Anthony's Reflections |
Icebergs and Capelin and Whales, Oh My!
You would think that hiking for three and a half weeks with only one other person would get lonely. To a certain extent, you'd be right, but only in a trivial sense. What I found on the trail was that no matter how far from the nearest town we were, we were never really alone. As cliché as the whole idea of "becoming one with nature" is, I could not help but feel like the East Coast Trail was one big interconnected system that we became part of.
For the first week and a half we were accompanied by a few icebergs, each on a journey not unlike our own. Just as these massive chunks of ice had broken off from glaciers in Greenland to travel across the Atlantic and reach Newfoundland's eastern shore, so too had we departed from our homes and travelled far. As the icebergs travel south, they slowly change shape and melt because of the natural environment -- strong winds, crashing waves, temperature changes, etc. Similarly, we were hoping that our surroundings would shape us on our journey (but without the melting part). Each day as we walked we'd build a solid lead on the icebergs. Then, the following morning, we'd notice that they had caught up with us again, although they looked slightly different each day. Though after the first week and a half the icebergs had all either melted, broken into small pieces, or decided we weren't fun and left us, I was grateful for their company and the sense of connectedness they provided.
Also journeying along the coast of Newfoundland with us were the capelin, the small fish that "roll" onto shores in the millions to breed during late June every summer. They were nice enough to begin rolling onto Middle Cove Beach right when we passed through. The rolling of the capelin is a significant event for many Newfoundlanders, hundreds of whom arrive at beaches with their families, rubber boots, and fishing nets, eager to catch as many as possible. Though we only spent about a day and a half at Middle Cove watching the capelin roll, witnessing this yearly Newfoundland tradition certainly helped me feel connected to the trail. Another important fact about capelin is that whales feed off of them. So wherever capelin go, whales go. Soon after the capelin started rolling, we began seeing more whales. I recall one particular day when a whale was swimming alongside us in the ocean as we walked along the edge of a cliff. We'd hurry through densely wooded sections of the trail to quickly come out to openings where the whale was visible again. As the whale was following capelin, both we and hundreds of seagulls were following the whale -- us to enjoy its beauty, the seagulls to hunt capelin. All while we were probably being watched by an eagle or other land bird. Whether you're by yourself or with one other person, you're never alone on the East Coast Trail. The trail is one big system connecting wildlife, people, and landscape, and the sooner you realize this, the sooner you'll feel like part of it.
For the first week and a half we were accompanied by a few icebergs, each on a journey not unlike our own. Just as these massive chunks of ice had broken off from glaciers in Greenland to travel across the Atlantic and reach Newfoundland's eastern shore, so too had we departed from our homes and travelled far. As the icebergs travel south, they slowly change shape and melt because of the natural environment -- strong winds, crashing waves, temperature changes, etc. Similarly, we were hoping that our surroundings would shape us on our journey (but without the melting part). Each day as we walked we'd build a solid lead on the icebergs. Then, the following morning, we'd notice that they had caught up with us again, although they looked slightly different each day. Though after the first week and a half the icebergs had all either melted, broken into small pieces, or decided we weren't fun and left us, I was grateful for their company and the sense of connectedness they provided.
Also journeying along the coast of Newfoundland with us were the capelin, the small fish that "roll" onto shores in the millions to breed during late June every summer. They were nice enough to begin rolling onto Middle Cove Beach right when we passed through. The rolling of the capelin is a significant event for many Newfoundlanders, hundreds of whom arrive at beaches with their families, rubber boots, and fishing nets, eager to catch as many as possible. Though we only spent about a day and a half at Middle Cove watching the capelin roll, witnessing this yearly Newfoundland tradition certainly helped me feel connected to the trail. Another important fact about capelin is that whales feed off of them. So wherever capelin go, whales go. Soon after the capelin started rolling, we began seeing more whales. I recall one particular day when a whale was swimming alongside us in the ocean as we walked along the edge of a cliff. We'd hurry through densely wooded sections of the trail to quickly come out to openings where the whale was visible again. As the whale was following capelin, both we and hundreds of seagulls were following the whale -- us to enjoy its beauty, the seagulls to hunt capelin. All while we were probably being watched by an eagle or other land bird. Whether you're by yourself or with one other person, you're never alone on the East Coast Trail. The trail is one big system connecting wildlife, people, and landscape, and the sooner you realize this, the sooner you'll feel like part of it.
Changing Perspective
One important lesson I learned from our trip is the importance of seeing any event from multiple perspectives. I will now describe one particular episode from our trip which illustrates what I mean. We spent Canada Day, July 1st, in the small town of Bay Bulls. While walking back to our tent at night, which was pitched just outside the town, we were called over by a group of women who were having a bonfire in their backyard. They looked to be in their late fifties/early sixties, and were smoking, drinking, and swearing loudly. In Toronto, I probably would have thought they were "sketchy," and kept walking without acknowledging them. Maybe I would have even made fun of them to my friends later. But, thankfully, this was small-town Newfoundland, where the prevailing attitude is to welcome strangers and not fear them. We decided to follow the old adage "When in Bay Bulls, do as the Newfoundlanders do," and joined in their bonfire. They shared their drinks, crab legs, and stories with us, and Donna even let us take a shower inside her home. A good portion of the night was spent discussing how something like this would never happen in southwestern Ontario. Sharon recalled a trip to Toronto where she tried to make conversation with a stranger on the subway but was told by her friend to stop because that's just not something you do in a big city. They also told a story about how they volunteered to house strangers from all over the world, many of whom they still keep in touch with, when planes were diverted to St. John's after 911. Though the travelers were initially shocked by the generosity, these women claimed they were just doing what any other good person would do.
The point of this story is not just to demonstrate how hospitable Newfoundlanders are (although they are unmatchable); it is to show that so much depends on perspective. Typically, when a vulgar chainsmoking stranger offers to let you shower in the home she shares with several cats, you'd turn the other way and run. But sometimes all it takes is an open mind and a simple "hello" to discover that people are not always what they seem to be. Sharon and Donna helped me realize that it's necessary to change your point of view every once in a while to realize that everyone has a unique back-story and an equally valid perspective. Sure they were a little rough around the edges, but they were also some of the nicest people I've ever met. Had we not reconsidered our initial perceptions, we would have missed out on what became the most memorable Canada Day I've ever had.
The point of this story is not just to demonstrate how hospitable Newfoundlanders are (although they are unmatchable); it is to show that so much depends on perspective. Typically, when a vulgar chainsmoking stranger offers to let you shower in the home she shares with several cats, you'd turn the other way and run. But sometimes all it takes is an open mind and a simple "hello" to discover that people are not always what they seem to be. Sharon and Donna helped me realize that it's necessary to change your point of view every once in a while to realize that everyone has a unique back-story and an equally valid perspective. Sure they were a little rough around the edges, but they were also some of the nicest people I've ever met. Had we not reconsidered our initial perceptions, we would have missed out on what became the most memorable Canada Day I've ever had.
Comfort
From July 16th-21st Andrew and I stayed put on some crown land and built our own campsite, consisting of a modified lean-to shelter, a bench, and a fire pit. The lean-to was made entirely out of branches, boughs, leaves, and pine needles -- hardly anything you'd consider comfortable. I decided to sleep in the shelter on July 28th. Admittedly, it felt odd that I received a monetary grant to sleep in a shoddy unprotected shelter outdoors, especially when my tent and sleeping bag were only 50 feet away. Nobody was going to take away our money if I did not sleep in the lean-to. We could have been in a hotel and nobody would have known better. So, as I lay shivering on my sinking prickly bed of needles, I couldn't help but wonder why the heck I was doing it.
The conclusion that I managed to convince myself of was that comfort is overrated. Nobody remembers the nights when they slept soundly. You don't really learn or gain anything new from doing the things you're already comfortable doing. Growth occurs from trying new things and stepping outside your comfort zone. When you test yourself in a new situation, you learn what your limits are as an individual. And it also usually makes for a killer story once you get through it. Comfort is great, don't get me wrong. But I find that very often many people, myself included, become trapped in their comfort zones and miss out on a lot of learning experiences as a result. When I speak of comfort, I don't necessarily mean sitting in a padded arm-chair with hot chocolate and a wool sweater. I mean routine, mostly. Wake up, eat, go to school/work, come home, watch cat videos on youtube, instagram your dinner, talk to friends on facebook, sleep, repeat. Though there isn't anything necessarily wrong with this, it becomes a problem when you start thinking that's the only way to live. The school system is perhaps the biggest comfort zone that people get stuck in, and realizing this was largely the impetus of our trip. So, go ahead and challenge yourself. Worst case scenario, you'll have a good story to tweet about.
The conclusion that I managed to convince myself of was that comfort is overrated. Nobody remembers the nights when they slept soundly. You don't really learn or gain anything new from doing the things you're already comfortable doing. Growth occurs from trying new things and stepping outside your comfort zone. When you test yourself in a new situation, you learn what your limits are as an individual. And it also usually makes for a killer story once you get through it. Comfort is great, don't get me wrong. But I find that very often many people, myself included, become trapped in their comfort zones and miss out on a lot of learning experiences as a result. When I speak of comfort, I don't necessarily mean sitting in a padded arm-chair with hot chocolate and a wool sweater. I mean routine, mostly. Wake up, eat, go to school/work, come home, watch cat videos on youtube, instagram your dinner, talk to friends on facebook, sleep, repeat. Though there isn't anything necessarily wrong with this, it becomes a problem when you start thinking that's the only way to live. The school system is perhaps the biggest comfort zone that people get stuck in, and realizing this was largely the impetus of our trip. So, go ahead and challenge yourself. Worst case scenario, you'll have a good story to tweet about.
Technology
I use my cellphone a lot. I also tend to live on facebook for extended periods of time. I don't watch tv often, but when I do, I binge watch. Recently, I diversified my social network portfolio and joined the snapchat and instagram communities. Sometimes, instinctually, I'll take my phone out of my pocket immediately after putting it in there, or open a new Facebook tab when I already have one open. As much as I hate to admit it, many times during our trip I thought "Hm, that would make a good profile picture. I wonder if I could break 100 likes."
But as much as I rely on technology, I'm glad that we decided not to bring anything with us on the trail. I learned that when I force myself to live without technology, I actually enjoy it. I first realized this two summers ago while tree-planting, and it was reinforced this summer. But this is not meant to be an anti-technology rant. My point is this: enjoy what you have, when have it. If you're at home with a good internet connection and want to look up the score of last night's Raptors game, go ahead without worrying whether you're a slave to technology. But when you're with your family and friends, put your phone away and enjoy what's around you. When you're outdoors, far removed from civilization, enjoy nature. As long as you know when it's appropriate or not to use technology, and have the power to resist when necessary, that's what matters. Technology isn't a problem, it's knowing when to use it.
But as much as I rely on technology, I'm glad that we decided not to bring anything with us on the trail. I learned that when I force myself to live without technology, I actually enjoy it. I first realized this two summers ago while tree-planting, and it was reinforced this summer. But this is not meant to be an anti-technology rant. My point is this: enjoy what you have, when have it. If you're at home with a good internet connection and want to look up the score of last night's Raptors game, go ahead without worrying whether you're a slave to technology. But when you're with your family and friends, put your phone away and enjoy what's around you. When you're outdoors, far removed from civilization, enjoy nature. As long as you know when it's appropriate or not to use technology, and have the power to resist when necessary, that's what matters. Technology isn't a problem, it's knowing when to use it.
Local Wisdom
I will explore this theme by recounting a series of encounters we had. The first was on July 3rd when we met a man on the trail just outside Tors Bay. His name was Dan, and he invited us in to his beautiful summer home overlooking the Atlantic for a drink and some rest. Dan is a retired physician, married to a university professor, and has sent his daughter to four Ivy League schools to obtain her PhD. Originally from Michigan, he now has a winter home in California and a summer home in Newfoundland. Now, why am I telling you this? Because, given his background, it makes something he told us all the more striking. Dan said that when he first met some small town Newfoundlanders, he was shocked but impressed by how smart, clever, and knowledgeable they all were. This is a former doctor who has been around trained academics his whole life, referring to fisherman and labourers with little or no formal education. Dan also told us that, from his experience, small Newfoundland towns are some of the only places in the world where you can find a fisherman and a former Supreme Court Judge, for example, living beside each other, each equally respected and admired by the other. Our brief chat with Dan introduced the idea that academia is not the only way one can be a knowledgeable and useful member of society, a notion that would continue to present itself throughout our trip.
About a week later, we had a very similar conversation in the town of Renews. We met a 59 year old man named Alvin, who recently retired from the oil industry. After working and living all around the world, he did not think twice about returning to Newfoundland to retire. Despite being a trained physicist and having an MBA, Alvin claims that he'll always be a carpenter at heart. As we sat in his house, which was under major renovations at the time, Alvin spoke about how all the education in the world isn't worth one bit of real life experience, like knowing how to build a house or catch a fish. Though I did not fully agree with the extent of that claim, it raised the important point that university education is presently valued far above learning from life experience and hard work. Is this bad? Not necessarily, as long as we don't become stuck thinking that learning from books automatically makes one smarter or more valuable than learning from life experience.
Nobody represents this notion more than Alvin's friend Jimmy. We met him that same night at Alvin's house, and then he had us over for dinner the following night in Fermeuse, the next town along the ECT. If one person in the whole world could embody the idea of local wisdom, it would be Jimmy. He was raised in a lighthouse because his father was the lighthouse keeper, and received a limited education growing up. He's been a fisherman since he was a small boy, and has since explored every nook and cranny of the province. He never has to buy meat from stores because he catches all his fish and hunts his own moose. There isn't a single fish in the ocean he can't catch, and no moose on land he can't track. We listened to him tell stories about how he has been successful because of his intimate understanding of the land and ocean, which he gained through a lifetime of experience. In his own way, Jimmy is one of the smartest and most knowledgeable people I know, despite having no post-secondary education whatsoever. He is living proof that there is more to learning than just books and a classroom.
About a week later, we had a very similar conversation in the town of Renews. We met a 59 year old man named Alvin, who recently retired from the oil industry. After working and living all around the world, he did not think twice about returning to Newfoundland to retire. Despite being a trained physicist and having an MBA, Alvin claims that he'll always be a carpenter at heart. As we sat in his house, which was under major renovations at the time, Alvin spoke about how all the education in the world isn't worth one bit of real life experience, like knowing how to build a house or catch a fish. Though I did not fully agree with the extent of that claim, it raised the important point that university education is presently valued far above learning from life experience and hard work. Is this bad? Not necessarily, as long as we don't become stuck thinking that learning from books automatically makes one smarter or more valuable than learning from life experience.
Nobody represents this notion more than Alvin's friend Jimmy. We met him that same night at Alvin's house, and then he had us over for dinner the following night in Fermeuse, the next town along the ECT. If one person in the whole world could embody the idea of local wisdom, it would be Jimmy. He was raised in a lighthouse because his father was the lighthouse keeper, and received a limited education growing up. He's been a fisherman since he was a small boy, and has since explored every nook and cranny of the province. He never has to buy meat from stores because he catches all his fish and hunts his own moose. There isn't a single fish in the ocean he can't catch, and no moose on land he can't track. We listened to him tell stories about how he has been successful because of his intimate understanding of the land and ocean, which he gained through a lifetime of experience. In his own way, Jimmy is one of the smartest and most knowledgeable people I know, despite having no post-secondary education whatsoever. He is living proof that there is more to learning than just books and a classroom.