A Wonderful Nightmare

I'm awakened by the sound of my father chopping wood off in the distance, my pillow damp from a steady stream of drool, and my eyes wince at the sight of the twinkling rays of the morning sun. I observe my surroundings: a bookshelf, a sleeping puppy on the floor beside me, a series of drawers, and a computer. I await for the synapses to settle in, and at last I realise that I have made it home. My fingers graze along the edge of the bed in an effort to cement the truth in this dreamlike reality. Approximately twenty-four hours ago, I awoke in an entirely different setting; one complete with dirty clothes, swarms of parasites knocking at my zippered up door, and the muffled sounds of eating and conversation in the mess tent.

When I look back at what I put myself through for the last three weeks, I regard it mereley as a long stretched out dream - a dream that could only be induced through a long period of hibernation. However, as my epidermis tingles slightly in the area behind my ears, I automatically proceed to scratch at a set of lumps - souvenirs from an all-too-lucid pleasant nightmare. I hop in the shower, and I scrub every last molecule of dirt from the bush off of me, in a hygenic effort to renew myself in this habitat of cleanliness. The sheer amount of comfort that is available to me makes me shudder with disbelief - everything seems just a little too perfect. The bush will do this to you, and for some strange unexplainable reason, I slightly yearn for the minute punishments that I have already grown so accustomed to. At last, there is much to do, yet I cannot decide exactly what I would like to do, for there isn't really anybody around to tell me what to do. I suppose I could play the piano, watch television, or just straight up relax. Those don't seem like bad ideas.

Having moved into a new camp, 8 hours from town, approximately 12 days ago, I haven't really had the oppurtunity to share my experiences with you online, due to the lack of transportation to and from town. However, to satiate your curiously hungry minds, I'll give you a slightly articulate low down.

When we set out on the road for our new camp in our dirty excursion crammed full of gear, we didn't exactly expect anything to go wrong along the way - due to our travel experiences from the past. Yet, when we heard a loud scraping noise four hours in on the drive up, on some strangely barren logging road, we knew that there would be a slight delay in our arrival. It turns out, one of the shocks on the right/rear suspension broke loose, and it was dangling from the bottom of the truck, scraping along the road. We pulled over, inspected the situation, and unloaded everything in search of a jack. To our less than fortunate dismay, the jack was missing, and as such, we had to think on our toes for a new solution. Dan suggested we attempt to repair the shock by screwing in the missing bolts, yet little did he know that they flew off somewhere miles back along the side of the road. Another one of us suggested that we drove back slowly and far enough to be in radio contact with Dustin, and call for help. This however was too risky of an option, so we formulated a safer plan. We had a roll of duct tape and some bungees at our disposal, so we went to town (macgyver style) on the shock - taped it up, bungeed it nice and tight, and we were on our way. Rather than risking the extra four hours of the drive, we (being Dan, Cody, Katelyn, Mark and I - the remaining five-pack crew) decided to camp out at a familiar spot from last years adventure.

When we arrived at the campsite from last year, I could clearly remember the exact location of my tent, and in fact, I even found one of the pegs, still deep in the ground. Cody and Katelyn gathered some logs and rocks and made a nice little fire, while Dan, Mark, and I set up some lines and lures, and went fishing. In total we caught around ten differently sized trout - a couple of them being pretty big and meaty, and we gutted them, filleted them, and cooked them on a large rock set inside the fire. It was a truly wonderful self-sufficient camping experience, and it will remain in my mind as a fond memory.

As we finally made our way over to the actual bush camp, we weren't expecting so many little tiny flying companions. The bugs there were ruthless and abundant in the plentifuls. Some nights it would sound like it was raining heavily in my tent, yet when I zipped open the tent door and looked up, I could locate the source of the sound - thousands upon thousands of tiny little black flies incessantly pecking at the rainfly, and I do not exaggerate. Every time I had to leave my tent, I would throw on my bug jacket (the forcefield), and run quickly to my desired location, zipping up my tent in a flash. Eating breakfast and dinner was an ordeal, as the mosquitoes were so bad in the mess tent, that we spent more time swatting in frustration than actually eating our food. In less than ten days, my entire body has been peppered with lumps and bites.

But enough about the bugs, lets get into the work aspect. The land in the Abitibi contract was generally pretty good. Hilly 13 cent cream for the most part, and coming from the hell that was the mounds, this land seemed like a walk in the park. Mark and I began hitting 2500 a day with ease, and the $300 earning at the end of the day made the life a little more bearable. I even hit a new personal best - 2820 trees - which was a strenuosly difficult day, but quite the personal accomplishment.

The two shifts flew by rather quickly, and before we knew it, it was time for us to pack up camp and head home. We partied hard at the end, drank many a beer, and I had a great time. I was more than happy to pack up my smelly buggy tent, and get going on the road.

To sum up this long eventful journey: I feel I've grown much stronger as a person, both mentally and physically, and the lack of civilization has made me appreciate the Earth in all its natural splendor and beauty. I will miss the mountains, the epic unpredictable clouds, and the cool soothing breezes that sweep through the valleys. Only five of us stuck it out in the end, and they have become like family to me - and I will miss all of you guys, especially those of you who are far away and difficult to get in touch with.

Next year will be the true test of my planting abilities, as I grow more weathered and defined as a less than quasi-veteran. Until then, I wish you all a safe, happy, and prosperous year, and it has been a pleasure reporting my adventures to you (whomever you may be).

over and out,
- James

Mounds, Mounds, and Even More Mounds

We've been thrown into the thick of the jungle, carrying 40 pounds of pesticide-enlaced spruce monsters in our hip-grinding bags, with only a bottle of water and some squished muffins for comfort. The land is terrifyingly unpredictable; it's as if the earth's epidermis broke into a harrowing bout of acne, creating giant mucky pustules, with cess pools stagnant enough to breed the largest army of mosquitoes that man or bear has ever encountered. Not one square-inch of the land is 180 degrees flat; the block was mounded some 20 years ago, back in the good ol' 1980's, giving plenty of time for fernlike brush and other deadly flora to sporadically grow in every nook and cranny. The clinging limbs of the alders will ensnare you in a serious tangle, the mounds will give way into miniature landslides - throwing your aching body and luggage into the murky pools below - it's almost as if the land is out to get you.

This, for some of the more hardy planters, is when the true fun and adventure starts, in the notorious summer contract. Having returned clean-shaven, hair-cutted, and primp and proper from a deliciously relaxing break, I made the unfortunate mistake of forgetting what I was in for in this unpredictable job.
No more than a day went by, and my nice city appearance quickly vanished, only to be replaced by a haggard, bug bitten, heat-rashed, scary looking tree-man. Yet somehow I have no complaints about this inevitable makeover, for there's something rather comforting about getting the dirt back on my face. It brings me closer to the elements, I suppose.

Our first shift was glorious. Glorious in a way that one would look into the heat of a battle and marvel at it's sheer intensity and vicissitude. Dan, Cody, Katie and I were thrown in this super scary piece - looking at it dead on, it seemed more like just straight forest rather than clear-cut land, and I was confused as to why we were putting more trees in this already abundant rainforest. Our new trees weigh twice as much as they did in spring, ergo - a bagup of 100 of these new trees feel like a bagup of 200 of the old trees. To put this in perspective, in order for us to make any money on this block, we had to lug around anvil-like loads of 100-150 trees - a walk in the park! a park in Jupiter mind you! The worst part of our piece, however, was the 15 minute walk-in after every bag-up. It was uphill, on slippery mounds, and completely unforgivingly straining on the legs. My sister Katie may have a good idea of this feeling, having traversed some difficult leg-crushing terrain herself in the far east. Another fun quirk was the chunks of forest blocking certain areas of the piece. In order for us to hit every mound, we had to coordinate with eachother as to who had to plant around these areas, or walk through them. Some mounds are smack dab in the middle of the woods, or under a fallen tree, or perhaps at the top of a very steep hill - and we've pretty much had to scramble our hardest to plant them.

Or there was the time where I got lost in the middle of my piece, walked around in two complete circles, and kept running in to the same strangely shaped stump both times, in explosive frustration. Even the checkers are getting lost - the Canfor guys even mentioned in the pre-work explanation that the land is very disorienting. We've been using the "Marco! Polo!" method to find our way to the road, and I hear it on many occasion.

But enough about the land. I signed up for this, so I might as well embrace it. Living at camp has been a nice added comfort for me. Finally, we're in a genuine Celtic camp, with four different crews, a cook, and the luxurious dry tent! Ooh-la-la! The meals have been delicious and plentiful, and my tent is situated in a cozy little haven atop a little hill. The view isn't spectacular, but sure to take your breath for a moment or two. I personally enjoy watching the clouds hover in the valleys below the mountains - it reminds me just how high up we are.

I've met a plethora of new faces, and shared some interesting conversations about non-planting-related things. I've also put on a little tent concert for my friends - I jammed with this really cool dude Patrick, I - weilding the guitar, he - the djembe. I also played a wicked game of kick-up with a soccer ball with some very talented athletes. So life is still good :)

I'm now a full-fledged adult - the big two-oh (20), but what the heck - I still feel like a kid deep inside. I only remember patches of the night of my birthday - I know there were some shots of hard liquor and tabasco sauce involved.. which didn't exactly cleanse my palette. It was an awesome night to say the least.

Teddy and Jarret just left the crew (due to extenuating circumstances back at home), and now we're back to a six-pack crew. We're on a 4 day break right now, but I hear through the grapevine we'll be heading up to the Mackenzie area in the near future - which I'm rather excited about, as it is a very beautiful mountainous area.

I would love to ramble on some more about this hectic lifestyle of mine, but I'm rather tired from a night of partying, and I think I might go take a dip in the pool.

Until next time,

- James