Through to 2010

My Christmas in Hay River was actually more eventful than I figured it would be. Being new to town, I had not expected to do much, if anything at all. However, Curt invited me over to his place for some drinks, music, and another armload of introductions on December 24. I kept mainly to myself, injecting some comments into conversations here and there, explaining many times over who I was and what I was doing here. Most of them thought I was crazy to move to Hay River one minute, welcoming me warmly the next, and filling my head with potential plans for excitement well into the night.

After knocking off half my quart of Crown Royal, I bid farewell just after midnight and walked back to the hotel to get Carter out for a quick bathroom break, planning to retire shortly after. I retrieved him from the room, and leash on, we took a mild stroll around the block. Once we got back to the room, I peeled off my gay apparel and slipped into something more comfortable, poured a stiff drink, and watched 20 minutes of TV. The king size bed looked much more inviting than the couch, so I hit the off button on all things electronic and living.

Christmas Day was spent mostly in lounge mode. I had no hint of a hangover, so it was out of choice that I took to the couch and bored myself to death with horrible marathons on each TV station, periods of playing guitar, and quite a few calls to and from back home. It was nice to hear all the voices in the background at dinners, but it did make me feel a little down. The distance was all too apparent that day, and instead of taking to the trails for my planned hike, I stuck to the river and tossed the stick around for Carter. (I say “the” stick because he swiftly locates the same one, day after day, sorting through the 20 or so that litter the freeze... the world’s first dog with OCD) I was not much in the mood to explore, and thought perhaps putting my planned hike off until Boxing Day would be a better idea.

Waking up refreshed on December 26, I had a much lighter perspective on things. My mood was more upbeat, my energy was back, and I had none of those emotional pains related to missing, wanting, or needing anyone. Around 10am, I hitched up Carter and headed to the River, turned up some RUSH in my headphones, and he fetched the stick for a good 45 minutes. We were both sufficiently cold, and he was showing signs of being tired out, so we headed back to the room. He would laze away the afternoon, and I would prepare for a hike by warming up, making some sandwiches, and packing a few items to take with me.

Now of course, I would forget the one thing I truly wanted to bring: my camera. I curse myself still for failing to include that in my pack, though there will be other days and other hikes. What killed me was that this particular tramp through the surrounding area had gripped me. I had felt a great sense of happiness and an awe at the nature I was seeing for the first time, and outside a few words to describe it, I would not have that day captured for posterity. Even my new phone’s camera was useless, as the GPS application I had downloaded would lose its bearing if closed. I was happy to have found this out on marked streets a few days earlier, rather than out in the bush, no matter how close or remote.

I suited up with many layers, as it is better to take them off than not have enough to begin with. I had thermal socks, -100 proof boots, long and short underwear, a good set of winter hiking pants, long undershirt and sweater, balaclava, thick hat, and a down-filled jacket. In my pack I had about 2 liters of water, some granola bars, two tuna sandwiches, an empty tin can, two tea bags, and toilet paper. Feeling this would suit me for a few hours out, I set off rather excited.

I had done some mild mapping on the internet and had a general path in mind. Figuring I would stick to main trails, I drew a rough map, taped it to the arm of my jacket, and entered the spots on my GPS. Having never seen the area, I was better safe than frozen and dead on my first time out.

Onto the freeze, I headed downriver and took in the views along the shore. Quite a few houses lined the lip to my right on the town side, while the left was quite empty. Dogs barked as I passed, and a few folks waved, positive I was someone they knew. After about 2km, I spotted the snowmobile trail I had picked out, verified by my map and the GPS, and tramped through some heavy crust and started into the woods.

The trail was like any you would see used by ATVs or seasonal recreation vehicles, but to me it was so much different. It was new and exciting; it was fresh and untouched; it offered challenge and reward. I had a spot picked out a kilometer and a half down the trail that I planned to stop and turn around, a road that the trail cut across. I was maybe about 200 meters from the road when an offshoot footpath took a turn into the woods, and not a footprint to be seen. My plans changed immediately, and I told myself not to get too brazen on this first effort, and no more turns were to be taken. On this trail, I could follow my own tracks back to my mainline. There was no wind or snow that day, and the -25 temperature was enough to ensure I would not get too far.

About 25 minutes down, the trail opened up into what I believe was the end of the tree line for that section of woods. I could see other patches of thicket, brush, and further off another patch of forest could be identified. However, in all directions but behind me, there was no significant vegetation or life for at least 3 kilometers. I took off my pack and set it down, and went looking for some branches and any suitable tinder with which to start a fire.

I collected an armful of kindling cleared out a spot in the snow. Setting the first helping up tepee-style I packed the inside with toilet paper and some tinder, and then set fire to it with my lighter. I let the flames take to the wood while gathering some more, and soon had a decent fire on the go. I found a crotched branch and settled the tin can into its arms, filling it water to boil for tea. I sat on my pack and enjoyed a sandwich, taking in the scenery and feeling rather happy.

I dropped a tea bag in to the boiling water, ate another sandwich and a granola bar, and finished off my small lunch. The fire was doing well to keep me warm, but the 1pm sun was already lilting down toward the horizon. In another few hours it would be dark, and although I could have rested there through those hours and more, I figured I should make my way. I stood and made sure I had everything, snuffed the fire out old school (peed on it) and covered the ash with snow, and then secured all possible seams from the cold.

Looking around the massive clearing, I was hit with feelings of pride. I had brought myself all the way to the North for work and personal development, and was indeed getting that, but much more. Simply finding this slice of nature, enjoying it for a swift half hour, and settling myself ever so gently into this way of life made me feel as though I was capable of getting through this next year... maybe more.

I made my way back to town by retracing my steps, and arrived at a relaxed pace just past 3pm. I had been making sure to reserve my energy and take my time, not only to be sure I would survive my first trip into the very near wild, but to not miss a thing. I crested the bank of the river behind the hotel and looked back at the footprints I could see, taking in my mild journey with a smile.

I ate a hearty supper, roused Carter awake for a quick trot around the block, and then we both slept heavily through until sunrise the next day. Up until New Year’s Eve, I spent most days walking the River with my dog at my side, relaxing, and enjoying many, many servings of coffee with Baileys. Until that time, I was not aware you could actually drown a liquid, but a combination of tipsy and energetic proved otherwise. All the rest served little purpose, and I needed no reserve energy for the evening of December 31, 2009.

I began by having a few beers in my room, over-anticipating what was surely to be an uneventful evening. At about 11pm, I headed to the local Legion, and watched the worst cover band in history. While on a cigarette break, they were huddled near me and talking about their sets as though they were deconstructing “Dark Side of the Moon”. I mean, as a musician, I know it is important to take your job seriously, but when “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden” merits a 15 minute break down, you may have exceeded the necessity of the discussion.

I stood alone for the countdown, and watched sadly as couples kissed and friends shook hands. I had nobody with which to share the moment, and could not help but think of those who I would have loved to be with. I knew the lips I wished to lock with had been long on the maw of another since some 3 hours before, and that some of the friends I was missing had likely already dropped off to bed. Not having the heart to deal with the moment, I promptly exited and made my way back to the hotel, lumps of snow on the ground, and another prominent in my throat.

Having had a few drinks, I avoided the lobby and stole away to my room. I grabbed two bottles of beer, Carter, and headed across the street to the New Year’s Fire the town lit for those watching the fireworks. It was now deserted but still blazing full force, and I took a seat on a stump near the heat. Carter sniffed around, while I merely sniffled.

Christmas had not broken me, but one minute into 2010 I had lost my heart of stone. I took my seat at the fire around 12:30am, and was back in my room by 1:00, picking frozen tears from my cheek. The building of the loneliness had finally reached its apex, and I was beginning a two-day depression, marked here and there by momentary lapses of sadness, and painted thick with a pulled mope, stuck to the couch.

To end the sinking, I decided to pull myself up as opposed to just treading to distant shores for relief or comfort. I was thinking those two days of my ex, my family, my friends, and realized that not one of them was going to walk through the door and make things better. My family could not drop everything as I had, and my friends could not afford the trip. I had also began to feel the obvious drift my ex was imposing, though I was to think at one point that some contact would have remained. I can’t hold any of it against any of them: I was the one who left. This in mind, I left again, this time from my room, and did the only thing someone can do to fix a battered mind. I enjoyed drinks in the hotel bar, moved on with staff to the other local watering hole, and then partied the rest of the evening away at a patron’s house.

Returning to my room around 6am on January 3, I enjoyed a full rock glass of rye, straight up, and felt better. I could not rely on anyone else to make this adventure work for me, and I was not going to sink back into those states of depression again. If my family could not visit, so be it; if my friends could not be here, I would have to make more; if my attempts to rekindle anything at any time were being snuffed, then so be it. I had no control anymore over the events taking place at home, and I had to focus on being happy here, in Hay River, very much alone.

And you know what? That’s fine.

I guess it has to be.