraband dinner after days and days and days of dal and curries (though delicious, sometimes you just want pizza – though don’t expect to break all the rules and eat meat or have a beer – Rishikesh is a dry, vegetarian town).

A few other highlights include a visit to The Beatles’ Ashram (I didn’t have my camera with me when I went, which is probably best for everyone, since I’d still be there photographing all the incredible architecture and graffiti and decay), rafting, visiting Hindu and Sikh temples, hiking to waterfalls, chanting in caves, and meditating under trees.

The Cameron Highlands

After a few short days in the capital, we headed north, past miles and miles of palm oil plantations, some lovely untouched misty rainforest, and into the strawberry fields and tea plantations the Cameron Highlands are known for. The air here is fresh and cool, and there’s more masala dosai than I can handle. I didn’t expect to find such incredible Indian food in Malaysia, but when the British started the tea plantations in the 20’s, they brought workers over from India, and happily, they brought their amazing cuisine with them.

We made our base in Tanah Rata and spent our days reading and relaxing, hiking through mossy forests, and exploring the nearby insect museum and tea plantation. The fields of bright green, evenly trimmed tea bushes are quite picturesque rolling through the valleys and up the steep slopes. And it was interesting learning about and seeing the process of how you get from tea leaf to steeped cup of delightfulness.

For Earth Hour it was the Cameron Highland’s own version of Tanah-Rata’s-got-Talent in the town square with various songs and dances performed over the hour, including a flash mob dancing to Josh Groban’s song Brave. (Though technically I don’t think it’s a flash mob when they announce it ahead of time by saying “now please make way for the flash mob that is about to assemble. Please, make way for the flash mob.”) But it was cute, and for the second chorus Mark and I got up and tried to follow along. It was fun!

One day, Mark went on a hike to some neighbouring peaks while I chose to relax with my new read. Not far onto his trail, he came across a dog that had gotten caught in a length of wire. One end was wrapped around a tree, and the other around its hind leg. It’s hard to say if this was an intentional trap of some sort; it’s an odd place to lay a trap, but a similarly odd place to leave a chunk of wire. In any case, the tangled dog was angry, scared, and undoubtedly in pain (though there didn’t seem to be blood), and was barking and growling. Thankfully, a woman who lives at the trailhead, Mrs. Tan, came by for her daily walk, and she said she would go back and get some wire cutters (the snipers in Mark’s leatherman not being up to the gauge of wire). Using Mrs. Tan’s snips (which also were not ideal for the job), Mark sawed through the wire as close as he could get to the dog without being bitten, unfortunately leaving a short trail of wire from the leg, but setting the dog free. Mark offered him some of his muffin, but he wasn’t interested, and hunkered down near the base of the tree. There was really nothing else that could be done, so Mark continued on his hike. When he returned from his hike, we went back together to see if the dog was still there (stopping en route to buy him a hotdog on a stick, because what dog doesn’t like hotdogs, and it’s the closest thing to dog food we could find), and we did find him, in the same spot, nestled farther into the hole by the base of the tree. He growled in defense, and didn’t seem interested in the hotdog, so we left it with him. Poor little guy. It was so heartbreaking to leave him there, but I really don’t know what else could be done, given the high number of street dogs and the lack of animal welfare facilities. I’m just glad Mark and Mrs. Tan were there at the same time and were able to set him free.

We also saw a mother cat and two kittens who’d made a home in one of the big, rambling trees in the town’s park. We brought them a hotdog later too.