29 October 2006

Pot Hill Parade

Today Sonja, the Hammer and I ventured up Pot Hill for the first time in many years. Pot Hill is named after a Cherrydale alcohol smuggler from the early years of the last century named Jack "Smugglin'" Pot. The Hammer likes nothing better than to get into the forest. She can smell the presence of the wild life that was present just before and after sunrise.

"The fall is the best time for hiking isn't it Beer?" said my beautiful, if sniffly, partner Sonja.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I said. "There's no bugs. You don't have to sweat like a politician telling lies. And the trail is not packed with other people out for exercize like us."

The trail was covered with shed maple leaves. The leaves hid the McShit wrappers and other garbage on the forest floor. The fall is the time wilderness looks like the wilderness and not like Sliverville out in back of the Burger King. Mushrooms, the Hockey family's favourite fruit, popped up here and there. No good mushrooms (except for maybe a couple) were seen. The good mushrooms are going to have a small window to appear in before the first winter frosts.

Most of the trees were hanging on to dead leaves. Their yellows, reds and browns were highlighted by the appearance of the sun as it crested a nearby mountain. A few sheltered vine maples were still green as they were in spring.

As we neared the top of Pot Hill we were met by others on their way down the slope. Sonja is still in pretty good shape but they looked at me like maybe they should pull the cell phone out of their packs and phone an ambulance. They changed their mind when I pulled a cold beer out of my own pack and took a healthy slug.

On the way back down the hill we met two riders on their horses. The trail is closed to horses and dogs are meant to be leashed. We met as Anarchists do on the trail. One of the horsetop gals asked, "Is your dog ok with horses?" I assured her she was but, "She is a bit too friendly with them." I have been lucky to never have one of my dogs kicked in the head by a horse. Dogs do not understand the danger of the kick zone of a horse until they have learned the kick of horse makes us human kung-fu types look pretty powerless by comparison.

I have previously got the Hammer away from horses by patiently waiting for her to get close enough to me for me to grab her. Today, after first trying to grab her near the horses, I tried to get her to follow me down the hill. She was too interested in the horses to follow us down the hill. Luckily some folks behind us on the trail got hold of my dog and brought her to me.

I am lucky to live so close to the mountains, the forest, the mushrooms and horses heading out into the wilderness. Used to be I could go for walks like I did today and not run into another human being. That was then, this is the New Dark Age.
One of the reasons Canada gave the world Greenpeace and George Woodcock was the fear we might one day lose the wilderness and freedom that hides therein. When you get away from the cities and the politicians and the corporate whores Canada is still the most free country going. Some things are worth fighting for. I stand on guard for Paul Watson and the Canadian sealing industry. We can have it all, but we have to hang together, motherfuckers.
There's a lot of friends to be made in the danger zone.

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