Bar the renching heart ache of leaving the decidedly overfed and underloved ‘Rachel’, the cat, departing from the ‘holiday’ that was the disappointingly un-busy Trout Lake was unemotional.
We made it across the lake on the ferry and over to Revelstoke in good time (3.5 hours early for our bus).
The town of Revelstoke is most pleasant and I’m told the skiing is even more pleasanter. We’ll have to come back for that as we have easterly meetings to attend.
After a small mooch about town and a fine lunch we arrived at the bus stop. It was the same jolly bus driver that had brought us here, still both loving and hating his job.
We boarded.
6 hours and one blocked toilet later we arrived back in Calgary. The place where we’d left our dear pals of the Continental Divide Trail, some months ago. They’re all now safely at home (ish) except Family Size who is romping around Patagonia and Bear who tacked another 800 miles on the Arizona Trail onto his repertoire.
It was 11pm. We were met by Snake’s friend Suzanne, whom she met in Thailand in 2008 and hasn’t seen since.
It became apparent that the almost 12 years of separation mattered not. They gassed the whole way home about their time learning to teach English (also described as, their time continuously drunk).
We lasted another hour after arriving at Suzanne’s pad in the Suburb of Bowness, Calgary.
We spent the following day here in -20 conditions, recouping and recovering from our very easy month by the lake.
Plonking myself down at a computer, immediately accessing the Internet and helping myself to the complementary coffee is something I’ve become uccustomed to throughout the USA.
The library of Bowness let me down after asking me to ‘register’.
We met Suzanne after she’d finished work and enjoyed an evening of merriment in a local bar.
The following day we made easy progress to the airport for our afternoon flight to Toronto. The security at this small airport was a frustrating joke. The officials were operating as if no one in the building had any kind of schedule to keep to, such as one which involved catching a plane on time.
The flight was turbulent.
I really hate flying.
Dear friends Tom and Chloe met us in their new brown wagon and drove us to the comfort of their lovely half house just out of downtown Toronto. We drank their beer.
We spent a wonderfully normal and in some ways surreal weekend. I’ve known Tom since I was 3. I’ve been away from home since April. My brother died in May. I’ve not seen anyone else who knew him since. It felt in a way, a nice softening of what I’m beginning to dread as the start of true the reality of his death: going home.
With some additional chums Nick and Liz, and some of their chums too, we shopped for a Christmas tree in an old brick works and decorated it. It was great.
A small stroll took place, some beer and a few arm wrestles.
Do you like my fanny pack?
We left them after three days of joy, for Orillia, a grimey town just over an hour north of Toronto and south of Algonquin Provincial Park, which is the oldest of its kind in Canada. Supposedly beautiful, but I wouldn’t know as we didn’t go there.
We both squashed the rising feeling of lethargy and the unenthusiastiasm we both felt for getting to grips with yet another new place, another new routine and another set of people. It was beginning to wear thin and we missed the ever changing, ever challenging days on trail. A lot.
We were collected from the bus stop by a very welcoming ‘Maddy’ who was an employee at ‘Scales Nature Park’ which was set to be our next WWOOFING location and where we would reside for the next 3 weeks.
We turned up the driveway and were greeted by the entrance sign which remained me of Jurassic Park 2, where they return to the park, now an overgrown and ancient mess.
OK, maybe I’m over exaggerating.
We arrived at the dilapidated shed like structure, around lunchtime. The building looked set to tumble at any moment. And if it did, it would be a while before the discovery was made. We were on the outskirts of a seemingly abandoned industrial park and the ceaseless roar of nearby highway traffic would soon drown out any alert of its demolition.
Disregarding the acoustics of the neighbouring highway we entered the building with ever diminishing feigned positivity.
We were warned that there was a conference for the next two days so the normal household of around 11 (including us) was to increase by about 15, plus the non residential staff who worked there permenantly. So it was busy.
Scales Nature Park focuses on the conservation of reptiles, amphibians and fish through education, research and conservation activities.
We were warmly welcomed by streams of friendly people. There were 4 other Gemeran WWOOFERS staying but leaving in 2 days. There were two 18 year old apprentice lads and a varying array of obsessed nerdy reptile types.
Jeff, the chap in charge of the place showed us our room. It resembled a prison cell, only prison is most certainly cleaner. Our 1970’s bunk bed mattress looked like several people had died or been conceived on it. The filth on all surfaces had built up to a preposterous degree. We asked for bedding.
Jeff seemed happy enough to welcome us into this filthy cave.
We retreated back to the lounge. And decided to escape the masses for a stroll around the ‘Nature Park’ we made it a full 300m before the trail ran out. It was a snowy wonderland, unfortunately a small snowy wonderland with the ceaseless drone of traffic to accompany us on our walk.
Convincing smile?
Back in the pit/shed dinner was being prepared. The food is mostly donated from a local grocer, to feed the reptiles but, that which they deem edible is fed to the humans.
Usually I’d be in full support of avoiding waste, but their definition of what was edible and what was putrid and off was somewhat different to the rest of the world.
That which wasn’t donated food (meat and dairy) was purchased, and it was the lowest worst and most crappy budget meat and dairy available.
The sink looked as though it had a month of grime stuck to it and the dishcloths smelt like vomit.
The walls were splattered and stained with months of life. Even the once white light switches had a ring of black grime around them.
The nicer of the two bathrooms was an ordeal.
Now, I’ve just spent the last 5 months sleeping on the ground and existing in the permenancy of my own filth, so I’m not exactly picky when it comes to cleanliness, but cleanliness and hyeigene are two very different things.
This place was foul.
We’ve both spent our fair share of time in grim places, but usually there aren’t the means to un-grime these places. These people had the means, but not the desire.
Filth had been allowed to layer up year upon year. Skin, hair and fungus all purculating together.
It was late when our bedding was handed to us in a musty, used ball. We immediately sunk it into the (also filthy) washing machine. Unfortunately there was no dryer so we were up, waiting until the bedding was dry.
Even out of the wash the sheet we’d been given was blood and wee stained like someone had been slaughtered then burried on and in it.
We found another sheet.
Bed time blood stains!
We lay in the central hollow of the ancient matress plotting our escape.
Due to the woman usually in charge being tied up with the conference, the following day we worked alongside the current WWOOFers who got to work doing their usual chores.
Our usual working hours we were told would be 9-5 which is a lot more than I’d like to work, unpaid while living in squaller and while being fed stale bread.
I’d hoped more of the work would be outside, but it seemed in winter all the outside jobs shut down. Our time would amount to cleaning the cages of the reptiles in the centre.
The reptiles, I’m pleased to say, we’re the cleanest kept of everything in the building and we’re extremely well looked after. Though, unfortunately animals in cages affects my aura.
Though, some of these animals were pets, rescued from useless owners and are now unable to be released due to their time in captivity, some were bred to remain in captivity for the education of the future generations, and some bread to sell to the public .
It all just made us a little uncomfortable.
There was a thick smell of ‘gross’ which lingered about the place.
The second half of our first day was over and stale bread was served for lunch again. After lunch we left with nothing much to do as the conference was still in full flow.
We left for a walk. Shelley lead us out and away from the nature trails and in the direction of the industrial estate. I asked why she’d chosen to go that way and it transpired she wanted to recce the walk to the bus stop, preparing for our evacuation.
Our being at Scales meant the two paid interns spent most of the day not doing very much and complaining about it. Therefore in us making the decision to leave, I felt at least they would be able to work.
But, we needed somehwere else to go for 3 weeks before Christmas. Snakes got to work finding an alternative.
One of the great things about woofing is that last minute pleas for help and (re)placements are widely accepted.
Convinced we were too old and too far into this this trip to waste three weeks in hell, and more importantly having now successfully secured another placement, we confirmed our plan to leave the following morning, rather than ‘right now’ which was Snakes’ preference.
I went to talk to the owner, Jeff and explained our departure. He was extremely unphased and understanding, telling me he’d seen the place “a hell of a lot worse”and agreed,” it isn’t for everyone”.
We booked the bus.
We departed the following morning, early. We walked to the bus stop and boarded bus one of two, feeling a huge sense of relief.
Until I realised I’d left my phone in the grimey bathroom at Scales.
Snakes, in total dispair, called me a “fucking idiot”. She wasn’t wrong.
But then, more helpfully, she suggested we ask Scales to mail my phone, rather than returning to collect it and missing our bus back to Toronto.
I did, they agreed. All is well.
After a brief stop in snowy ‘Barrie’ and another 1.5 hours on the bus, we landed back at Tom and Chloe’s sanctum. We immediately stripped and washed everything we owned.
We reveievd a message from our new WWOOF host at ‘Haute Goat’ saying they could pick us up from Toronto this evening as one of the full time Alpaca ladies, Christa was coming in to town and driving back tonight.
PERFECT!
We had just enough time for dinner with Tom and Chloe, during which we vented, hard, at them.
At 9:30pm we walked the 2 miles to the bar in which we would find Christa, our new German pal. Christa saved us from Sclaes and we are eternally greatful.
She drove us and an unidentifiable amount of young German females, (some past and some present WWOOFERS) back to the farm (1 hour) dropping some of the girls off and collecting others along the way. I tried to work out who was who, but it was dark, late and not making any sense.
We arrived at midnight, and were seen to our room in an incredibly large, warm and clean house, where we slipped into clean sheets and collapsed into deep dreams.
Here we will spend the next 3 weeks in the lead up to Christmas, hopefully having avoided a tetanus or Campylobacter related death at Scales.
SONDER 