Matt showed up to see the CBC radio performance and he took these photos
The final episode in TSN's Canadian Chopper Challenge will premiere this Saturday night on TSN at 8:00 pm
Craig Northey, Doug Elliott & Pat Steward wrote and performed the musical theme for the series
Sharkskin is the house band for "Walby's Warriors" on Grey Cup day.
"The CFL on CBC's Chris Walby selects his CFL 'warriors' for the 2005 season. From Vancouver, hosted by Mark Lee and Chris Walby." Sunday, November 27, 2005, 12:30 p.m.
CC
I play with the Colin James Band on Thursday the 24th @ the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver. Bob Kemmis opens the show.
CBC is airing a live radio show from the patio outside the CBC building on Hamilton Street in Vancouver -- Friday the 25th from 3pm to 6pm. The theme of the show is "Craig Northey" and I play a tune (solo acoustic) every half hour or so. You can listen to AM690 here
There was a parking lot tucked into the woods by the mouth of the creek. They call it a creek but it’s as raging and wide as most rivers and it flows right into the ocean. This makes no sense but it’s the way all the small rivers in North Vancouver are named. He pulled up and let the dog out of the car and she bolted for the trail. She knew where they were going. He picked up from a walk to his 10km pace within about 20 metres as he thought, again, about the definition of river or creek. It’s these sorts of thoughts that start the channel surfing activity of your brain at the beginning of a run. The dog knew the trail. He knew the trail. It was time to find something new down inside himself. “This is really a dictionary question rather than a science question and It is complicated by the fact that the word "creek" has very different meanings in English dialects. Scientists use neither “river” nor “creek” as a technical word with a precisely defined meaning.
In British English, "creek" means a small and narrow inlet of the sea, possibly a sunken river valley. In Australian, it means (roughly) a small river. In British English, the words "brook" or "stream" would be used instead. Some "creeks" can, therefore be considerably larger, longer, or stronger flowing than some rivers. Some say creeks are defined by the fact that they feed into rivers and then rivers flow to the sea. That doesn’t work here. Defining things can, therefore, be complicated by whether the definition is scientific, linguistic or spiritual. Which does anyone prefer?…”. Off he went bouncing between self-reflection, analysis, daydreaming and the stimulus of this primeval forest. It was the cool and wet season. In this part of the world that means September to June. Depressives run for the hills so that was where he was going. Deep into the dark heart of moisture he ran. If he could commune with the beautiful results of this persistent overcast gloom then he could return each day with the feeling that it was about life and not death. Moss grew on everything and mist hung low enough to get tangled in even the hungry root systems of giant firs and ferns. The dog didn’t really know how to pace herself. She knew that sometimes they bailed before committing to the long haul and sometimes they were gone for a glorious length of time. She knew that there were plenty of dogs around each corner at this end of the trail and that was enough to make her pure heart almost explode. There was nothing like finally being coated in cool mud and having sticks and twigs decorating your ruddy fur. The trail wound tighter as it disappeared under the canopy beside the raging creek. Down to the left the liquid emerald pounded a deep white noise and in the odd instance boulders groaned on its bottom. From up above on the trail the pools and back-eddies were transparent and as the deep green arched over slick black rocks it brightened to an almost fluorescent quality. Up above all these branches it was raining hard but only half of it made it down to the dog and the man. After five minutes they were both soaked to the skin but the engines were keeping each ship warm through the waves. Steam rose of the shaggy black dog as she took the lead up the muddy switchbacks. Dogs can run right up he centre of the hill. Humans concentrate hard to find purchase on rocks and roots while moving laterally to lessen the grade and keep a consistent pace. As the trail rose up the valley beside the creek things became progressively more difficult and the dog’s enthusiasm was necessary to help motivate the man through each “wall”. The creek began to cut itself deeper into the rock as it moved up the valley and things began to appear more and more surreal. A child of the 70’s would be reminded of the Roger Dean artwork on all those progressive rock albums by “Yes” or “Uriah Heep”. Everything was sculpted by the elements into aquiline shapes. Erosion had made the strong things seem top heavy and precarious. Lone trees hung onto rock faces and stretched in beautiful arcs out over the sheer cliff walls. The water began to cascade up and over lips and dips that were perfectly smooth. It was as if a continuous curving line could be drawn from one object to the next and there was no division between any natural things. They were a half an hour out and were nearing their destination. It was their secret place. They could hear the water crashing from a great height. The first time they had run here the man noticed something happen to the dog. She knew it was a place to stop and move closer to the man. She slowed her pace and, if dogs can display such things, she bowed in reverence and respect. The first time they had come they had stopped at a bench that had been placed on the viewpoint over the cliff that skirted the most powerful part of the falls. He had leaned back on the bench and felt something metal. It was a plaque telling the story of a young girl who had perished at the falls. He was in the psychedelic, over oxygenated and under hydrated state of a long run and, in combination with his own challenges with mortality was overcome with emotion. He stood and moved to another bench to help defer the intensity. The plaque on that bench was a dedication to the same little girl’s father who had drowned trying to save her. It was all too much. He realized all at once his privilege and his luck. The place became even more beautiful not because of its dark danger but because it was a staging area for the transition of souls.
Today they moved out slowly onto the small bridge high above the falls having many visits under their belts and knowing with whom they came to commune. They came here to commune with all those they’d lost too early and to smile about those who had recently come into this world. This was the man’s temple. He had to struggle to get there and in the struggle he became better at something he couldn’t define. He placed his elbows on the railing and leaned over for a deep breath of the saturated air. It was at this point he noticed he had been carrying his cell phone in his hand all the way up the trail. It was clutched in the palm of his hand and he hadn’t even realized it. In that second so much happened. His instincts took over and there was no thought at all. A decision was made knowing it was right but not ruminating over why it was right. So often there are only shades of wrong but this happened in a thick broad band of pure right. His hand opened slowly and he let the cell phone slip away over the edge. He can remember the fall of the phone now as if it took five minutes but it was probably about a second and a half. He felt no sense of loss or risk and it all seemed completely logical. It fell without twirling or turning and he could see the face of the phone all the way down. The falls dropped below the bridge behind his back and shot out under his feet so many metres down. There was a ski jump effect as the cascade made a second fall to the creek. Just before it hit the white water at this lip of the falls he saw the keys light up as if it were receiving a call and then the phone shot out into the void and disappeared. At that instant a hundred calls were made to his loved ones. That number appeared on his friend Neil’s phone in Japan but he couldn’t answer it because he and his wife were opening the door to bring home their new baby. His friend Dave was high in the Andes staking a diamond claim and couldn’t get the call because he was making some obscure geophysical calculation. Another friend was crying in her Toronto kitchen because her father was seriously ill and she didn’t feel like getting the phone just then. The phone made these calls and it made calls to people in past generations and to those that would come here after him. The calls said nothing in words but they made a connection. The dog brushed against the back of his leg. He turned and they began to run back down into the woods.
To Shahid & Sarah and to my pal Dave Gray lost in the Andes November 1st 2005.
