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December 29, 2010
bushwhack (v.)
My first encounter of "bushwhack" in a sentence came from my early childhood days spent at Camp Miriam, a wholesome, socialist-leaning, nature-loving, Jewish summer camp on Gabriola Island. Each age group (or "kvutzah" in Hebrew) had a daily branch of work (or "anaf avodah"), and mine was Anaf Bushwhacking.
My second encounter of bushwhacking was a week and a half ago when my boyfriend, Ben, and I were in Uclulet/Tofino. (It seems this bushwhacking thing and the Island are inseparable in my life.) Anyway, as I've mentioned, we attempted to go beach-combing in the morning (during low tide) at Schooner Cove, one day before our four year anniversary. After a nice one hour walk down the beach, kicking logs and sipping coffee from our tumblers, we decided it was time to head back.
However, seeing we'd only walked down and not back at all for the entire time, we were a few kilometres short of being anywhere near the (only) trail back to our car, the highway, the town, and well, civilization.
Before we knew it, our little stroll amounted to me running for my life toward shore after the tide came back and the ocean filled my Timberland boots and soaked me to my knees. So much for waterproof.
To avoid the waves that were crashing into the cliffy shoreline (and out to get us), we had to climb - yes, literally climb - into the forest.
I was in a frenzy, shaking from the cold that was climbing up from my frozen feet, and totally paranoid that the ocean was gonna take us in alive. I kept looking at the ground, the dirt and the branches all mushed together beneath my feet, and whenever I saw shells, I kept screaming to Ben, "Keep climbing higher!! It's moving fast! It's coming for us and it's gonna get us here!"
To say the least, fear makes you crazy. In retrospect, though, the only image I have from this moment was cliffs and slippery rocks in front of me as I quickly skittered across them, and Ben, scurrying along behind me, a tumbler in each hand high above above his head.
Once the shells in the dirt disappeared, and the ocean waves sounded far behind us, we calmed down a bit. This only lasted for a moment, though. It's hard to remain calm when you look around yourself and all you see are dense trees, storm debris, and no sign of human life (apart from the odd Birkenstock that just brings up images of a castaway's death).
We started walking. Well, hiking, climbing, crawling, and (wait for it)... bushwhacking.
I'd never in my life realized what a real forest really looks like, how unpredictable terrain can be, and how utterly exhausting it is to move through it. There were tricks we developed. From staying low when the brush was high, to moving backwards to keep branches from hitting us in the face. Ben found it easier to move forward once he put the tumblers in his backpack and I found it easier to keep going by yelling at him. I threatened to kill him if a cougar didn't first. I blamed him for not bushwhacking fast enough (to beat the dark), or bushwhacking with too much gusto (for fear he'd get hurt and I'd have to drag his 6-foot self through the forest alone).
My favourite plant was soon the fern because it signalled easy terrain and no swampland or thick brush.
After walking for an hour, we lost all orientation. It sounded like the ocean was surrounding us (which we later found was true because we'd reached the end of a small peninsula). We eventually called 9-1-1 (as my cell phone blinked "low battery"); while Ben gave out our information (B-E-N...May 2nd..... Vancouver... V-I-S-N....), I imagined our names in the paper: Due to a freak accident on Vancouver Island, Visnja, 23, and Ben, 25, were.... I didn't dare finish the thought.
Eventually, the operator put us through to the local Constable (Our Saviour!) who then told us we had two choices: 1: Wait at least five hours (two of which would be in the dark!) until the low tide came back; or 2: bushwhack.
Seeing I was not going to listen to animal sounds, freezing my butt off in a dark forest, we moved forward. To gain orientation, Constable B. played his car siren at the reservation close to the trail we were aiming for. Every couple of minutes, we'd stand in silence, our ears perked up listening for the sound of our target.
Luckily, we weren't hurt. We sang together loudly (the silver lining) to keep the wildlife away (yikes) and tried to stay positive. Three and a half hours later, I, covered in mud and twigs, and Ben, with rain pants ripped to shreds, set foot on the trail.
Down the trail we saw Constable B. He looked back at us and smiled, then uttered a simple "fuck".
After a short car ride in the back of a police car, and another short drive back to our place in Uclulet, we realized how exhausted we were from our four hour trek. Never in my life had I tried so hard to move 1 km/hr.
Once at the condo, Ben had to actually hose down our clothes. We left everything at the door (our muddy clothes and our negative feelings). Soon we were sipping rum and egg nog in front of the fire sighing over what had happened. Ben even looked at me with a smile saying, "When you said we weren't going to make it to our four-year anniversary, was that because you were going to break up with me or because you thought we were gonna die?"
I didn't bother replying and just gulped my drink, pulling twigs out of my hair.
That night we had a burger and wings and fries and clam chowder and a whole lot of beer. We also sang karaoke.
We had a whole new appetite for life.
Happy Anniversary, baby!
 |
| Ben, before the real tumbling. |
However, seeing we'd only walked down and not back at all for the entire time, we were a few kilometres short of being anywhere near the (only) trail back to our car, the highway, the town, and well, civilization.
 |
| Just a stroll. |
To avoid the waves that were crashing into the cliffy shoreline (and out to get us), we had to climb - yes, literally climb - into the forest.
I was in a frenzy, shaking from the cold that was climbing up from my frozen feet, and totally paranoid that the ocean was gonna take us in alive. I kept looking at the ground, the dirt and the branches all mushed together beneath my feet, and whenever I saw shells, I kept screaming to Ben, "Keep climbing higher!! It's moving fast! It's coming for us and it's gonna get us here!"
To say the least, fear makes you crazy. In retrospect, though, the only image I have from this moment was cliffs and slippery rocks in front of me as I quickly skittered across them, and Ben, scurrying along behind me, a tumbler in each hand high above above his head.
Once the shells in the dirt disappeared, and the ocean waves sounded far behind us, we calmed down a bit. This only lasted for a moment, though. It's hard to remain calm when you look around yourself and all you see are dense trees, storm debris, and no sign of human life (apart from the odd Birkenstock that just brings up images of a castaway's death).
We started walking. Well, hiking, climbing, crawling, and (wait for it)... bushwhacking.
I'd never in my life realized what a real forest really looks like, how unpredictable terrain can be, and how utterly exhausting it is to move through it. There were tricks we developed. From staying low when the brush was high, to moving backwards to keep branches from hitting us in the face. Ben found it easier to move forward once he put the tumblers in his backpack and I found it easier to keep going by yelling at him. I threatened to kill him if a cougar didn't first. I blamed him for not bushwhacking fast enough (to beat the dark), or bushwhacking with too much gusto (for fear he'd get hurt and I'd have to drag his 6-foot self through the forest alone). My favourite plant was soon the fern because it signalled easy terrain and no swampland or thick brush.
After walking for an hour, we lost all orientation. It sounded like the ocean was surrounding us (which we later found was true because we'd reached the end of a small peninsula). We eventually called 9-1-1 (as my cell phone blinked "low battery"); while Ben gave out our information (B-E-N...May 2nd..... Vancouver... V-I-S-N....), I imagined our names in the paper: Due to a freak accident on Vancouver Island, Visnja, 23, and Ben, 25, were.... I didn't dare finish the thought.Eventually, the operator put us through to the local Constable (Our Saviour!) who then told us we had two choices: 1: Wait at least five hours (two of which would be in the dark!) until the low tide came back; or 2: bushwhack.
Seeing I was not going to listen to animal sounds, freezing my butt off in a dark forest, we moved forward. To gain orientation, Constable B. played his car siren at the reservation close to the trail we were aiming for. Every couple of minutes, we'd stand in silence, our ears perked up listening for the sound of our target.
Luckily, we weren't hurt. We sang together loudly (the silver lining) to keep the wildlife away (yikes) and tried to stay positive. Three and a half hours later, I, covered in mud and twigs, and Ben, with rain pants ripped to shreds, set foot on the trail.Down the trail we saw Constable B. He looked back at us and smiled, then uttered a simple "fuck".
After a short car ride in the back of a police car, and another short drive back to our place in Uclulet, we realized how exhausted we were from our four hour trek. Never in my life had I tried so hard to move 1 km/hr.
Once at the condo, Ben had to actually hose down our clothes. We left everything at the door (our muddy clothes and our negative feelings). Soon we were sipping rum and egg nog in front of the fire sighing over what had happened. Ben even looked at me with a smile saying, "When you said we weren't going to make it to our four-year anniversary, was that because you were going to break up with me or because you thought we were gonna die?"I didn't bother replying and just gulped my drink, pulling twigs out of my hair.
We had a whole new appetite for life.
Happy Anniversary, baby!
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Still glad you two are alright. Can't wait to see the other non-forest pictures! :)
ReplyDeleteTamara
Is brave!
ReplyDeleteI couldn't have said it better myself - well documented!
ReplyDelete