Thursday, November 03, 2005

Haida Gwaii III

High on caffeine, human goodness, chocolate, sugar, newness, we dampened my poor hapless dome tent. Mordechai Richler died that same night, said the headlines as we sipped $4 split pea soup at brunch. Lunch was sardine sandwiches on $5 bread from the organic grocer. Hitched an afternoon ride to the Haida museum with a frenchman named Vibes Bahai, a divorcee with 3 San Fransisco daughters.

Further on up the road a homely housewife dropped us near a logging road: "STOP. Active logging in progress."

We walked 500 metres through tree trunk humility, stopped breathless beheld massacred acreage - tree carnage. Waded in. Bloody mess.

I struck a pose on an 8-foot trunk for camera perspective. Followed a dumb little grousse - hunter's dream of slow stupid fat prey. Doe-eyed deer dream snacking on the undergrowth. We walked until a feartruck rambled by as we ducked behind dead wood. We split up and walked tree trunk miles - sparce miles of densely crowded carnage, oil cans tilting, beer bottles strewn. Material discarded. Trees cut to the shore, into the river, with the bank eroding. We reunited, stared over vacant destruction onto unobstructed shimmery sea.

"All this useless beauty."

We sat arm in arm silently crying. Wounded forest healed friendship.

"Tomorrow we'll go on a nature hike, and appreciate it much more because of this."

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