DanOCan

Call it a restlessness.  Call it a case of wanderlust.  Call it whatever you want.  I know it when I feel it, and on Sunday I was feeling it.  It is that feeling I get when I hear the call of the open road, when there is nothing I want more than to drop the windows, slide back the sunroof and crank up the iPod.  When that feeling is really strong – I’m talking “feel it in the pit of my soul, can’t stop my leg from bouncing while sitting at my desk in the office” strong, there is just one destination that will satisfy me.

Yes, it was time to visit Dorothy.

Dorothy is not my favourite ghost town, that distinction goes to Bents, SK.  Dorothy has the distinct advantage of being much closer than Bents; I can be there in a couple of hours.  However Dorothy was my first ghost town and, much like your first car, it will always occupy a special place in your heart that no other can take.

I have lost count of the number of visits I have made.  Because I have been visiting Dorothy for so long (close to 15 years?) I feel the urge to always try and see it from a fresh perspective.  While most times I come in and make a beeline for the churches, this time I took a slower more gentler approach.  I took the time to cross the river on the yellow bridge and ease my car up the hairpin turns to a high point overlooking the valley.  I wanted to drink it all in, to gain a sense of perspective, to verify that all my familiar landmarks were still there waiting for me before I finally came down and entered the town proper.

I pulled into the park on the west end of town.  I took time to explore Arthur Peake’s ranch house, which was originally built just west of town in 1897 before being moved to the current location in 1986.  It was an amazing place, fully furnished as if old Arthur himself was just waiting for you to tie up your horse, shake the snow from your coat and join him for a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs.  Believe it or not, it was the first time I had ever been inside of it.

I approached the old Catholic church from the rear, as slowly as one would try to sneak up on a rabbit or other game animal.  The church has undergone a number of renovations since the first time I ever saw it back in the late 90’s.  The roof has been replaced and the windows and doors repaired.  On my Facebook page I described Dorothy like a woman who has had extensive cosmetic surgery but you know deep down she is still the same great gal she always was.

Most of the information I have says the church was operational from 1944 to 1967, meaning it has been abandoned a lot longer than it was ever in use.  Regardless, if you listen closely it isn’t hard to hear the echo of a church bell ringing across the valley or the haunting images of those who came to this place to worship.

Circa 1999 on the left, 2011 on the right.

The renovations to the United Church (1932-1961) are even more extensive.  The roof is repaired, the doors and windows are no longer vacant portals and there is a fresh coat of paint.  Even the grass and weeds have been neatly trimmed.  It looks as if it could be ready to host your wedding next weekend if need be.

I’m sure seeing the supposedly dead town of Dorothy coming back from the brink serves as an allegory for one’s own life and experiences, but frankly I am too tired to go down that road tonight.  Dorothy has served her purpose – she has allowed me to re-centre myself, to go back to the foundations of my personality and gain comfort from knowing that everything I felt was lost is still there, it just needed to be rediscovered.

I certainly cannot claim Dorothy as my own.  I often comment that this likely the most photographed ghost town in Alberta.  No, many people have discovered her charms over the years, but she has enough to share with everyone.  Each person who visits Dorothy brings his/her own perspective and thus gets to experience her in a different way. 

A visit to the old Alberta Pacific grain elevator and my personal quest is complete.  In keeping with my own personal ritual, I bid a farewell to Dorothy one more time, promising to visit her again sometime soon.  Perhaps next time we shall get together on a cloudless moonlit night, or some time when a crisp blanket of white snow covers her?  I don’t know when it will be, I just take comfort from knowing the next time I need her she will be there…waiting…

I am not a tree hugger.

It’s just a tree.  It happens to be the tree I have parked under for the better part of ten years, but it is still just a tree.  It doesn’t matter that I have had a love-hate relationship with that tree all this time.  Sure, in the Spring it would drop sap all over my car but in the Summer it would shield my car from the blazing sun.

It doesn’t matter that I have watched it grow.  It doesn’t matter that many mornings I would gaze at it and wonder how old it was.  It doesn’t matter that I have wondered who originally planted it.  It doesn’t matter that it is not as healthy as it appears.  It doesn’t matter that every time a storm passes by it drops large branches.  Those storms will pass just like the countless storms it has weathered in the past, right?

No, none of that matters.

What matters is that today as I climbed into my car to drive away I stopped and bid farewell to that old tree by giving it a friendly pat on the trunk. 

After all, I am not a tree hugger…

This has been up on my Facebook page for a week or so now, but I thought I’d share it with a wider audience here.

My apologies to Glenn Frey, but I’m claiming “fair use” even though I’m not covered under U.S. Copyright law. 😉

It all started with a simple post on a message board.  In late September of 2006, “impalass” decided to see if he could actually get a group of ghost town and abandoned places enthusiasts together for a weekend of exploration and knowledge sharing in southern Saskatchewan.  “Ghost Town Heaven in 2007” soon gave way to “Ghost Town Convention” and Neidpath gave way to Hallonquist, but the foundation was in place.

“impalass” Plants the Seed

The vast majority of us had never met each other before, other than exchanging messages on the Ghost Town Chat forums.  I had no idea what any of these people looked like, how old they were, or whether or not they would even show up.  Upon arriving at the community hall in Hallonquist my fears were quickly allayed.  Mike (the infamous ‘”impalass”) was already there and getting things organized.  Slowly we all filtered in, introductions were made and we all began to realize that a common passion for ghost towns was enough to unite us.  We sweated our way through the weekend, with temperatures reaching around 37C.  We covered our vehicles in oil from a construction project, we were sunburned, we had dust and grime covering ourselves and everything we owned – in short, it was a tremendous success and we planned to do it again the following summer, picking a different area of the province to explore.  A tradition was born.

That initial group barely broke into double-digits in terms of numbers.  We would grow each year, eventually topping out at around 40 people for the 2009 convention.  That number proved to be unmanageable so membership was limited to 25 the following year, the first year I missed out on joining the group – not from a lack of desire, but rather a scheduling conflict with a trip to Washington state.

So, that’s how I found myself driving alone down a dusty road on Friday morning last week, heading to a town called Marysburg.  Actually, “town” is a bit of a misnomer – there is an impressive church, a community hall and a smattering of family farms but not much more. 

The Road to Marysburg

I am the first to arrive at the community hall.  I immediately begin to poke around the area, starting with the church.  As I am standing there reading the sign a pickup truck slowly rolls to a stop behind me.  I immediately brace for a confrontation.  At home in Alberta where there is a much higher population density I seem to get hassled much more when exploring than I do in Saskatchewan. 

I turn to face the truck and raise my arm to shield my eyes from the glare.  The window rolls down and the blinding reflection of the sun off the glass disappears, leaving me with red spots flashing in my eyes for a few seconds.  As my vision clears the weathered face of a farmer becomes clear.  Immediately he asks if I would like to look around inside the church.  When I respond in the affirmative he produces a key from his pocket and ambles over to the westernmost door.  He slowly unlocks it and pushes it open.  “Head on in, he says.”

We exchange a few pleasantries and I discover his name is Joe and he moved to the area in 1969.  He wanders over to a door which has a sign on it which reads “No admittance – absolutely no exceptions!”  He pushes the door open and says “Go have a look from the loft, you can see better from up there.”

It is as I am photographing the crumbling drywall below a stained glass window that Matt from Manitoba arrives.  He and I met at the 2009 convention in Kayville.  As we are talking, our organizer Mike arrives and greets us, along with Matt’s uncle.  Ghost Town Convention 2011 is officially underway.

People slowly arrive throughout the Friday.  Friends who haven’t seen each other for a year greet each other with the easy-going air of casualness of friends who were just together for coffee last week.  For the others there are introductions, somewhat guarded at first but they are quickly being ribbed like veterans and before long they are joining in the banter.  First-timer or perfect-attendee, everyone feels welcome with this group.

This year our navigation was somewhat complicated by the huge amounts of precipitation that had fallen in Saskatchewan over the course of Spring.  Several backroads were newly repaired, some spots were soft, and others were completely submerged.  We were always able to adjust on the fly so that even those with low-clearance or two-wheel-drive vehicles weren’t left behind.  After all, we’re all in this together. 

Anyone Bring a Boat?

Growing up in southern Alberta, these grid roads are where I learned to drive.  I never feel more at home than I do when I am cruising down a backroad with my windows down and the wind blowing everything around inside the cab of my truck.  If I describe hiking in the mountains as “soul cleansing” then driving dusty backroads is “soul liberating”. 

The routine carries on for two solid days.  We drive, staying close enough to each other to keep the rolling cloud of dust in sight, far enough way to try and avoid chipping our windshields.  We stop, seemingly at random, but knowing Mike has something of interest to show us at each location.  Whether it is an old schoolhouse hidden behind decades-old caragana bushes, a general store stuffed to the rafters with antiques, or a grain elevator rising above the prairie, there is something that we will find interesting enough to photograph from every conceivable angle.

After all, the ghost town convention is more than abandoned places – it is just as much about photography.  Mike is a very accomplished photographer and you can learn an awful lot about the art by following him around and seeing how he does things.  In fact, with this many camera-toting enthusiasts around you can’t help but get better at capturing light.  One of my favourite parts of the trip is watching the convoy roll to a stop and waiting to see how everyone approaches their shots.  I like to see where people set up for shots, the angles they use.  I like to try and understand why they are shooting from that particular angle, or what it is about that particular subject that caught their interest.  Of course, checking out the images people post after the event is also a great lesson in photography. 

Exploring an Old School

Ghost towning is like most of my hobbies – if you don’t “get” it, you’ll never understand.  But, if I could somehow convey the feeling that comes when you’re driving down the highway with a fellow enthusiast and you both see a perfect sunset forming on the horizon and you know you need to find a spot to park *right now* before losing the light – then you would understand in a heartbeat.  The frantic rush to get the gear out of the backseat, to find the right angle, to get the exposure “just so”, and then to capture the image – that’s pure magic.  Then to drive down the road a little way and find an even better spot and then do it all again?  Those are the sort of memories that transcend time; you’re not just capturing light, you are literally capturing a moment – a moment in time when everything just came together perfectly.

Folks, that’s what the Ghost Town Convention is all about.  I can’t wait to do it again next year…

Moments of Pure Magic

Well, I sure fell behind in my blog updates, didn’t I?  A combination of lack of internet, laziness, and “too busy doing other things” have combined to keep me from spending much time writing anything down.

When we last left off, we had just spent our last full day in the greater Victoria area and we were heading to Rathtrevor Beach Provincial Park near Parksville.  We enjoyed our three nights there, but we didn’t fall in love with the area like we did with Metchosin.  We’re still talking about how we could handle a move to the Metchosin area, all we need is a lottery win so we don’t need to worry about finding work.

We didn’t do a lot of hiking around Parksville.  I had great plans but it rained a little almost every day, plus I was battling either allergies or a cold and I didn’t feel as great as I could have.  We really liked Rathtrevor though — the campground offered nice large sites and the heavy trees meant we had a lot of privacy. 

Site #160 at Rathtrevor

From Parksville it was a cross-island jaunt to Green Point campground in Pacific Rim National Park Reserve.  Our site had one of the best views we’ve ever experienced — perched high atop a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  The roar of the waves was our constant companion; many times we awoke during the night thinking there was a terrible wind storm outside only to realize it was the ocean.  The trees obscured the view a bit, but that’s not a bad problem to have, is it?

What we will always remember is the rain.  As the park ranger told us, “Well, we couldn’t call it a rain forest if it didn’t rain, right?”  It rained almost every night and often during the day we would have showers as well.  The humidity was amazing — our towels never did dry, even after hanging for four days.

 View From Site 71 at Green Point

Our four nights in Pacific Rim were highlighted by…

• Driving the logging roads up to Kennedy Lake and checking out an old abandoned bridge

• Checking out the towns of Tofino and Ucluelet; walking the Lighthouse Loop of the Wild Pacific Trail and then having some great food at Jiggers

Jiggers Fish and ChipsAmphitrite LighthouseFinally, we moved on to our final stop on this trip:  Campbell River.  We managed to get in a hike on the Ripple Rock Trail out to a viewpoint above Seymour Narrows and several other walks in the local nature parks.  This is our third night here and we have just two more left before we point ourselves eastward and start heading home. 

Seymour Narrows