The road less cycled

Everyday, the freeway between Chilliwack and Abbotsford is packed. There are line-ups at the major intersections bordering the freeway, Whatcom and Vedder Roads. A very steady flow of traffic constantly occupies the Number One. It’s not like further west, in Surrey and around the Port Mann, and in Vancouver. But it’s definitely busy. Not all of this traffic is necessarily stopping in one of the two cities other. Some is passing right on through, but a good deal of it is bound for a destination in Chilliwack or Abbotsford, be it a UFV campus, Seven Oaks or Willowbrook, a financial institution, or a restaurant.

Both cities are part of the Fraser Valley Regional District, a level of government on the same level as Metro Vancouver, or any of the other regional districts in B.C. The FVRD also includes Mission, as well as the smaller districts of Hope, Agassiz, and Yale. Though public transit systems in all of these areas are managed by BC Transit, there is a startling lack of integration within the region.

Obviously, the two major population centres are Chilliwack and Abbotsford. Each operates transit systems that function independently of each other, and the Abbotsford system is joined up with the Mission system, which together are called ValleyMax. The two systems contribute to the operation of a connector bus, the #31, which runs from transit loop to transit loop over Highway 11, the Abbotsford-Mission Highway, and during peak periods offers 15 minute service, and half hour service all day.

Similarly, there is a connector service between Abbotsford and Aldergrove, though it’s not very frequent at all, only running 6 times per day. Even so, it serves around 100 people per day, connecting Abbotsford to Metro Vancouver through Aldergrove for those who rely on transit. The Aldergrove Connector, of course, is only in place because of a petition campaign ran by Aldergrove senior Edith Griese, who was fed up with not being able to visit people in Abbotsford when she chose. She got 7 000 people to back her up, and voila, she had her bus. They should have named it the Edith Griese line while they were at it.

So with those connections in place, it seems patently obvious that a route between Chilliwack and Abbotsford is the glaring shortcoming of the regional system. There are obviously many areas where the systems need improvement, but the number one area is the Chilliwack-Abbotsford connection. There is Greyhound service between the cities, but it`s expensive and infrequent, and requires additional transfers to connect in to the municipal transit systems. A round trip will cost you $13.30 for a refundable ticket, or around $10 for a non-refundable ticket. By comparison, a municipal service should be much cheaper. In Metro Vancouver, a cross-regional route, say the 502 from Aldergrove to Surrey, which I happen to ride regularly, costs the same as a short inner-city route, that cost being $2.50. Regular fare for the ValleyMax and Chilliwack transit systems is $1.75, which is what a connector service should cost as well, though a top-up of $1.00 is charged for the Aldergrove route, to bring the fare up to $2.75. This really shouldn’t be the case; I don’t believe it’s standard practice for transit authorities to charge more for longer routes, as this simply confuses things. System funding should make all routes available at the same cost.

It’s true that the personal automobile is the dominant mode of transportation in the region. I don’t believe that this is because it is better. I think this is because the service level for people to do otherwise simply hasn’t been provided. Transit service faces a long, uphill battle in the FVRD, but the first priority has to be the Chilliwack to Abbotsford service. It’s essential for students commuting between campuses, seniors wanting to travel between the cities, and the general public that doesn’t really want to drive but has no other choice. Now that UFV will have a U-PASS in September ‘09, it is paramount that this service is implemented as soon as possible. The petition is online, at:

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/chilliwackabbotsfordconnection. It has 123 signatures online, and a bunch more in hardcopy, and that’s only a start.

Let’s speak up and make it known that we want authorities to make public transit a higher priority, and provide for immediate funding for this route. And let’s not forget about Rail for the Valley; we need rail AND bus service, and tthat petition is now online too:

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/rail-for-the-valley.

Students for Sustainability and I can’t do it by ourselves. I’ve tagged you in this note because we all need to become advocates. We won’t succeed with one or two people here or there tugging at the politician’s shoulders; we need to be a loud, persistent voice demanding that commitments to public transit are made and lived up to. E-mail enviro@ufv.ca for copies of the petition that you can print out and distribute, and send around the link. We can’t do it without you!

This here’s a site that’s very special to me. It might look like little more than a jumble of weeds and brush, but it’s far more than that. It’s located on the site of my old high school, tucked in behind the elementary school where the creek runs. Downes Creek.

Five years ago this site was decked out in head high blackberry thickets from one fence to the other. Around the time of my grad year, and the year after that, some friends of mine, all students, calling ourselves The Streaming Eagles (after the school mascot), began doing some restoration work on the creek, and we began with this site.

We used hand held clippers, and lots of hot chocolate and muffins, and worked away at clearing the blackberries on many a weekend. Then we were able to use a grant available through the DFO to purchase a whole bunch of native plants and then one fine morning we re-planted the entire site with natives – Pacific Ninebark, Black Twinberry, Baldhip Rose, cedars and hemlock, Bigleaf Maple, Red-Osier Dogwood, and others. This is what the site looks like now. Some of the blackberry has recovered, but the natives are also doing well. This site is well on its way to recovery now; in 10 years or so the native vegetation should have a good strong foothold, requiring very little maintenance.

Today I spent a few hours back in the blackberry patch, clearing out all the blackberries that have begun to establish themselves. Many of the natives we planted are doing ok, but two of the cedars have succumbed.

Red-osier Dogwood canes, gleaming red against the snow.

The creek, small but worthy of restoration.

With some free time on my  hands, I did a short jaunt on the Railway Trail today, which hugs the west side of Stave/Hayward Lake. Sometime soon I’d like to do the full 17km loop, but today I only did a few kilometres, two hours or so, round trip. I need to start earlier in the mornings so I can spend more time though.

Some weeks ago I wrote about the Christmas Bird Count. On that day, I stopped in at Stoney Creek to do some quick birding. I also snapped some photos of the The Elephant Tree – one of the most  unique trees in all the world for its uncanny resemblance to an elephant. See for yourself.

Is it possible that things are really as bad as they seem? Does the word responsibility have any meaning in the context of eternity? Assigning blame is an impossibility liable to result in a frenzied, uncontrollable descent into internal chaos.

Please forgive my blank stare and tight-lipped frown. My mind is torn between fully processing what you have said and its infinite implications and

Buses without schedules are tempting devices, beckoning and quietly whispering what you know to be true: You can leave all that surrounds you behind and it will not matter.

Soul-mind connections are all that matter. They cannot happen without the acceptance of limitations.

The masses are wise in eschewing politics, but in so doing they guarantee the continuation of injustice.

Where are the Tao Te Ching, Ecclesiastes, and the New Testament when you need them? Right, forgone in favor of microprocessors, cosmetics, keys, plastic swipey things, condoms, useless movies, knick-knacks, odds ‘n ends…

The best skill to master is the mental kick in the ass.

Fuck you, auto censor.

What would happen to the world were no one ever to cut a lock of hair? I’d pay barbers and hairdressers to spin me around in an adjustable height chair with a hair smock, comb my hair, and make idle chatter even if scissors never again entered the equation.

The pendulum has swung too far towards randomness and chaos theory.

Pangaea is the future as well as the past.

Words don’t always come, you know. You have to coax them, squeeze them, and hang on like the dickens when they do. Say a word of thanks for every one that does. It didn’t have to, it was only doing you a favor.

Power, prestige, prominence, all are meaningless and it matters not a whit whether you ever grace their territories. Oblivion is much more to be admired and cherished.

99.9% of the world’s knowledge will escape you in this lifetime. Protest all you wish; perhaps you may adjust that number by one-tenth of one percent.

The Done Deal is Coming Undone – We Demand Transit First, Not Freeways

Faced with the twin meltdown of climate and economy, the Premier and the Prime Minister seem intent to drive us over the edge by refusing to rethink the Gateway Project.

The people of this Region don’t want more Truckin’ Freeways or Evil Twin bridges, and now it seems the banks don’t want them either. The twinning of the Port Mann Bridge is now on shaky ground because banks don’t want to invest in the $2.3 billion project — more than double the cost promised by the Highways Minister.

The provincial government, desperate to save face, has extended the deadline for the Port Mann deal until February. NOW is the time for us to deliver a clear message to the provincial and federal governments and to the banking community: Don’t Bankrupt our Communities and our Climate – We Need Transit First! The BC Treasury Board states that transit projects create more jobs than freeway projects by 7 to 1.

Stand up for your community and demand green jobs, not blacktop!

With less than five months to go until the Provincial election, NUMBERS make all the difference. Please join us, bring drums, signs, costumes and banners, and add your voice to the rising chorus.

Come out at noon on Thurs. Jan. 22 and help to bring this dinosaur to its knees

NO GATEWAY BAILOUT!

ACTION TO STOP GATEWAY AND SUPPORT A GREEN ECONOMY

When: Thursday, January 22 @ NOON to 1 pm

Where: 5 Bentall Centre @ 550 Burrard and Dunsmuir- the offices of Australia-based Macquarie Bank, major Gateway financier. Kitty-corner from Burrard SkyTrain Stn.

What: A gathering of activists and concerned citizens from across the region staging a creative protest to tell Gordo, Harper, and potential investors to RETHINK GATEWAY, create GREEN JOBS, and invest in TRANSIT FIRST.

For background see Vancouver Sun, Thurs. Jan 15: Port Mann Bridge financing thrown into question

For more info about the Gateway Project visit www.spec.bc.ca or www.gatewaysucks.org

I believe it was Wednesday, though it may have been Thursday. I woke up some hours before I had to go to work, and tried to turn on my lights, and laptop. Neither showed much of a response, so I figured the breaker had flipped or something. The wiring in our house is kind of assinine, or at least, it’s not designed to accomodate the electrical consumption of people in active residence both upstairs and downstairs. So the breaker flips fairly routinely, usually on Sunday mornings when I’m sleeping in from working late on the Saturday night, and the family is having Sunday breakfast, which means there is an extra toaster on a circuit which is already running several lights and my electric heater.

This day however, the breaker wasn’t the problem. I went upstairs and was immediately struck by how dark everything was. Of course, the power was out throughout the house, which struck me as distinctly odd given that it wasn’t cold enough for anything to freeze on the power lines, and any snow that had been weighing down the lines a couple of days ago had long since melted in the torrential downpour which followed the whiteout. In any case, the power was out and that was that. No problem right? It would probably only be a couple hours at most, and then we could resume life as usual.

Not so fast; we sat around the house a little bit, took out a few candles, the usual for a power outage. My dad hooked up the generator to our pellet stove, so we still had heat, and nobody was particurly hungry, though we joked that now would be the perfect time to whip out some raw food, something we’ve been doing more of lately.

My plan was simply to go to work as usual, and if the power wasn’t back on around dinnertime, I’d take a break from work to bring home some pizza or perhaps some pitas from the Pitapit. Now everybody’s hopes were up; secretly we all like that much better than our usual meals of course, and as a bonus nobody would have to actually cook. Never mind that our meals are always, nearly without exception, hearty and satisfying – the prospect of take-out food, which we might do once a month, is always appealing – appealing enough for some of us to be disappointed if the power did indeed come back on.

So I got ready to go to work; I was parked in front of my dad’s Safari, owing to the fact that our driveway was still only partially navigable, and our usual parking spots were a little inaccessible. He’d have to move his van and that would be that. Well, it wasn’t that easy. The Safari’s got problems with its sparkplugs; moisture build-up  prevents it from starting, and of course, it doesn’t get much moister than it’s been for the past weeks. Sure enough, it wouldn’t start. So until it did, I was good and stuck.

Normally not much of a problem. Hook up a hair dryer to an extension cord, put it under the hood for half an hour or so, and bob’s your uncle. No more moisture. So I went inside to find a hair dryer while my dad hooked up his charging unit to check the charge on his battery. After getting it hooked up, he stared at it for a while, before exclaiming, “Oh! No power!” The charger, hooked up to an extension cord, still wasn’t getting any power of course – the first graphic example of how ingrained electricity at our fingertips is.

We realized that of course the hair dryer wouldn’t work either, but thought we might be able to plug it into the cigarette lighter of my car with my engine running so we wouldn’t drain my battery, if the voltage was low enough for my inverter to handle. So we scoured the house up and down for a hair dryer. No such luck, though my dad had used it mere days ago.

Then SD showed up; she needed an oil filter wrench for Konrad to get his oil filter off. So I accompanied her out to the garage, only to press the button and stare at the door in stupefaction when it didn’t open. “Oh! No power!” I exclaimed. That door, too, needs power to open – it won’t open manually. So no wrench for Konrad. My dad did find a workable substitute in his van.

We still hadn’t found the hair dryer, which just pissed us all off, and made us realize how far up shit creek we’d be in a prolonged power outage, if we couldn’t even find a hair dryer when we needed it. So there I was. There was no way I was getting out of the driveway short of pushing the van down the driveway and onto the road, which wasn’t happening. So I took a seat, and waited for electricity, the invisible god that controls virtually everything we do.

Faced with being rendered completely dysfunctional after losing power for three hours, the ludicrousness of the situation hit us. In these difficult economic times, when we and virtually every person like  us, are completely dependent on a “just-in-time” shipping system to stock the grocery stores, where would we be in the case of a longer power outage? Do we have back-up power? Not really. A generator that’ll last for a few hours is about the extent of it. We don’t even have a woodpile to burn in the fireplace.

As for food, there’s probably a week’s worth of canned food in the pantry, on top of the output from the last shopping trip or delivery from Ladybug Organics. That’s not very much to go by, and yet, probably 90% of people are no better prepared. Is it even possible for an entire city like Vancouver to be prepared in the event of prolonged and widespread power loss? Can we function without refrigerators? How do we cook without electric stoves? The reality is that most of us are woefully unprepared, and would have few alternatives than descending into a chaotic scramble for access to the remaining supplies in grocery stores.

In a day and age when planning for the next vacation is given a far higher priority than preparing for self-sufficiency, isn’t it time we started working together to re-learn the skills of our ancestors, instead of buying video games and home entertainment systems? Isn’t it time we pulled up our bootstraps, lest we get caught with our pants down?

Matthew 6:16 says, “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are fasting. I tell you the truth; they have received their reward in full.” In the Bible, Jesus articulates a similar principle in regard to prayer, and to generosity. When you do these things, fasting, prayer, or giving to the poor, don’t make a big deal out of it. Do it clandestinely, and don’t announce it to the world, is the general message, for so many are so hung up on the impression they make on others, and what others think of them, that it is of highest importance that everyone knows about the good things that they do. In the end, they do these things not for their intrinsic benefits, but for their social benefits.

I have now not eaten anything solid for two days, and very little in the two days before that. For me, this is a real challenge. My dad sure isn’t any help, as he constantly tells me how wonderful his latest meal was, or what he’s going to eat in the next few days! It also doesn’t help to be working in a pizza store, where the aroma of food surrounds me for my entire shift! So far however, I’ve stuck to my maple syrup lemon/lime juice cayenne pepper solution. I haven’t really paid any heed to the admonishment in Matthew to fast clandestinely, it’s pretty much impossible not to talk about it when I haven’t eaten for two days; also, this is a different type of a fast. It’s not really a fast at all; it’s actually a cleanse, done largely for the physical benefit to the body as opposed to the spiritual benefit the fasts alluded to in Matthew are intended for. For some, fasting is a spiritual act meant to temporarily deny the things of the flesh and to build mental resolve. For me those are fringe benefits at best, and I really do this to permit my body a chance to take a rest from constant digestion, and to focus on removing accumulated toxins which are so prevalent in our society. So I will go ahead and tell all the people I jolly well feel like that I’m cleansing, and not think twice about it. As Thoreau writes in Walden “I am resolved that I will not through humility become the devil’s attorney.”

I do not know whether I’ll go the full 10 days, or merely six or seven. I will see how I feel. Thus far, aside from the very sincere knowledge that I will enjoy food more than I ever have 10 days from now, I feel great. I have plenty of energy, and though I’m avoiding intense physical activity, I’ve noticed no undesirable side effects so far. The one concern I have is that this “diet”, if you will, appears to very acidic on the surface, and it’s known that it’s best to strive for an alkaline diet for best health.

As long as I’m on the Master Cleanse, and today is officially my first day, I’ll generally take it easy and be home more than I usually would. Today, I’m blogging from the familiar confines of..wait for it…my bathroom, waiting for the saline flush that is an integral component of the Cleanse to take effect. Earlier, I went for a short walk in The Field – the open expanse bisected by a headwater tributary of Downes Creek that lies behind our house.

It’s still snow covered, but all this rain has rapidly diminished the snowpack, so that now it’s no more than 15-20 cm. It was quiet and desolate, as the dominant sounds were the harsh cries of dozens of crows swooping from tree to tree, stopping to dive-bomb the two red-tailed hawks that were present.

Down by the stream, I discovered that we have resident beaver. We’ve never seen beaver in this stream before, though we have seen muskrat, mink, and otter on occasion. Today however, the tell-tale signs of beaver were very evident – several young trees, cottonwood and birch, were chewed through to a pointy stump at around knee height, and toppled into the stream. Also, several shrubs – red elderberry, Pacific willow, red-osier dogwood – that have been holding the line against invasive blackberry bushes  – had also been chewed through, probably to provide winter food for the beaver. I suspect these beaver may be the offspring of those down in Downes Bowl Park, having moved upstream in search of new habitat.

The property owners have spoken in the past about having to eliminate beaver because they were flooding the field. I hope this isn’t legal, as in a headwater tributary such as this, beavers could do so much good for the ecosystem’s productivity. Prospects don’t look good however; to date, the property owners have more or less had their way with the area, taking out a concrete dam (a move of which I approved, though there will be some erosion as a result), and putting in a new bridge over the creek, as well as clearing large amounts of streamside vegetation.

I’d post some photos, but my battery died as I tried to take some shots. I know that when I move, I’ll miss this place tremendously. It’s an ordinary piece of rural property, but to me it’s special.

I feel extremely compelled to post tonight, so I will. I’ve had a low key couple of days; today I spent a few hours in the Ravine Park Salmon  Hatchery, picking dead coho salmon eggs out of trays, some 2000 all told. We never do manage to pick them quite quickly enough, but do successfully release thousands of coho fry and smolts into Downes, McLennan, Stoney, Willband, and Horn Creeks each year. It’s very rewarding and in an ideal world I’d be more involved. In an ideal world, days would also be around 150 hours long, followed by 5 hours of sleep and some nighttime wandering.

I’ll be doing a detox program starting tomorrow morning; the “Master Cleanse” which I learned about through my friend Jeff. I ought to read the book that it’s based on, but essentially it involves no solid foods for eight days, followed by four days on a severely restricted diet. During those eight days, one ingests only a great deal of water, and a solution of water, lemon/lime juice, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper whenever one feels hungry. This allows the body to take a break from the continual digestion process, and focus on removing toxins. This is the primary function of the lemon juice and cayenne pepper; the maple syrup ensures a sufficient caloric intake to have enough energy to carry on with life as usual. I last did such a cleanse last July, with initially disastrously embarrassing and moderately effective results; dig back to July’s posts if you want the details.

Why am I doing this? While my holidays have not been excessively excessive, they have been excessive and not quite as ascetic as I’d hoped. Asceticism is easier when the pantries are not stuffed with temptations, which is not likely to happen at my house anytime soon.

Today, I also read Thoreau, the book that HH gave me last Christmas and which I’m only getting around to now. I read in the bathtub, and chose Thoreau because I realized I was wasting my time with Barth. Thoreau speaks to me much more strongly than Barth ever has, and though he writes with complexity and adroit use of the English language, he’s not near as long-windedly verbose as Barth, and addresses much less abstract concepts.\

Some Thoreau gems to close off this post. The thing with Thoreau, is you often can’t quote a single soundbite. You need the whole damn paragraph for it to flow and make sense. Oh well.

“What I have heard of Brahmins sitting exposed to four fires and looking in the face of the sun; or hanging suspended, with their heads downward, over flames; or looking at the heaves over their shoulders, until it becomes impossible for them to resume their natural position, while from the twist of the neck nothing but liquids can pass into the stomach, or dwelling, chained for life, at the foot of a tree; or measuring with their bodies, like caterpillars, the breadth of vast empires; or standing on one leg on the tops of pillars – even these forms of conscious penance are hardly more incredulous and astonishing than the scenes which I daily witness. The twelve labours of Hercules were trifling with those which my neighbours have undertaken, for they were only twelve and  had an end; but I could never see  that these men slew or captured any monster, or finished any labour.”

“Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superflously coarse labours of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them.”

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

“A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed under even what are called the games and amusements of mankind.”

“What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out to be falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilising rain on their fields.”

“Practically, the old have no very important advice to give the  young, their own experience has been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable failures, for private reasons, as they must believe; and it may be that they have some faith left which belies that experience, and they are only less young than they were.”

“I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors.”

“One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with’; and so he religously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the day whiles he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite of every obstacle.”

“The greater part of what my neighbours call good, I call bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behaviour. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?”

Off all these quotes, it is the last that my current inner being identifies most strongly with.

I’m a poor excuse for a birder the last couple of years, and I can notice it when I do manage to get out in the field. My audio identification skills are rusty; I hear bird calls, and know that I should be able to identify the species, but it doesn’t come to me like it would have four or five years ago when I birded more frequently. Having been a birder since the age of 7 however, it’s something that’s ingrained in me, and not easily lost.

Yesterday I did make it out to participate in the annual Christmas Bird Count, an event I’ve participated in for the last few years. As usual, I covered Downes Bowl and then joined up with some other birders to cover Willband Creek. Time issues limited me to only two hours or so in Downes, which produced around 21 species in total; this is a fairly typical total for me in Downes, and better than I’d expected with the deep snow everywhere. I believe it beats last year when I only had around fifteen.

Highlights included finding all five species of woodpeckers: Red Breasted Sapsucker, Hairy Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Northern Flicker (Red-shafted), and Pileated Woodpecker. Two large cedar trees sported a great find – three Flickers and my Pileated, all congregated in the same location. Finding a Pileated is always a thrill; they are such magnificent birds. This one was rather comical, as he made every effort to stay on the opposite side of the tree from me, so I would circle around, and the bird would look up in alarm and quickly rotate around the tree to disappear from sight once again.

In the marsh by the boardwalk were two Great Blue Herons, looking stiff and sluggish, as well as two Hooded Merganser, a few Mallard, and a Gadwall, not to mention a wooden looking beaver that I only noticed when I scanned the entire marsh with my binoculars.

I always hope for some owls in Downes, but rarely have any luck on count day. Today was no exception, but I did spot a Barred Owl very early the next morning while driving on Sunnyside Avenue. I stopped the car, got out and walked around right underneath the powerline it was perched, and it didn’t even fly, doing little more than swivelling its head around as I walked circles under it. Finding owls is always magical; it’s not uncommon for me to catch sight of a wraith-like barn owl swooping over the road late in the evening when I’m out driving around, for work or pleasure. Owls have such a strong presence, an aura, that surrounds them.

Later I stopped in at Stoney Creek, where I spotted a Ruby Crowned Kinglet and a Cooper’s Hawk, as well as two feeder birds, Pine Siskin and White Crowned Sparrow that would likely have been missed if not for the bird feeder. Then I joined David, Ted “The Goshhawk”, and Vincent at Willband, just west of Stoney Creek, where they were just finishing their tour of Willband. Willband was very dead, as the deep reservoirs of water that normally harbour thousands of waterfowl was iced and snowed over, and there was hardly a waterbird in sight. Highlights here were  a Rough-legged Hawk, a very similar species to the common Red-tailed Hawk, but lacking the red tail and appearing darker overall. This bird tends to move north during the winter months, and isn’t around these parts at all at other times of the year, unlike the red-tail. The Rough-legged was a life bird for me. Also here was a Northern Harrier, skimming low over the fields, just as we were entering our vehicles to head off.

All in all, a good count and an even better excuse to spend a day tramping around the countryside. My aspirations, after all, don’t amount to very much more.