Took a short jaunt out to Finn Slough tonight to use some much neglected equipment. While I’ve been shooting for work, I haven’t been doing any personal projects lately. Mostly, I’ve been climbing and working on the skills needed to become a stronger climber. Between growing my lead head, pushing grades, learning to clean climbs, rappel, tie prusiks and other knots, and manage a 70 metre rope, the act of taking pictures gets lost amid all the activity.

But more trips are coming up, including some hikes into the backcountry and attempts at a few summits (by scrambling, no apline climbing for me yet).

So stay tuned…

This is Tony making his way up a 5.12 in Skaha. I forget what it’s called.

It’s climbing season, and Skaha was packed for the long weekend where I spent two hot days touring the rock and getting some much needed, confidence boosting climbs.

Leading is a mind clearing exercise that’s really helping me focus and forget the chaff that I burden myself with over the week engrossed in work and surrounded by the teeming city life. I am becoming hooked into the possibilities discovered over two climb days at Skaha.

We had a couple early starts, ate a whole chicken, downed a bottle of Glenlivet and caught rays on the beach too. It was rad.

There is just something right about linking telemark turns on the ski hill. The fluid movements and transitions from knee bend to knee bend, the feeling of skis responding and the swish of snow on each curve down the hill. Done right, it’s poetry.

I managed to finally get some decent turns in this weekend on a trip to Vancouver Island’s Mount Washington where we spent an amazing nine hours on Saturday riding the chairlifts up and gliding down. Sometimes on my bum. But I felt like I made some major breakthroughs with help from a friendly ski instructor who free heeled too. He shared some great tips in a quick ten-minute lesson on a run down the mountain.

I’m still sore from the long day on the hill, but man, I can’t wait until to get another day riding the planks again. Hopefully the season’s not over yet.

March already, and I can barely believe it. The first two months of the year were pretty jam packed with ski touring adventures, bivouacking on the snow, waking up to midnight snowmobiles charging by camp, and even a few days climbing out in Squamish. Unbelievable. It’s not even Spring yet.

Even though today started with a snowstorm, the next few days have sunny forecasts so I’m hoping for another foray to the Squamish boulders for some after work climbing. In the meantime, above I’ve posted the results from a recent outing on a rainy day.

What I’ve learned post-video production? I’d rather be taking stills. Or even better, just enjoying the climbing.

I welcomed in the new year up at the Mount Steele Cabin in Tetrahedron Provincial Park. January first started with cloud and blowing snow, but it all cleared up by the afternoon in time for a beautiful sunset. We stood on the mountain on the Sunshine Coast, blue skies above us and a layer of clouds below floating by.

It couldn’t have been more perfect to start off a new year.

Another year has come and passed, and I’m still here. It was 365 days of epic highs and not as many lows as I’d expected. I spent something like three months in a tent and sleeping bag, wore only two pairs of pants for the better part of the summer, and had four pairs of socks choose from. I won’t get into the boxer situation.

I drove across the country when gas prices were ridiculously high, crossed 20,000 kilometres to drink cheap beer in a strip club in St. John’s, Newfoundland. And I didn’t even have the cash to spring for a private dance with a blond beauty.

I hiked to new summits, saw some beautiful places and experienced the generosity of strangers across this giant country. I slept on a ferry chugging through the choppy Atlantic, attempted to learn to ride a dirt bike in rural Alberta, went fishing with biker dudes on Vancouver Island, and drove a 10-foot tall crop sprayer on a farm outside of Estavan, Saskatchewan.

My best friend got married, and I got talked into a suit to make a toast.

I met a handful of beautiful women. Asked one out. Got rejected. Typical. Maybe 2009 will bring more luck.

I drank lots of beers, tasted new scotches, and if memory serves, managed to not puke once in the twelve months that just passed.

I would say it was a year with much laughter and very little tears. It was great. But why do I still feel like crap at the end?

That’s right. I came back from a six-month sabbatical to an economic meltdown and tens of thousands are losing their jobs and retirement savings. It took less than two months for our nation to find out that Stephan Harper’s second minority government couldn’t govern. Yet, based on popular theory there is no one else capable of leading the nation.

Personally, if a large fraction of us were keen on letting a cold-eyed, dork in a sweater have the keys to the Ferrari, I don’t think we would’ve done all that bad with a waspish poindexter behind the wheel. But we’ll never know thanks to a pooping puffin.

But there is hope. After all, there’s another 365 days coming up.

Closer to home, while thousands of media workers have lost their jobs in Canada, and many many more in the States, so far, most of my journalist friends and myself have survived the cuts.

For that, I’m thankful.

I’m also thankful for my family and friends who are around to spend the holidays with. I’m thankful for the memories and adventures that the past year has yielded.

Thanks, and have a happy new year to all.

(Should’ve been posted a week ago, but been busy)

Gurv Shira of the tag team Bollywood Lions looks for some crowd support.

So what if the storylines are all fake and the outcomes most likely planned ahead of the bouts. The crew with All Star Wrestling put on an impressive performance last Friday night in North Vancouver. There were body slams, clothes lines, elbow drops from the top turn buckle, catcalls and insults, and even a human flying torpedo.

Between this and roller derby, I’m beginning to think I don’t need to shell out big money for the pro sports teams anymore. This stuff is way better. You get athletics and theatre, all for under twenty bucks.

To read the story and watch some of the action, click here.
For more photos, tap this.

Last night while listening to Oliver Schroer’s magnificent piece Field of Stars, and browsing through my photo collection, I was taken back six months to the time I spent on the road, living the dream of being free. The opening song to Schroer’s Camino album is one of those bits of music that conveys an unbelievable amount of sadness, but it is nevertheless so beautiful that I always have to stop whatever else I’m doing. It’s music that you have to listen to and just breathe.

To listen to Schroer, and breathe, and browse through the photos of my cross Canada journey is an even greater treat for me. I was sad that it was over, but happy too that it was done, and wishing I was still out there. I’m sure it’s a sign that there will be many more adventures in the years to come.

The above photo is of me standing at the end of some random hike in Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario. I’m wondering where in tarnation the mountains are. I will admit now that when the photo was taken back in July, I wanted desperatedly to be back home in Vancouver, where my mountains were close at hand along with my family and friends.

For a free listen to some of Schroer’s work, I suggest visiting the CBC Radio 2, where they’ve posted the recording of a tribute concert performed in February of this year. Sadly, Schroer passed away July 3.

Two weekends and two epic trips out to Squamish for some wandering in the woods, searching for pockets, jugs, flakes and cracks to jam my fingers and toes into. I am in love with this climbing thing. The peacefulness. The wilderness. The solitude (if you so seek it). The test of body and mind against something solid, unyielding and uncaring. I have left a few layers of skin and some blood too on the rocks, but the lessons learned have transcended the stones.

I am, of course, still taking photos through all this scamping around, and you can see the results here, in my “Hands on stone” set on my flickr site. It’s been an enjoyable challenge to try and capture the quick movements often under the dark forest canopy — it’s something else I’m still learning. Check back every so often, as I’m hoping to add more to the set if the weather cooperates.

Two years ago I spent my first significant time alone in the backcountry. I camped at Garibaldi Lake and spent five days hiking and exploring the area. I instantly fell in love with the place, learned plenty about backcountry camping and about myself too.

Although I hear more about Black Tusk when I mention Garibaldi Lake to others, the highlight of my mid-September trip was the view from Panorama Ridge — the other nearby hike.

Standing atop the ridge back in 2006, I snapped one of my favourite self portraits. It shows me grinning into the camera while my jacket hood is billowed by the wind. I am surrounded by mountains and glaciers all around, and below the shadows of clouds cover the beautiful turquoise blue lake. With the photo taken, I beat a hasty retreat down to escape the cold.

But not before vowing to come back one day.

Fast forward to the Thanksgiving long weekend.

After breaking trail in about eight inches of snow from Black Tusk Lake, following the footprints left by a wolf, I returned to Panorama Ridge.

There was a healthy layer of powdery snow, but no wind, allowing for a cool break up top.

Much had changed. I was older, wiser perhaps, and came better prepared. But I still had my camera, and had to take the obligatory mugshot.

Me on Panorama Ridge September 2006.

Me back on Panorama in October 2008.