Foundations

Vancouver, Canada
Sechelt
Powell River
​Qualicum Beach
Powell River
Port Hardy
Prince Rupert
​Terrace

August 3, 2022
​August 4-5
August 6
August 7-9
August 10
August 11
August 12
​August 13-20

Backdrop

Time flies by at a blistering pace. 

Since moving to New Zealand, several years had elapsed. Now seemed as good a time as any to rekindle my acquaintance with my country of birth, Canada. I had not seen anyone in my immediate family for close to 3 years, and during that time several new family members had surfaced, none of whom I had met. It had also been nearly 7 years since I had ventured to my hometown of Terrace, a modest community in north-west British Columbia, and there existed a deep aspiration to reconnect with some of the people and places there.

Memories are not faithful impressions of the reality they are based upon - more accurately, they are constructed simulations of the past, and become less reliable with time. For this reason, I needed to revisit the foundations of these memories, to revive the truthful reality of the numerous people and places that existed in my head. By doing so, I hoped to update the old memories...and make some new ones. One must periodically revisit and tend to one's roots if future branches are to grow and flourish.

So then, back to the beginning...this is Origin.

Family Gatherings

Like a prelude to a dream, the flight gently glided onto the tarmac of Vancouver Internatonal Airport. As usual, I waited for the other passengers to disembark before doing so myself. There was no particular rush. I always take a single, small carry-on backpack wherever I go, no matter the length of the trip, so there was no luggage to collect. There would also be nobody to greet me, for few knew of my coming. Given that I was fasted for 48 hours, I had no jet-lag - I find the multiday fasts completely mitigate jet-lag no matter the destination, so long as the meal to break the fast is timed appropriately. 

The August summer heat enveloped me as I exited the terminal and hailed a taxi to the nearest decent cafe. After downing two cups of coffee, I proceeded by foot for 2 hours, plodding through a series of ordinary neighbourhoods, salvaging my perceptions of Canada once again. Everything was familiar, yet strange. Weaving my way towards the closest Japanese restaurant, I downed four plates of salmon sashimi to break my fast and retired to a nearby hotel for the night.

I woke up refreshed and walked another 2 hours to pick up my motorcycle, a black and white Suzuki SV 650 quixotically adorned with cerulean overtones, which I christened Cloud. Dodging the hustling vehicles of downtown afternoon traffic, I drifted through Stanley Park, across Lion's Gate Bridge, and all the way to Horseshoe Bay, where I consigned a ferry to Langdale. Motorcycles and ferries are a wonderful combination for the brain - the former fosters a zen-like state of attention to the realities of the world, the latter foments a sense of utopian emptiness as that world floats past one's window.

My destination was a cabin somewhere north of the town of Sechelt, which belonged to my brother Pat and his wife Janice. Pat works in industrial real estate, and he excels at it, but the cabin liberates him from the city and its distractions. After passing through Sechelt, the road turned to gravel, whereupon it gradually receded until there was little left but two patches of tire tracks imprinted on the forest floor. Several twists and turns later, I pulled up to their seaside haven.

Perched beside the ocean, the cabin is surrounded by several beautiful channels which comprise a watery roadway to all sorts of intriguing places. I was greeted by my nephew Cameron and my niece Josie, who immediately forced me into a game of catch. However, I was only allowed to play the role of pitcher, and by no means permitted to swing the bat; only people aged 7 years or under were permitted that role. Observing their techniques, I noted that Cameron was judicious and methodical, as opposed to Josie, who was spunky and chaotic. That could change in time.

Pat and Janice cooked an exceptional steak dinner, and I wanted for nothing. Pat has always been extremely generous; it's just in his nature. I was shepherded into a harrowing card game with Josie, which called upon the ability to rapidly memorize face-down card positions and pairs. She was good at it and we ended up drawing, two games apiece. I was pleased my hippocampus could keep up to hers - just. I was further honoured when Cameron allowed me to sleep in his bunkbed that night. He got the higher bunk though.

Pat took everyone out on his boat the next day, with the highlight for me being pulled behind the boat on an innter tube alongside Josie, who whooped and yelled as she continued to insist that Pat pick up the pace until we were bouncing along the surface like a couple of water kangaroos in a wild and jubilant ride. Later that evening we caught up with my next brother, Tim, who dashed down on his own boat to join us at the outpost of Egmont for a meal. Apparently there was a problem with his boat. Tim didn't seem overly bothered by it.

The following day, I rode north and hopped on another ferry to Tim's place just outside Powell River. Like Pat, Tim also lives along the coast in a property he has named "Wizard Creek." Tim is a composer and works full-time at home in a custom-made recording studio, where he creates original soundtracks for a variety of television shows and movies. So really, he is a sort of wizard in his kingdom, I guess. I arrived late, but Tim had waited up, and we talked late into the night, two brothers swapping perspectives on the possibilities offered by life underneath the starry havens.

Tim's own wife and daughter were away for a few days visiting family in Texas, so in the morning I continued onwards to board yet another ferry, which took me to Vancouver Island. I rode south to Qualicum Beach, where my parents lived. I planned to surprise them, having not told them I was in-country. It was gratifying to see their bewildered looks in their faces when I pulled up at the door, and we enjoyed a simple meal that evening on the balcony. Dad is a retired physician with a strong interest in metabolism, and we discussed several biochemical pathways and concepts relevant to metabolic strategies after dinner. Mum is a former nurse, and although we don't discuss the nitty-gritty of metabolism, she supports my work in metabolic strategies just as much. They are first-rate parents and provided a crucial balance while I was growing up - if I achieved 99% on a test, dad would ask what happened to the last 1%, whereas even if I did poorly on a test, mum would take me to McDonald's as a reward (although now, I might ask for a different kind of reward).

The next day we visited the home of my final brother, Simon, where he resides with his wife Roanna and his daughter, Averie. Simon was an actor for about 20 years but recently switched careers to commercial real estate, which he appeared to be doing well at. I had never met Averie, who is both endearing and audacious. Roanna's sister Julia and her family were there, and an old friend from Terrace, Nik Redpath, swung by with his girl Shelley. Simon and Roanna whipped up a magnificent dinner of salmon, steak, and vegetables.

As an encore, we went out on a day-trip on dad's boat, Coast Explorer II, to a diminutive town called Maple Bay. I took the opportunity to play several games of crib with Simon, which reminded me of old times, while he filled me in on what he had been up to over the last couple of years. It was a plain and honest discourse. We lunched at a pub in Maple Bay, which was somewhat south of mediocre, but I compensated later that evening by creating my standard keto salmon salad for my parents, which went over well (it's easy - add 500 g sliced salmon, 2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil, 1/3 cup balsamic vinegar, 1 sliced cucumber, 8 cherry tomatoes, 2/3 cup almonds, 150 g sliced feta cheese, salt and pepper, and basil to a large bowl, mix together, and serve).

Such moments pass by rapidly, like sand in an hour-glass, and I soon found myself riding Cloud back to Powell River to revisit Tim at Wizard Creek, as well as his wife Ren and daughter Freya. It was my first time meeting the thoughtful and inquisitive Freya. We meandered through her magic forest (that is, the trees around Tim's house) and stumbled upon many wonders. Freya had developed a variety of linguistic expressions, my favourite one being "my man," which is entertaining from a 2-year old.

I stayed the night at Tim and Ren's, then once again donned Cloud to head north. It is a delight to frequent one's immediate family members on an individual basis, to see them in their own home environment. Perhaps one reason I enjoy it so much is that my sole possession of any monetary value is my motorcycle, which is destined for the road, such that I don't really identify with a home environment of my own, except the road.

First of many ferries.

Cloud on the road to Pat and Janice's cabin.

Beautiful channels surround the cabin.

Captain Cameron showing off his impressive boating skills.

Josie and I trying to look mean (I am trying, she is succeeding).

Tim thunders in to Egmont on his boat.

In Egmont, with brothers Pat and Tim.

In Nanaimo, with brother Simon.

Dad and his boat, Coast Explorer II.

Mum, Julia, and Averie on the boat.

My parents, partaking in keto salmon salad.

Hanging with Freya, Princess of the Wood.

The Voyage North

Rocketing out of Qualicum Beach, the tranquil coastal havens kept me constant company until Comox. For old time's sake, I sat down in a White Spot restaurant and ordered two burgers with lettuce buns - not keto, barely even low-carb, but I was there for other reasons. I meditated on the lyrics to "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley as it played in the restaurant, which I used to listen to a lot in Australia, and which was a recurring song at our 20-year high school reunion back in 2012. This summer would be our 30-year reunion, although nobody had planned a formal get-together this time around.

I flew up to Port Hardy, a town on the northern tip of Vancouver Island, where I planned to catch the ferry up to Prince Rupert the following sunrise. The road to Port Hardy was resplendent and peppered with a variety of mountains silhouetted by shadows of secluded sunlight and embellished with ivory clouds. The traffic gradually lightened as I approached Port Hardy, until there was practically none. Temperatures cooled, and by the time I had arrived, my fingers were thoroughly chilled.

I boarded Northern Expedition early the next morning, before the sun could rise above the morning twilight. Like a huge sea monster, the ship awaited its passengers and vehicles in the dark, ready to devour its willing prey. I was joined by a larger group of a dozen or so riders, each of whom had custom-built motorcycles, and we boarded as one. They were rowdy guys, but nice guys, as riders usually are.

Nearly 7 years had elapsed since I had experienced the ferry between Hardy and Rupert, which was one of my very favourite things to do when I was a kid. I loved the sense of being aboard a massive ship and the knowledge that I was going somewhere, and all I had to do was watch the coastal scenery sail by to the calming rumble of the engines. Beyond sight and hearing, I particularly treasured the awakening of my sense of touch - the palpable reverberations of the massive turbines in the walls of the ship, and the placid sway of the hull to the oceanic swell.

As Northern Expedition dawdled up the coast, my mind briefly retreated into the mists of time and memory. I could have stayed there, but rather than linger on the past, I worked for several hours before wandering over to the pursor's office to see if any more cabins were available, and luck was with me, for one was unoccupied. Elated, I paid the extra fee and entered the cabin, lay down on the bed, closed my eyes, and slumbered to vague recollections of times long since past.

Northern Expedition danced under a setting sun as it completed the final stretch of the voyage, Grenville Channel, and we arrived in Prince Rupert just before midnight. I returned to the vehicle deck to prepare Cloud and spoke with a couple of other riders from the motorcycle gang. We bade each other farewell, and wished each other a good ride. A momentous roar ensued as a dozen motorcycle engines came to life in the belly of the ship, echoing thunder throughout the vehicle deck. 

I rode into the darkness of Prince Rupert to my abode for the night, the sumptuous Crest Hotel, and slept. Rising early, I went to work in the dining area alongside one of the large windows overlooking the ocean. I was just getting into my third or fourth coffee when someone intrusively stood right beside my table, hovering. Just as I looked up, I heard a familiar voice:

"Just be Matthew Phillips," it said.

Standing there with grin on his face was my friend Roland, one of my best friends from high school. He and his wife Gynette had taken in a concert in Rupert the prior evening and, as serendipity would have it, had stayed at the same hotel. Roland and Gynette had kindly invited me to stay with them in Terrace, so I would have seen them later that day anyhow, but I am a patron of chance encounters - there's something endearing about letting fate have a hand in any journey. It's important to have a general plan aimed at an overarching goal, but it's just as important to embrace a degree of uncertainty in the path that gets you there.

After my unexpected meeting with Roland and Gynette, I stayed by the window, working, with an occasional glance towards distant shores, before braving the Prince Rupert drizzle for the short ride to Terrace, my hometown.

Coastal havens.

Road to Port Hardy.

Northern Expedition awaits in the morning twilight.

Group of riders, all bikes custom-made.

Sunset in Grenville Channel.

A gentle wake trails behind.

Ride from Prince Rupert to Terrace.

Terrace Vistas

The spattering rain eased as I strayed into Terrace. I went straight downtown to "pull a mainer" as we used to say (that means to ride down the main street, Lakelse Avenue). There were some familiar buildings, but many outlets I did not recognize. It was disappointing to see no less than three cannabis stores, none of which were present at my last visit, 7 years ago. I've got nothing against cannabis, and have the occasional patient who uses it to good effect, but its short-term benefits must be weighed against its longer-term effects...there is a dark side.

After revisiting town, I launched over to 3639 Krumm Road to peer at the house I grew up in. Aside from a few modifications it was essentially the same, although there were fewer trees ringing the house now. I particularly felt the absence of the two giant poplars that once adorned each side of the driveway. I moved on as a vigilant guard-dog started to bark at the foreigner perched on the edge of his domain. I took the long way over to Roland and Gynette's home, pausing at each and every grade school I had ever attended - Thornhill, Veritas, Skeena, and Caledonia, each of which exuded a furtive sense of plainness, not quite fitting into the special places that existed in my neocortex. Perhaps my nostalgia was based more on memory than the reality of the now.
​
I darted over to my friend's house, where Gynette had cooked up a feast. Roland is a carpenter by trade and maintains the local college, Coast Mountain College. Gynette adapted beautifully to our opposite eating preferences - Roland eats a lot of fruits and vegetables, but virtually no meats, whereas I eat a ton of meats and fats, but virtually no fruits. We were joined by their 11-year old son, mighty Connor, who is energetic, polite, and a solid gamer. 

Years had gone by since I had acquainted myself with a specific tripartite of peaks encompassing Terrace - Thornhill Mountain, Gunsight Mountain, and Sleeping Beauty Mountain. I had been up all three before, but in a previous life. Collectively, I perceived this trio as one of my most valuable teachers in life, and I wished to return to each of them, to discover if there were still more lessons to be earned.
​
I started with the easiest hike, Thornhill Mountain, which I had not surmounted in 10 years. I was pleased when Roland decided to join me, for he had never climbed it before. The layout consists of a couple of kilometers of gravel road followed by the trail, which criss-crosses its way up the mountain to culminate in a scenic walk through a succession of alpine meadows and lakes. 

Roland and I parked the truck in a small dirt parking lot beside the highway and began the hike. The weather was cool and mostly overcast, perfect for hiking in some ways. We adopted a leisurely pace, stopping frequently to enjoy the peaceful serenity and deafening quietude of the nature around us. We saw no vehicles on the road leading to the trail, and as we worked our way up the latter, views of the Terrace area were revealed in a gradual manner, including poignant views of Lakelse Lake. We passed only two other groups of hikers, a man and his dog and another group of four. Plenty of blueberries littered the sides of the trail, which I sampled; they would not have broken ketosis given the exertion of the trek. Upon reaching the top, Roland exultantly claimed the summit, which is crowned by a small cabin containing a book for hikers to leave a comment. We wrote: "Matt and Roland took the mountain by storm." 

It was good to scale Thornhill Mountain alongside a stalwart friend. Being his first ascendance, Roland felt some pain, but pushed through it anyhow and just kept going. That's one of the things I respect about him - he doesn't talk himself up, but when there is something to be done, he steps up and does it. I felt a deep satisfaction at reaching the top alongside him, adding another paragraph to the saga of a friendship spanning nearly 40 years, which will hopefully extend another 40 years, or more.

A single day of rest was all I needed before embarking on the second peak, Gunsight Mountain, which I also had not been up in 10 years. The layout consists of roughly 4 kilometers of easy trail followed by a steep climb to Gunsight Lake, after which the path disappears and there is a scramble up a series of loose rocks and snow fields to the peak. I recalled the last third of the hike, from the lake to the peak, as the most challenging section.

I parked Cloud in a pint-sized gravel parking lot at the bottom of the trail, beside a couple of empty camper vans. It was 1 pm and cloudy, although the sun pushed through the veil of mist once in a while. I adopted a stronger pace for this trek, but still did not hasten, for this hike was not about saving time, but maximizing the experience. Initially, the trail was accompanied by a bubbling brook tenanted by many curious frogs, which ended at a wooden bridge. A steady climb then took me through an ever-thickening forest and rolling meadows before culminating at Gunsight Lake, 2.5 hours from the parking lot. Despite the crystalline beauty of the lake, the flies were vexing, so I paused only briefly before moving to the more demanding part of the climb.

Past the lake, the path vanished. I crossed over a rugged alpine meadow and began my journey to the top, navigating through several lofty and semi-technical sections of rocks and snow, which became the standard terrain over the next 1.5 hours. Persistence triumphed and I touched down on Gunsight Peak, which itself is unremarkable, consisting solely of a modest cairn lying atop bare rock. I had seen no other hikers during the climb. I hibernated for 20 minutes, wrapped within a capricious mistral, comforted by solitude. On awakening, an opaque mist had developed, such that I could barely see past 50 meters or so. Rather than wait for it to clear, I departed the summit.

After 30 minutes of steep descent towards what I thought was the correct direction, the mist finally relented, and I could see the entire valley before me...except, no lake. Interesting. I stopped and forced my thalamus to pay more attention to my surroundings. Everything looked more or less the same - lots of rocks, snow, meadows, and a few groves of trees, but the absence of the lake clearly indicated I was angling down into the wrong valley. Now that is a big miss, but it's easy to get disoriented when you can't see the way ahead. Briefly, my mind considered that I may be lost - no path, and I did not even know where the right valley was located. Yet just as instantaneously, my brain told me to stop and think, to come up with a deliberate plan before moving on. I decided that the best option was to retrace my steps back to the peak, which I wasn't terribly keen to do given the steepness of the terrain, but I did so anyways, and after 20 minutes of upslope I was able to traverse over to the next valley, whereupon Gunsight Lake once again materialized into my field of vision. The remainder of the descent was unremarkable. Back at the trailhead, the camper vans were now occupied by a handful of young guys having a good time, who were very interested to hear about the ascent to the peak.

Losing my way reminded me of two things. First, to prepare better - I had warm clothing, a lighter, a flashlight, and a few other items that would have let me stay the night atop the mountain, but a compass would have also been handy given the confluence of heavy mist and lack of a trail above the lake. Second, when lost, do not allow emotions to surface, particularly those related to self-blame - better to stop and think, and keep thinking, for all problems have solutions, and problem-solving is a huge component of what the human brain evolved to do. As a wise friend once told me, the rest is just "stuff."

I took a couple of rest days before embarking on the third and most formidable hike, Sleeping Beauty Mountain. Although having gone part-way up 10 years ago with a group of friends, I had not stood atop the peak in 15 years. The layout consists of five sections - a short forest ascent past a lake up to the first ridge, followed by a series of ups and down along a series of undulating ridges, followed by a huge up-and-down saddle, followed by a another series of ups and down along some steeper ridges, and finally, a precipitous climb up the peak itself. Most trekkers go to the summit and back in 2 or 3 days, which is a sane way to do it, but I was keen to do so in a single day. I had been to the top only twice before, once at the age of 22 and again at the age of 32. Both times, I had hit a physical wall of utter exhaustion on the return route as I climbed out of the massive saddle, which had forced me to lie down and regroup with a 1-hour rest. I wanted to see if that wall was still there. I was now 47, but had also been fully ketogenic for over half a decade. We would see.

More so than the previous two peaks, three potential issues stood out for me on Sleeping Beauty. First, given that most of the hike is along a ridgeline lacking in any significant tree cover, heat exhaustion and dehydration can occur in hot weather - I had water, sunscreen, and a nifty hat. Second, as always, the chance of injury - proper footwear and awareness to each and every step were my best tools there. Third, the remote possibility of a bear attack - indeed, I had run into a black bear and her cub once on this trail before - so I brought bear mace and a large hunting knife, but above all I was sure to holler at 5-minute intervals throughout the hike to warn any local bears of my presence.

Cloud may have had difficulty getting to the trail head given the sketchy condition of the gravel road, so Roland generously loaned me his 4-wheel drive vehicle. He also joined me for the trip to the trailhead on his motorcycle dirt bike before being forced to turn back by a particularly craggy section of road. I ventured on and started the hike at 9:30 am. The sun was bright and calescent, and the initial lines of Edgar Allan Poe's poem Eldorado came to me as I delved into the somber forest: "Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, in sunshine and in shadow..." I adopted a reasonable pace, though not a strong one, pausing several times to eat a few blueberries as I gently ascended a series of switchbacks before arriving at a serene lake 45 minutes later. After a moment's halt, I continued my procession upwards, trusing to the path is it took me though alpine meadows to arrive at the first ridge another 45 minutes later, where I had my first glimpse of the peak.

The first ridge reveals a majestic view of the summit of Sleeping Beauty Mountain. The top looks enticingly close, but it is further than it looks and I knew that 75% of the ascent still remained. So I pressed on, keeping to the ridgeline as I made my way along a series of inevitable ups and downs. The trail disappeared at times, but given the visibility it was easy to see where to go. I dipped down into the giant saddle, which contains another tiny lake in its basin, and felt good as I clambered out of it to face the next series of ridgelines. I felt adventurous at one point and left the path to traverse along the side of one of the ridges - not a great idea, in retrospect. The steep angle of the mountainside made for a fairly technical section of trekking.

Finally, I arrived at the base of the peak, which was reasonably steep and covered in numerous hulking sections of unstable rocks and snow fields. I peered upwards and saw that, despite my efforts to date, I still had work to do. After considering the optimal approach, I decided the snow fields would be easier to surmount than the rocks, some of which were easily dislodged with only a minute amount of pressure. However, I had to be wary of losing my footing on the snow fields - given the possibility of being dashed against the adjoining rocks at a high velocity, the slide downwards might be unpleasant. Route planned, I proceeded upwards, yet rather than think about the overall goal, I focused on the next step - one step at a time - taking frequent short rests. Such a method resulted in the peak emerging sooner than expected and, 15 years later, I stood atop Sleeping Beauty once more, just after 3:30 pm, total ascent time 6 hours. I admired the breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains and once again fell asleep in the wind, resting for close to 30 minutes in one of my favourite places on earth, blanketed by solace.

Refreshed, I began my descent. The drop down the peak was a little bit dicey and I carefully monitored each step. Once I had returned to the bottom, I stared back up at the summit and recalled a quote by Eiji Yoshikawa:

​"The summit is believed to be the object of the climb. But its true object - the joy of living - is not in the peak itself, but in the adversities encountered on the way up."

Carrying on, I retraced my steps earlier in the day until I had finally arrived at the enormous saddle, where the wall potentially awaited. I plunged downwards, passed the small lake in its basin, and commenced the climb up and out of the saddle. I felt alright, yet history had taught me to respect the ascent which had compelled me to stop and rest twice before. Working my way skyward, I awaited the wall, but it never came, such that I soared through the true crux of the trek with no particular difficulty. It was satisfactory to know that I felt better compared to when I was in my 20s or 30s, when I was still reasonably fit, but primarily fuelled by glucose. Chalk one up for the ketogenic state, perhaps. Soon after, I encountered the only other group of hikers I saw that day - a father, his two sons, and their border collie. They planned to stay 1 or 2 nights. An eerie evening twilight wished me well as the journey returned me to the lake from much earlier in the day - first in sunshine, now in shadow. 

Exactly 15 years had passed since I had visited the peak of Sleeping Beauty Mountain, and yet it only took 6 hours to get up, 30 minutes to enjoy the pinnacle, and 5 hours to go back down, a grand total of 11.5 hours. Innumerable peaks occupy the horizon as one floats along the ridges, and during my previous journey up the mountain, I recall comparing these different peaks with so many different possibilities in life, and pondering them all to a great extent at the time. This time I realized that only one peak truly matters - one's life purpose. Reaching that singular goal is difficult enough on its own without devoting significant resources to the potentially innumerable "what-ifs" associated with all the other unexplored peaks. Far better to focus on the one - although I must admit, it is nice to pause and admire the view from time to time.

Terrace's Old Bridge.

3639 Krumm Road.

Roland takes a breather on Thornhill Mountain.

Lots of greenery on the trail.

Nice view of Lakelse Lake.

A break in the clouds reveals Terrace.

Roland claims the summit of Thornhill Mountain.

Bubbling brook at the bottom of Gunsight Mountain.

Steady climb to Gunsight Lake.

Despite the mists and flies, it's a lovely lake.

Climbing up to the peak, looking back at the lake.

The peak of Gunsight Mountain, somewhat unremarkable.

Nice view near the start of Sleeping Beauty Mountain.

First ridge - the peak is further than it looks.

Trail up a ridge.

Many peaks and possibilities.

This is the only peak that matters...I'm ready.

A steep and snowy ascent.

Summit claimed, and worth the effort.

View of Terrace.

Farewell to Sleeping Beauty Mountain.

Evening twilight at the lake.

Many Meetings

During my rest days, when I was not revisiting places from the past by traipsing up and down the mountains, there was time to revisit people from the past. 

Roland and I took advantage of the vibrant weather to ride up the Nisga'a Highway to Rosswood, a settlement which boasts a semi-famous general store built by the Geier family nearly 40 years ago. However, the beauty of the day was not found not in this particular destination but in the twists and turns of the highway itself, which is a testament to the Nisga'a, an indigenous people who have resided in the Nass River Valley north of Terrace for at least 5,000 years. The highway continues past Rosswood to the main Nisga'a village of Gitlax̱t'aamiks, formerly called New Aiyansh. Nisga'a society is organized into four clans called Raven, Killer Whale, Wolf, and Eagle. Interestingly, the traditional Nisga'a diet consists mainly of "beach food" - clams, mussels, oysters, scallops, abalone, fish, seaweed, seals, and sea lions, which means the traditional Nisga'a diet is largely fat and protein with only a smattering of carbohydrates. Basically, it is a ketogenic diet, and as such the Nisga'a would have been in a ketogenic state most of the time. It is illogical that most of our health-care practicioners continue to shun our natural metabolic state. We had a delightful ride in the vivid sunshine, with Roland showing me some impressive Nisga'a carvings along the way.

I was also fortunate to visit long-time family friends Geoff and Gayle Appleton, who live alongside Lakelse Lake. Our family has known them for as long as I can recall. Geoff was a general practicioner and Gayle a nurse. Nearly 20 years ago, when I was still a medical student, Geoff kindly allowed me to sit in on his medical practice. The Appletons radiate a welcoming presence blended with a caustic sense of humour and it was a privilege to see them in their element. They made an exquisite dinner based on a variety of fresh vegetables from their own garden.

Although there was no formal high-school reunion, I did manage to see a couple of other high school buddies, Kelly Gingles and Rod McMynn, whom I have known for over 40 years. Kelly operated a comglomerate of rental car companies which he recently sold, and now seems busier than ever volunteering in a number of clubs, boards, and communities. He'll not like me saying so, but given his extroverted personality, community contacts, business acumen, and sense of responsibility, Kelly would make an excellent mayor. Rod works as a power lineman, and I've never forgotten his sage advice from high school, to "100% give 'er" in life no matter what. Rod's younger brother Mike was there too, whom I had not seen in 30 years. Awesome to catch up with them all.

Later, I was again fortunate to visit long-time family friends Harry and Elsa Murphy, who also reside at the lake. Harry was an optometrist and Elsa has worked in several different roles. They have always been hospitable and accepting, and I've never heard either say a truly bad thing about anyone. Elsa cooked up a superb salmon dinner and Harry took me for a ride in his side-by-side off-road vehicle down a short stretch of "road" that few 4-wheel drive vehicles could have negotiated. It was also a treat to see their daughter Cassie, her husband Tyler, and their young family.

Of course, the anchor of my social interactions in Terrace was comprised of the everlasting hospitality provided by Roland and Gynette, whose company I enjoyed immensely. They thought of everything, and I cannot forget Gynette's huge keto-style dinners, which were often waiting for me at the end of the hikes to see my other friends, the mountains. Going above and beyond is what true friendship is all about. 

​There were many others I would have liked to see, but a week goes by fast, and it was time to embrace the future. On the way out, I sped by our old house one last time, honouring it with one final, respectful salute before setting my sights to the north.

The Nisga'a Highway.

Rosswood General Store.

Geoff and Gayle Appleton.

Hanging with Kelly and Rod.

Harry and Elsa Murphy.

Bear Country Inn with Roland, Gynette, and mighty Connor.

Successions

Origin