From the Archives... 1

COLTS Entry 1: April 28, 2005

Well, here marks the beginnings of my 4-month summer journey in the Crowsnest Pass! It is already Friday–hard to believe how fast the time is racing along, especially since the program doesn't even officially start until this evening. So, what has happened in the meantime to eat up those precious seconds? Well, let's see....

Tuesday

I quit my cooking job on Tuesday, the 25th. It was a good day all around: I was working with people that I really enjoyed, I was training a new guy to replace some of my shifts & I was told to take 'er easy for the day by my boss. Nonetheless, time flew by & before I knew it, my last 8 hours as a line cook were over. Of course, I couldn't leave without making an exceptional mark on my life from that job, and it just so happened that at about 9 o'clock that morning, a couple hours into my shift, I was slicing 24 litres of mushrooms for the day's usage. About 22 litres into the repetitive ordeal, I accidentally got a bit carried away and began having some slicing fun on the tip of my thumb. The next thing I knew, I had a weird sensation at the tip of my left thumb, right beside the mushroom that I had finished slicing. Looking at my forlorn digit, I realised what had befallen me as a bright red substance started to run ever so delightfully from the outermost part of that appendage. Now, unlike my previous 6-stitch slice back in January, where I almost took off the whole pad of my ring finger while slicing onions, I just shaved off a tiny, tiny speck of my thumb this time. You wouldn't be able to tell that, however, from the amount of blood that this wound was producing. I must say, it was a veritable bleeder. No sooner had I cleaned the wound, applied a dressing to it, and cleaned up any potential food safety problems at the location where I injured myself than my poor little bandage had become soaked in red, drippy goodness. Thankfully, I had the foresight to cover the wound and dressing with a "finger condom," which at this time was quite red on the inside. So, guy that I am, I went back over to the first aid station & following my training, applied more pressure & more gauze overtop the old, soaking bandage. By this time, where was so much dressing that trying to cover the wound with a finger condom proved rather difficult, though I managed it but not without tearing a hole in the side of the latex cover. Seeing that blood was beginning to discolour the gauze already, I thought it prudent to roll on another finger condom overtop the previous, compromised one. Done. Back to work.

The day ended with me giving my boss & supervisors a card from one of my favourite collections: The Bud Light Institute's Greeting Cards for Men. The Bud Light Institute's motto, "Men helping men help men," is nothing short of gold, and so was the rather humorous card I gave to my co-workers. It's delightful greeting-card poem ended with, "I caught you a Muskie because I care." I love it.

Anyways, my boss gave me a big hug as I was heading out with some of the guys over to the lounge at our restaurant & said that she'll be looking forward to my return. She got off work a little bit later and joined us in the lounge for a final brewskie, wishing me good luck and farewell. And that was the end of that chapter.

Arriving home, I immediately set myself to work, diligently working at packing up the final remains of what was my room. My roommates will be moving out of our apartment come July(ish), so in order to make the whole ordeal smoothest for all parties involved, we decided to have me pack my stuff now & they'll move it along with their goods to our new abode–a house over in the Strathern region of Edmonton. I was up until 11:30 that night, packing away & ensuring that I had everything I needed for my four-month stint at Crowsnest Lake Bible Camp.

Wednesday

Got up at 7:30–a nice 3 hour sleep-in –and started the final bits of packing. I wanted to take a nice long shower that morning, but my roommate beat me to it. I had just enough time to whip in & out of the shower before my ride called, letting me know that he was sitting in his van at the entrance to my apartment. Quickly, I gathered my wits (and my gear) about me, quickly thought if I had everything & flew out the door. I greeted Jack, my ride, warmly & thanked him for picking me up. We hopped into his big white van & headed south, stopping off at Denny's for breakfast, and also where my other ride was going to meet us.

A good spot of over-priced breakfast and sub-par service came and went, along with some final bits of conversation, and after some farewells, Rob Snyder–my new ride, and one of the guys I'd be working with for the summer–and I bade Jack adieu, and we were off, riding the highway south to the Crowsnest Pass.

Of course, the journey didn't go without a couple highlights: we stopped off at Peter's Drive-in in Calgary for one of our last tastes of civilisation and something that anyone should do when passing by Calgary right at a mealtime. And the other thing: we took a wrong turn.

The Wrong Turn

It’s great travelling along a route that you only partially know and it's even more exciting when you make a mistake, which is what we did. As we were heading out of Calgary towards the Pass, we wanted to take the faster route–Highway 22–so we took the exit off of Highway 2 onto the 22X, like anyone normally would. As we were driving along the extension, we knew that we had to turn left sometime to hop onto the real 22 and drive along to our destination. Well, it turned out that we were a wee bit too anxious to get going south & we turned a turn too soon. Next thing we knew, we were driving down this unmaintained road with nothing but rolling amber foothills surrounding us, pocked every once in a while by these enormous, beautiful houses. We were sure that we had just–only seconds ago–left the outskirts of Alberta's largest city, but by the landscape surrounding us, you would never have been able to tell. It was a remarkable view: prairies stretching over the foothills as far as the eye could see, blockaded only by the ghostly shadows of the Rockies far to our right as our little 4x4 truck skipped along the road, puffing up a nice brown billow of dust behind us. Where were we? Some secondary highway–537 or something like that. Were we lost? Nope. Not a chance. This nifty little green and grey contraption in my hand told us exactly where we were & how to get to where we wanted to be: one simple right hand turn when this road ended & we'd be back on course. I love my wee GPS unit already.

The Pass

The Crowsnest Pass may be–by definition–the lowest part of the Continental Divide in the area, but it's still in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, and it's still over 1,000 feet above sea level higher than Edmonton. It being the end of April, one would expect the place to still have some decent snow coverage–or at least so I thought when I was packing for my 4-month excursion. However, when Rob & I arrived at camp & at the lake where the camp gets its name, there was no snow really to be seen at our elevation. Heck, the mountain lake–notorious for being frigid–was completely clear, thrashing about in the Pass' famous winds. Except for the lack of leaves, the place looked very much like it had in August last year. Who woulda thunk?

Rob & I drove up to the camp's office at walked in: only two people were around–quite uncommon. We were greeted heartily by Charles, the maintenance guy, who also showed us to our lodgings for the next 4 months. Rob & I unpacked, settled in a bit, had a small meal and turned in for the night.

Thursday.

Since the COLTS program didn't really start until the evening of the 28th, I had a lot of free time on my hands to play around with. Rob had come down early to get re-certified for First Aid, a requirement for the COLTS program. I slept in until 9–a wonderful change from the 4:30 mornings that I was getting used to because of work, and then just sort of wandered around for a bit. The Sysco truck, containing all of the foodstuffs for the camp's operations arrived, and I helped the camp directors receive the order, rotate stock & put things away. Wow, seems like work all over again :). Lunch came & went, where I met two more COLTS "students," Kayte & Ginny. Lunch being done, and some wood having been cut for that evening's sauna, Rob introduced me to a guy named Caleb, who wanted to take Rob's truck out for some 4x4ing. Having a couple of hours on our hands, we all decided to take the little truck out, up into the mountains.

4x4ing

With the three of us in a two-seater truck, we drove out towards the BC border, up onto a coal-mining road known around these parts as Tent Mountain Road. It's a pretty standard gravel road, well equipped with your run-of-the-mill huge potholes & the like. Nothing too serious, though. To make things more interesting, we decided to take the truck up what is supposed to be a quadding trail that leads to a camp site called "the bathtubs," due to the presence of some natural limestone bathtubs carved out by the mountain stream running there. Caleb–my new personal hero–decided that it would be much more interesting and much more comfortable to stand in the bed of the truck, holding on to the roll bars as we went down this trail. Driving a full-sized truck along that path was quite impressive, as there are parts of the path that are literally sections of the flowing creek. The best part, however, was this quite steep incline just past the bathtubs campsite. There was no way that we were going to pass this up. About two hundred feet up, the road forked, yielding one very steep path–literally 45 degrees of incline–and another, less steep approach to the top of the hill. Now, Rob has only had this truck for about a month, so he didn't want to try the super-steep incline right off the bat, or at least he didn't want to try climbing it right off the bat. So, instead, we took the less steep approach to the crest of this hill, turned around, and got ready for the decline of our lives.

This hill is like nothing you've ever gone down in a road vehicle before. I mean, think something like the first hill on a roller coaster track. Yes, that steep: not a word of a lie. The only reason we got up enough nerve to go down the bloody steep hill was because we saw what it looked like from the bottom. As we drove up the hill's edge, we slowly watched the ground disappear before our sight. There's something just a little bit scary–and exhilarating at the same time–about watching the horizon appear below the front of your vehicle. All that we could see out the windshield was blue and mountains: no ground at all. Seriously, it was like we were driving off the edge of a cliff. Then we started going down. The truck tipped forwards, gripping on to the loose boulders as best it could, which I must say, was quite amazingly done. We started crawling down the hill slowly to begin with... Until we got halfway down & the truck lost traction, siding its way along the path on a wave of loose rocks and boulders until we came to a pleasant rest at the bottom of the hill. What a rush!

Since we succeeded on descending the hill, we thought that we had might as well try going up the steep banshee. Turning the truck around on the path, we attempted the ascent. Attempt number one: we got 20 feet up, lost traction and started digging ruts in the loose soil. Attempt number two: taking a "running" start, we climber up twenty feet further than the time before, but again lost traction. Attempt number three: a racing start let the truck fly up the hill, but only a couple of feet farther that the previous time. As we sat there on the hill we looked out our windows at the trees beside us and laughed. Rob asked me, chuckling, "How steep do you think this hill is?" It was plain to see that we were in fact at a true 45° angle, since the trees were starting in the far bottom corner of the windows & were making a perfect diagonal line, cutting across the exterior view to the other side of the window.

Knowing that we couldn't get up the steep incline–at least at this point in the season, with the soil still quite moist and loose–we decided to drive around and come down one more time before heading back to camp. Just like the first time, the only comparison to that descent would be a roller coaster as we careened down the quad trail towards the bottom of the hill, riding along a cushion of rocks and boulders until stopping at the bottom of the hill.

That night, we had our screaming hot sauna, punctuated by watching the final periods of the Oilers' game & the Flames' game, both ending in disappointment.

What Next?

And now it's Friday. The whole show begins this evening. Should prove to be an interesting adventure, if these past couple days are any indication. Stay tuned for more updates to follow!

From the Archives... Crowlijah

A cool story for you to hear or share: The other day, when I was leading the hiking option for the Junior campers, we were heading out along Tent Mountain Road up towards the waterfall on Crowsnest Creek just north of the Ptolemy Fields campsite where Kat & Dustin got married last Fall. We left at about 2 in the afternoon with piles of water, but as the hike progressed, the sun beat down hotter & hotter. We had almost completely run out of water before we had gotten to the waterfall, and my counsellors were getting a bit anxious about the 2 litres of water we had left for the hike back to sufficiently hydrate the 27 campers and ourselves. There was thought about taking the water from the creek, but as we approached the falls, the water smelled rancid & there was a brown foam coating the surface of much of the water. It seemed that we might have had a crisis on our hands. God is good though. He told me that we wouldn't have to worry & that we shouldn't take any water out of the creek. Instead, he told me to pray. So I did. I prayed that He would provide water for the whole group & that he would do what he did for the widow Elijah visited—that the jars would not run dry. After praying with/over the group, we headed out back down the road towards camp. The temperature was still around 28 C. and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. With the sun beating down on us like it did on the way out, there was no way that the 2 litres of water would last or supply the whole group [we had drank 32 litres as a group on the way out, just to give you a better picture :) ]. Then, halfway back to camp, some clouds started to move in from the west: high, light clouds. As they moved in, they stopped right overtop of us, shading the group from the intense sun, and as the day continued onwards, the clouds spread out into a light overcast haze. We got back to the playing field at camp right before supper started, and I told the group to gather around & take out their water bottles. All the bottles were placed in a big pile, with the majority of them being empty, but with a handful of them still having water in them. Taking the bottles that had water in them, we looked at it and saw that there was still a decent amount of water left after the hike, something like a litre of water. I am certain that the group as a whole drank more than one litre of water on the way back, but we still seemed to have water left—almost as if the water bottles didn't run dry or something. We poured out the water onto the ground & I told the kids that that was God, that He would provide everything that we needed & that He would do it abundantly, with stuff left over in the end. And that is exactly what He did.

Cool story, no? God still accomplishes miracles today.

From the Archives... 2

It is the 7th of May.

Day 1

Initiative task

On the first day of the COLTS program, we all kind of got introduced to each other & were given a basic orientation to the program and camp. After all the formal niceties were over & done with, Dustin gave the newly-formed group an initiative task: Over the past off-season, the floating portion of camp's waterfront dock had become detached & floated to the far side of the lake. Our mission was to locate the floating dock portion & retrieve the sucker so that it could be put back in its rightful place. We were given three hours to complete the task. Mission accepted, we all got down to work, trying to figure out how we would get this task done the easiest & fastest way possible.

Word had it that there was a low-boy trailer that we might have be en able to borrow from an associate of Charles, the camp's maintenance guru. Since he was gone for the day in Calgary, all of the dirty work in tracking the very useful bit of hardware down rested on our shoulders. We were given the name of a guy who would be our best bet in finding the trailer & immediately, we all went to the office and telephoned him. Robbie grabbed the phone and talked to someone for a bit. A couple minutes later, the tension was lifted: the lowboy trailer was with Charles in Calgary. Best laid-plan attempt #1 unsuccessful.

Luckily, we were bright enough to have already thought of several other possible ways in retrieving the floating dock, so our next best idea went into play. The plan now was to wrangle up some canoes at the lakefront, grab some dynamic rope, paddle across the lake to the renegade dock & tow it back to camp. We all suited up, jumped into the fibreglass floating vessels & skimmed away, skirting the lake's southern shore until we found our quarry.

The floating dock was in impeccable condition, considering it had weathered the winter partially beached on a rocky shore. Upon inspection, nothing appeared to be damaged, save for a snapped link of plumber's strapping which was holding a side of one of the several barrels acting as pontoons for the dock. Quickly, the group debarked our canoes, shoved the dock off the stony beach & prepared to fasten our towlines to the dock.

Shawn, being the gregarious individual that he is, jumped into the water beside the floating dock & climbed aboard the beast, carrying along with him the end of one of our tow-lines. He affixed the rope on a conveniently placed hook jutting out from the side of the dock whilst Anna hopped aboard and fastened the other rope on the dock's opposing side. That done, we then needed to tie the canoes in, ideally, with identical lengths of rope between each canoe and the floating dock. If the ropes were too short, we would be fighting against the lack of manoeuvrability, whereas if they were too long, our dynamic rope's properties would suck up so much of our towing power that the dock would become even more difficult to tug. Consensus rested on one canoe's-length, as it was the easiest way to ensure a decently similar length. Finally, ropes tied on both ends, we jumped aboard our fibreglass tugs & began paddling back towards camp.

What happened next could only be summarised best by one phrase: Gong Show. Both towing crews were tugging with all our might, but by the nature of our progression, we were really just making it more difficult for the other vessel & crew to pull along. As one boat got out in the lead, it would suddenly take the full load of the dock, which was impressively heralded by a delightful jarring of the canoe & the loss of forward motion, tiring out the already taxed arms in the boat. Of course, in this position, the other boat was free of payload, which would allow them to race along ahead until that crew assumed the full towing load with a nice jarring halt. The oscillation continued until we all were getting tired of the ordeal. Stopping for a bit beside each other, we discussed a change in plan: instead of acting independently, we would watch each other & try to match our distances in order to balance the towing load across both vessels. This agreed upon, we resumed rowing right back where we had started, since during our conference, all the headway we had gained previously was devoured by the forces of wind and water-current.

I was surprised at how much the load-balancing technique paid off. Simply by communicating to each other & bearing in mind the other beside us, the whole ordeal became much easier & we started barrelling through the waters in front of us at impressive speeds. Of course, this didn't really affect the amount of fatigue our bodies were already feeling, but the simple fact that we were making amazing gains was enough to boost our morale over our body aches and we pressed onward in determination and unwavering resolve.

Then the wind came. And the rain. And then the snow.

As if God had waited for precisely the right moment to mock our feeble efforts at doing anything, a treacherous west wind whipped up over the Crowsnest Pass, spewing sleet and snow on anything that dared be in its way. Having no shelter in the white-capping water, we decided to make our way closer to the huge stone cliffs to our left, hoping that we would be able to weather out the storm behind a little nook in the rock wall & proceed in our endeavour towards success.

I later was told that our instructors and the 7th member of our team were cheering us on right before the storm flew in because we were seriously twenty feet away from rounding the cliff shore towards a sheltered spot on the beach, where the plan was to attach another rope to the dock & use a truck as additional towing power, making the last leg of the ordeal much faster & much easier. But as they were cheering us on, preparing for our arrival, up came the wind. The supporters on the shore could do nothing but watch in dismay as our rinky-dinky little crew got swept back along our course. Someone ran up to the truck to get the tow cable with the hope of tossing it to the shore-side canoe, with the hope that we could at least be anchored from losing any more ground. It was too late, though. As they got back to the shore with the rope, we had already slipped away too far for any help to be given from the shore crew.

At the end of the day, we arrived on a spot of shore where the highway crossed over on a bridge above. By then all of us were soaked to the bone, shivering & laden with a good layer of wet snow. Nonetheless, we all did our best & because of that we were all in good spirits. During our debreifing meeting, our instructors told us about how proud they were of us & how impressed as well. They said that we were starting off at a very high level & because of that, they will be expecting a lot from us...

More updates later.

Metamorphosis

Imagine. Imagine with me if you will. Consider and dwell upon this thought. Taste the sweet, refreshing juices of the summer's first ripened peach in your mind. Feel the nectar dribble down off your chin as you savour the first bite from this golden-red orchard fruit. It is delicious, isn't it? The textures, the smell, the tastes and the memories tied to this soft, fuzzy orb all culminate into a fantastic experience. But how does this fruit come into existence? Well, let me tell you the story of the peach tree...

As you pluck this mouth-watering snack of summer sweetness off the tree, you begin devouring the fruit until nothing save the pit remains. If you were a larger animal, there's a good chance that you would consume this pit as well, and within this larger animal, the pit begins its adventures, coursing through stomachs and bowels, eventually to be deposited in a rich pile of fertiliser some distance away from the original tree. Chances are that during the exiting ride through the animal, our friend the little pit probably got digested itself, leaving nothing left except for the almond-sized seed at the centre of the mini brown golf ball.

So there it sits, our little peach seed, enrobed in a thick, velvety paste excreted from an animal's ass. And it sits. Moons wax & wane, rains come and go, but the little peach seed moves nary an inch from its new, pooey abode. The rains turn to snow and the days get shorter; the manure mansion is now lost under a sea of brilliant ice crystals. Time becomes a memory and change ceases to exist for our little seed-friend. Suffocated and frozen, one would think that no life could emerge from its dire state of affairs. Then, of course, the craziest thing happens: the days get longer & the sun returns from its vacation down under, pumping up the therms. Snow melts & the now rotting manure resembles much more of a rich, earthy substance. It is not long before the peach seed cracks at one edge. A day or so later, a small, ghostly nub pokes through this crack, and like a sloth-stricken worm, this nub extends itself upwards, groping for open air. Soon, our newfound friend pokes his head up, through the surface and into breezy daylight. It doesn't smell like poo anymore, and the scenery is much more enjoyable for our once-devoured peach seed. Having now tasted the richness of sunlight, the ghostly nub begins to flush with fervent verdency and flourishes into a leafy stalk. Five or ten years down the road, that pile of crap is now bearing delicious bursts of fuzzy summer candy itself, and the cycle begins anew.

It's interesting to think how that tasty peach you enjoy so much inevitably had its humble beginnings stewing in some steamy pile of crap. Whoever thought poo could taste so good?


This past summer was an amazing experience for me. Life changing. Refreshing. Encouraging. For those of you who read this and don't already know, I spent the past four months at Crowsnest Lake Bible Camp in their outdoor leadership program, learning about wilderness adventuring, liability control & what the insides of a silkworm taste like (the outsides too... Take my word for it: they're not very good.). I think I want to try, someday, to encapsulate my experiences in written form, but in order to give full service to what went down during those four months would inevitably take many, many pages. So, instead, I will glide over the summer & deliver some brief highlights of the most impacting ideas or events.


The Chair

COLTS had just begun, and we were a week or so into May, when one day it occurred to one of our leaders that it would be good for us as a group to share with each other one of our biggest fears and, consequently, pray over us for it. At the time, it seemed a bit intimidating; being a newly formed group, where none of us really knew each other very well & for the first few minutes, the chair in the centre of our circle remained vacant. It was funny, since I knew exactly what my biggest fear was, but I didn't want to go up to the chair first—I was intimidated. Eventually, another one of us went up first & got prayer for fear of death. After her time of prayer & ministry was done, we all moved to sit back down in the surrounding circle of couches and chairs. I knew that if I sat down, I wouldn't ever get up & volunteer to go ahead with this whole dealie, so instead, I took the centre seat and confessed what one of my greatest fears were. I told the group that I was extremely afraid of community. I told then that I didn't understand it & that it didn't make any sense to me. To be honest, community—especially a Christian community—at that time, only a few short months ago, terrified the crap out of me. It scared me mostly because of my experiences wherein "community" failed me: it has left me with not just one deep scar. When telling the group about this, I actually broke into tears. And then they prayed.


Fyre, Fyre, Burning Bright

A handful of days later, one of my fellow COLT mates & I were enjoying a late-night sauna. At Crow, one of my favourite pastimes at late-night saunas is to pray. So we started praying & we prayed for hours. It had come to my attention while we were praying that there was another thing that I was intensely afraid of. I realised that for years I had been hesitant & terrified of showing or expressing love. By "for years," I mean since shortly after my family moved to the United States, back before either grunge music of The Simpson’s had made their debut. When this fear of expressing love had been identified that night in the sauna, we prayed for the removal of that fear, and while doing so, I felt as though a heavy, dark shroud was lifted from my shoulders. I literally felt lighter. I felt giddy and energetic. Things around me seemed to be brighter and more vibrant. It was crazy intense.

A week or so later, our group was sitting atop the saddle between Parrish & McLaren Mountains and for the first time in around 15 years, I went up and gave someone else a hug.


Prayer Request Express

The Summer Camp programs were now already in full swing. It was nearing the end of the second full round of camps. In fact, the camp that I had been counselling at was already over, and our staff & crew had returned to camp's main site to help out / bum around until round three began. The main site's program still running, I decided to jump in wherever I could, and one of those places where I slid in naturally was with the prayer support.

During the game one evening, half a dozen of us got together to pray for the camp & for the campers. One particular cabin was on all of our hearts to pray for, since it had been identified as a "problem cabin" by the counsellor and other support staff that week. Going to that cabin, we started to pray in the room for each specific camper (plus the counsellor) & we ended up praying that God would do something amazing that night at campfire. Not only did we pray, but we prayed expectantly & thanked the Lord in advance for showing up and doing something crazy that night. After that, we returned to the camp's bus (where we were originally praying) and continued to pray until campfire.

Campfire began and all of us pray-ers arrived late, though still praying around the burning flames. Then God showed up. The Holy Spirit moved the worship portion of the evening & didn't stop there, as the speaker stood in silence for a while before throwing his stack of notes into the fire. He told the kids that he had a really good message to speak to then that night, but that God had other things in mind. He started speaking a completely different message, interspersed with long pauses & spots of worship-filled song, being sensitive to what the Lord was leading him to do. After he was done, the group was officially dismissed & many, many people remained afterwards, asking for prayer. It was the most amazing and the most impacting campfire that I had ever witnessed. God showed up & moved in crazy ways. It's cool when prayers are so quickly & so amazingly answered.


The Teaser

Speaking of other crazy answers to prayer, I have a story about how 30 people hiked 4 km in 42° C weather, having only 2 litres of water to share amongst the whole group & how, after the hike, there was still 1.5 litres of water left, even though everybody had been drinking plenty of water throughout the hike back. More on that story later, though.


I hope that this "little" instalment has been enjoyable for you to read. Unfortunately, time ticks relentlessly for us all, so I will save all of us further temporal investment in this instalment. More stories later, and also an open discussion (hopefully) about prayer & how it works.


Stay tuned...