HAIR REMOVAL: Ten Reasons to Grow a Lady Stache

Seems insane right? Letting that pesky facial hair they never warned you about during the period talk remain if not flourish on your face? I have battled with this for years and I have come up with a solid ten (because that's the magical number) reasons why you need to toss out the tweezers and start embracing the fuzz.

REASON ONE: IT'S MEANT TO BE THERE - Let's face it (pun intended), its meant to be there, much like the rest of the hair on our bodies. Some ladies are more blessed than others in this department, but whether you are willing to admit it or not, (exception if you are just not at that age yet - but you are not immune to this destiny), it's there. So own it, I mean, who said we had to be hairless beings anyhow? Don't even get me started on the practice of removing all of one's pubic hair, for now, lets focus on allowing the world to see the magnificent shestahces and lady beards we can grow.

REASON TWO: MUSTACHES HAVE NEVER BEEN SO POPULAR- Not since VHS porn and Tom Selleck has facial hair been so in style. I know that overall it's men who have been enjoying this magic with their beard balms and stache wax, well we want in dang it. Think of the economical boost to start, and most of the neat products are found at farmers markets from locals - go green!

REASON THREE: THEY LOOK COOL, GOOGLE IT - Seriously, just google women with mustaches and women with beards, you will want to high five these brave warriors. They smile in the face of judgement, and who doesn't love a hairy smile? Rose Geil, hats off to you.

REASON FOUR: YOU CAN JOIN THE CIRCUS/CARNIVAL - Do you like to travel and meet exciting people? Do you want to get to know midtown anywhere everywhere and live in the aroma of popcorn, grease and cigarette smoke? Then let it grow, let it grow! Who doesn't want to amaze the masses in the freak show? Think about it, you get to be friends with all the interesting folks!

REASON FIVE: ITS A CONVERSATION PIECE - You can be a full on celebrity among your friends and family, I guarantee you will be the topic of conversation many times over and everyone will have an opinion on your facial hair! It's the life of a celebrity without the fear of being photographed without makeup in public. Which brings me to my next point...

REASON SIX: YOU DON'T HAVE TO WEAR MAKEUP - Who the heck is going to be checking out the colour of your eyeshadow or the volume of your lashes when you have a face of glamourous threads. No one will be able to take their eyes off it, they will get lost in you.

REASON SEVEN: IT HELPS YOU CONTEMPLATING - We can all picture the wise old man stroking his long beard, or the brilliant criminal circa 1920s twisting his curled up moustache while hatching a genius plan. Wouldn't you like to do the same? Think of all the schemes you could hatch! With facial hair care becoming as popular as it is, grab yourself some wax to get an extra shiny twist. 

REASON EIGHT: BREAK THE BARRIER AND PLAY SANTA AT THE MALL - As a long time feminist and believer in people united, I think that one major way to break the glass ceiling, is to not only climb the latter in the corporate world and run for office, but to consider all the occupations. Why don't more women work as Santa in the mall at Christmas? Well, if you can grow yourself a nice beard, I urge you to dye it white and join the fight. Break that glass, spread that joy, be the Clause. 

REASON NINE: NED FLANDERS - Enough said.

REASON TEN: GENDER IS FLUID - We are working to live in a world without labels of any kind and that includes gender identity. If you give up removing your hair, you can climb up on a high horse higher than a vegan living in a tiny home off the grid. You can tell people you are beyond their gender expectations, and that, makes you awesome. 

#*%& it!

What brings a person into this reality?

Sometimes, life can really kick you in the fucking pants. Sometimes, life kicks you so hard in the pants, you loose it. Maybe it's your cool, or your glass vase collection, maybe it's your sanity, often times, it's yourself.

Cliché to talk about finding yourself and all that sappy crap I know. I don't want to get into inspirational poop that isn't going to solve the right now shitiness of things when you feel lost or beaten.  I don't have lines for you if that's what you may be expecting, because lately that just isn't my shtick. I can no longer look at people with absolute positivity when their world is crashing in on them and they have no clue who they are and tell them some flowery bullshit to make them fell better.

If you are shaking your head in disagreement, tell me one moment when you loathed the earth and everything on it, felt lost and heard that "one line" that "made it all better." It didn't. That moment has never happened anywhere in the time space continuum. It may warm you for a moment, but if you are lost my friend, that sad sack feeling is going to return sooner rather than later.

I am not going to say those things. You know those things. Those things people say to you when you're feeling down, or those phrases people post on Facebook with some stupid sunset or night sky theme in the background. Things like the darkest hour is before the dawn (which technically it isn't) or when life hands you lemons make lemonade (I don't even like lemonade...or juice all together for that matter..). To be honest it all sounds condescending and downright annoying - especially when you hate the world.

So what is this all about really? Well, it is about a few changes that recently occurred in my realm of existence that pretty much made me go from comfortable and complacent with bursts of good to crying daily, eating peanut butter out of the jar at 3am nightly and often yelling out "I hate my FUCKING life" while driving, texting or generally interacting with other people.

The really annoying part to me deep down, was that none of what happened was all that bad in the scheme of the world and in the sadness and loss I have felt and witnessed. I am not dying, no one I love is dying, I have a roof over my head and three (sometimes rather large) squares a day. I have finally found a loving man and have a job that pays enough for me to occasionally eat my face off at a local sushi place (which on a side note has had several health code violations but I enjoy playing food poisoning Russian roulette).

Shit is not that bad to the outside world, but in my heart it has been awful. It all started by me making a poor choice, which was to make no choice in my favour at all. I moved, which as previously written was an "exciting new chapter" I was going to start.

It is not that I didn't want to live with my boyfriend or I question if he is for me, it's that his house was in a farther town, a town I never liked. I despised commuting far to work. I disliked the road rage it brought out in me, the money it cost in gas, the time I felt it stole from me and the environmental impact on the world it creates. I was single and living on my own for many years, I didn't want to let that go just yet. To boot, I never wanted to live in a house that he (my love) shared with his ex wife once upon a million years ago.

The move was rough. The adjustment almost killed my relationship. I wanted nothing more for the first month I moved, than to hop in my car, return to my rental and boot out the landlords son so I could take my life back, the one I was so comfortable living.

The worst part of the move, I lost one of my cats. I had two, one I have had for almost a decade, and my new kitty, a stray I fed and took in when she had kittens. A kitty that I fell in love with, that I couldn't give up once I knew it was time because I already placed her in my heart. She got out, got away, and of course got pregnant again (I had plans to fix her after the move). Then, I found her, but by this point I was almost a week into my new place in my new town and my poor allergic boyfriend could barely breathe with one cat in the house.

I made the saddest choice I have had to make thus far, I had to give up my cat (to a no kill shelter) to ensure her safety, her unborn kittens safety and my boyfriends health. It left me with my 10 year fat companion, but it stole my fluffy new one. I have never thought it was right to give up on a pet, I did it for love, sacrifice and compromise. I balled my face off for weeks. I had nightmares and guilty thoughts and hated it all.

I did not take that decision well either, and I sabotaged my relationship further by ranting and raving and not making the sacrifice with any form of dignity or responsibility.

I lost my independence, I lost my comfy home with my stuff all where I wanted, I lost my short drive to work, I lost my neighbourhood friends and family grew farther in distance, and to top it all off, I lost my fucking cat.

Then folks, the inevitable happened, I lost my job (kinda).

Let's rewind for a moment here if we can, because the slow descent into madness had levels. The moving in level was great, blissful till the cat was found then lost. I turned sad and angry very fast. I was comforted by the thought that I was doing something for someone I love dearly, but that faded and didn't hold water the moment I pictured my cats cute little face or turned on my phone to see her in the background.

I cried everywhere, including the grocery store because I made the mistake of naming her after a food item, because why wouldn't you name your cat Pesto.

Life had somewhat imploded on me and I was struggling to keep a positive attitude. I decided in the midst of all this was a great time to quit smoking. WRONG. I arrived back to the group home I work at one afternoon to be greeted by a message to meet my boss downstairs.

Now folks I have been fired before, and I can tell you it was unexpected, wrongful and outright traumatic. It was exactly 24 hours after my boss had given me a glowing yearly review. I sat across from her and she looked upset; as though she had just cried in a bathroom somewhere (other people do that I hope.) She handed me a letter, and said she had bad news. I heard "deficit" here and "not for profit" there and suddenly I was being told my co worker was being laid off, and the position contract I was in was being cut. I sat there stunned and asked what this all meant.

I was in a contract position at this time, and I held a permanent spot otherwise. It gets a bit complicated where I work because we are a union not for profit organization. After being assured that I was only going to see a change in shift hours and I would not loose a thing, I sauntered off to console my co worker.

Union, seniority and what have you trickled down slow. Over the course of a month I did indeed loose my contract, then lost my permanent position by being bumped out due to seniority and then had to bump out a friend from her part time position. It killed me inside, I watched my clients suffer as burnout spread and I turned into a crying sad sack shadow of my former self.

Boo hoo for me right? Kinda. Low point? Kinda, because the low points I have been hit are somewhere between six feet under and China I cannot say this was my worst. As my work life continued to kick up dust and anger in an environment where staff were feeling abused, my relationship at home started to crumble. I had no safe place to go anymore, I was floating out in the abyss like Homer in the end of the Simpsons space episode (if you don't know this reference we may need to reconsider any possible friendship).

I started to hate my job. I became less bubbly, less fun, and turned into a robot who came home from work, hit a shot of vodka and called it in for the night. I started back on the smokes, and found myself adrift.

I would like to say that something magical happened in the shit pile that was my life, but it didn't. Life just plain sucked mega sweaty balls. I decided fuck the happy quotes, I had to do something about this insanity.

I did something I rarely do, I reached out. I told people I was down, I called my friends and requested laughs and a shoulder to help me through it all. I started to paint again, write again, and put out items of mine around this new place to comfort me home. I played with my nephew and niece, I got my fishing licence and started fishing, I took two weeks off this summer and said YES I will have another slice of pie.

It didn't fix the shitty, but it sure made it smell better. Like a match after a taco inspired poop, I changed my spatial reality. I am in the middle of two well earned weeks off, and I love my life again. It may never be perfect so why not have fun on the way?

Sounds like a stupid happy inspirational saying doesn't it?

But why the elephant costume? Well that friends is a sign I figured it all out.

I just returned from a yearly trip I make with my mom and three of her friends to the glorious Muskoka region. We meet each year and these strong wonderful women who are 55 plus allow me, a lowly 33 year old into their party.

I laughed so hard partial peeing of pants may have occurred. I am never one to shy away from putting on a show, and this year one of the ladies asked me on a quiet afternoon by the lake if I would put on an elephant costume they found to surprise my mom.

Of course I said yes, and glasses of wine into the evening I found myself doing the running man and pole dancing (sans pole) in an elephant costume all the while not knowing what I was wearing. My short lived time as a mascot (lifetime goal) was beautiful, and there is video out there to prove it (stay tuned youtube). I was just being me and I felt like for a moment happiness can simply trickle through the dark if you just try.

I like lessons, so what's the lesson here? I will turn to Monty Python for some help because they sang it better than I can write....

Life's a piece of shit, when you look at it.
Always look on the bright side of life.




UPDATE:

The crazy part to bring it back to the now, is that my boyfriend had an allergy test done. He is allergic to pretty much every food item I cook with, the same ones I started cooking with when I moved in, and the ones who really caused his stuffed up red eye allergic misery. The moment he figured this out, he told me I could get my Pesto back, which I immediately did.

Moving Forward

I am moving in less than two months, which will make a perfect tenth time I've moved in the last ten years. That means on average (yeah I know you know) I have moved once per year. Of course I haven't actually moved once a year, but damn.

When I have a staff meeting at work, I can't sit still. After a few years in a job, I'm ready and usually move on to the next interest. I travel to different cities, I go with the wind (especially after I've broken it).

This time, it's different. I'm a 33 year old, unmarried, self proclaimed cat lady who is actually moving in with a real life breathing adult male. A dude I love. A man I want to spend the rest of my life with, unless I scare him off before then. After being a woman of complete independence and free flow for decades, this crazy feline friend is about to settle down with a wonderful loving penis person.

It's exciting and terrifying all at the same time. This step means a lot too me, because I have stuck by the ideal that I would never live with someone for convenience, financial sharing or due to a certain amount of time lapsed in a relationship. I did declare that I would only move in with someone if I felt I couldn't live without them. I found him, after years of absolute doubt.

I will disclose that I am perhaps a bit on the emotional side these days, due to an inconvenient uterus. A uterus that lately has been causing me worry. My uterus is 33. It's a body part I don't feel I have used much over the years, all it's done is cause me pain and the embarrassment of dropping that pad in the hallway at school in grade 8. The question of course on my mind, should I use this thing before it's "too late"? This is followed by "can I even use it if I decide I want too?"

I am surrounded by babies, I am getting too "that age" (you know...complications past 35) and I have finally met someone I want to make a life with, so is this something I need to act on soon. It's a scary question, and the man I love and I have had the talk.

Tonight I spent dinner and the evening with my sister and her beautiful kids. I have a niece (6 months) and a nephew (almost 4) who light up my life. My nephew has inherited the crazy that runs in my family (brother in law included). I love it, and I love that I can get to an easy level of play with this guy.

To make him laugh I just need to make fart noises and run around like the nut I am. Tonight while assisting him in wiping at his request and much to my sisters delight, he proclaimed that I am really good at wiping bums. I am really good at wiping bums by the way, I do it Monday to Friday and not just on myself, on others too. Should I mention I work in a group home where that is a part of my job? Yes, or you may think me a pervert.

Later on while playing "timber" as he fell on me like a tree and I stacked him as firewood, I told him he has stinky feet as he fell onto me knocking us backward, he giggled and said "you have stinky boobies." I laughed harder than him and decided in that moment, I want to create something like him.

He's a smart little dude with the most delightful love of life. Who wouldn't want these moments for all those other tough ones? As I drove home I started to think of my ticking clock (pardon the cliché) and feeling hormonal felt sorry that I didn't have this joy in my world. The idea that I may never have this joy.

After grabbing some chocolate (double cliché) from the store and dialing my pj's, I received a text from a good friend. She told me she was feeling down, and also experiencing some hormones of her own, told me she doesn't think he's out there, and she may die alone.

I flashed back a few years, a mere couple years really where I remembered that feeling. That worry that surfaced from time to time, that idea that I was never going to find the right man, and I would die alone surrounded by cats and empty cans of diet Pepsi. I did my best to chat her up, and reminded her of what I use to tell myself. If he's out there, it will happen, if he's not, I'll still be great. I believed it and lived it, it's what made being single so awesome.

As I finished the chat, I thought about the chat I had with my boyfriend. If children happen, great, if they don't, we will do other great things and still be...dare I say it again, great. Why do we always want what we don't have? It's time I take my own advice again, and embrace to move forward with no expectations.

Besides, I do have that joy. I have my niece and nephew and they are joy enough in the kid department, even if I have to be Aunt Stinky Boobies.

Camping with L.B: Canoe Safety

Continuation of Camping with LB: Bathroom Etiquette

If you look close enough, you can see my middle finger.
 I'm in no way giving it to you.
I'm expressing how I feel about camping without a lake.

Young's Point, Alberta


CANOE SAFETY

 The best things in life may be free, but the best kind of camping includes a damn lake. I assume it's why being a "Canoe Trip Leader" was indeed the best job of my life. It came with touches of danger, more than a few embarrassing moments, hard work, early rises and a lot of preparation. It was all worth it once I was out on that water, listening to the sounds of my paddle dip in and out.

I miss the days of blisters and sunburns, I miss the day long paddles and the portaging. I miss the wild. I miss the combined smell of sunblock, bug propellant and campfire in my hair. I miss the open water, the marshlands and the forest. There is one definite thing I do not miss. What I don't miss, is looking like a complete fucking idiot in front of children in my care. I don't miss it at all. 

For your entertainment however, I will relive these moments, because I'm nice like that. 

It was another typical summer day in the middle of Algonquin Park as I made my way down the light rapids of a small meandering river. I had campers in my care and the help of another leader about my age. I didn't forget the tent poles, bears hadn't eaten our food and for once I hadn't tripped or fallen to the tune of laughing kids.
 

The trip was only a few days in, and spirits were high. As we continued around the bends of the river I kept my eyes open for the upcoming portage (being the leader means being aware of shit like this...and not telling the campers till you get there so they don't whine for too long).

When we found our short 400m portage, I was a bit confused. The river seemed to bend around the land making it appear as though you could just keep going. 

I am "smarter" than that of course, I always follow the signs and stick with the plan when it comes to life far from emergency services, and I follow the map. It is a provincial park after all, and that shit is important. Just ask David Suzuki.

As we beached our canoes on the soft gradual shore, I began to unload the contents of my canoe on to the sand. I was feeling pumped for a short stint of hard work when I heard one of the campers start to scream. 

"The canoe!" she shrieked, "its getting away!"

Oh holy hell of course it it's floating away down the rapids, it's the canoe with all the food in it. 

It is important to note that while trippin' campers were always told to wear their bathing suit under their clothes. It was also common knowledge that I never followed this rule, as I was out all summer and there is no way wearing a bathing suit for a summer is good for my downstairs. 

I yelled down to the camper telling her to swim after it, as she dig have a suit under her shorts and t-shirt. I didn't think it was a major task. I watched the canoe float out into the narrow river and I pictured it following the current and never coming back. Not in one piece anyhow, I mean, why else would there be a portage here?

The camper began to slowly untie her shoes, pulling delicately at the laces, calm and snail like in her movements. One shoe off, struggling to remove the first sock. Ok, I thought, this isn't going to work.

I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the shore and yelled "I got it!" while racing towards the water. I forced myself into the waves, pushing out toward the canoe as fast as I could.

I could see the canoe ahead of me, almost there I notice sometime odd, the canoe had stopped moving. The canoe was resting calmly on a bed of reeds on the other side of the very small river. My rescue mission had been in vain, and now my shit was all fucking wet.

I heard roars of laughter coming from the beach behind me as I grabbed the tip of the banked canoe and swam it to shore. As I gradually submerged from the water, like a drown beaver, I walked over to my co-leader and mumbled under my breath about the failed attempt.

I informed the group that I would change before we began the portage and headed up the small hill to the trailhead. As I stepped over the ridge I could see little to no places to change as the water was visible from where I stood on all angles. I chose an area near the river and convinced myself I would be fast.

I quickly stripped down out of my clothing so I could dry off (with my very small hand towel). It was then I started to hear voices, not in my head, coming down the river.

Fuck, I thought, there's people coming. I could barely get my dry underwear up my half wet thighs when around the corner came a group of males canoing past me. They saw me. They all pretended to then look away, but they saw me. I could hear snickering as I fireman-ed on the rest of my clothes, dreading seeing them on the portage.

Good news was, I didn't have to see them. They didn't portage.

Bad news was, the reason they didn't portage was because it's only there for dry seasons and the river continues safely out into the lake.

It was all for nothing. It could have all been avoided.

But where ever is the fun in that? I made a flag out of my bra and underwear to dry them off as we pushed off on the other side of the portage, and continued on our way.

Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bathroom Etiquette

 Continuation of Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bear Safety

 

A bear would NOT use a privy to shit in the woods, but the rest of us have too

BATHROOM ETIQUETTE

I can tell you for sure that a bear shits in the woods, and considering how many camping trips I have taken, I have done the same. Being privy to information is always a good deal, having to use a privy is not. This whimsical creation can be found on most campsites across Canada, and varies in design. Sometimes its a barrel with a toilet lid, sometimes a wooden box, sometimes there is no lid and you can be sure that toilet paper is never supplied. 

I am very comfortable (aside from the fact there is no comfort in sitting on one of these beauts) using a privy and really any outdoor toilet available. I even spent a summer as an Ontario Junior Ranger in 1999 and part of that job included covering up old privies and digging new ones. 

Basically that means I was paid lower than minimum wage to dig shitters. I didn't mind much, I always enjoyed placing the new ones in really open spaces for low privacy. It made having to do this task much more enjoyable. 

Using a privy is thus, not the most enjoyable event while camping, what's worse is having to go when there is no privy to be found. I know for men, when it comes to having a tinkle they can seem to go anywhere at anytime. The dynamics of going are easier and there is no need for me to explain why, we all know why.

I have perfected urinating outside (sexy I know) over the years from a variety of life circumstances. Sometimes it's been out in the middle of nowhere, sometimes it's been behind a few space trees in a city area (I drank too much in my twenties don't judge me). At times I was sober, at times I was indeed drunk. 

I have been caught by watchful eyes, I have been bitten by bugs and I have "missed" all while going out there in the world, sans toilet. I have come up with some neat tricks along the way, and since I am talking camping here I will stick with that genre. I have also not gone in a public in a decade, so I'd like to keep that topic where it belongs - in the past.

Important to locate when you number one outside as a lady - privacy. Since the while shebang needs to get pulled down you best hide your naked ass behind some shrubbery. If your ass is a white almost blue hue like me, I suggest extra shrubbery. It reflects the sun something awful so be warned that waving that around where any light shines can give you away.

It is crucial that you find a tree within the shrubbery. Ideal conditions are in a thick wooded area with lots of forest floor coverage. You will need this tree for support, so make sure you don't mind holding on to it (pine trees can get a bit sappy so beware.) 

So step one - locate the flora. Step two - I will get back too. I must jump to step three first, if you don't mind (you have absolutely no control anyhow). Step three - really pull those trow down. All the way down. There is nothing that can get any splash or spray off your pantaloons when you are camping or hiking, and by George you don't want to spend the rest of the day in urine doused anything.

Step four - use the tree as leverage while you relieve yourself. Just hug that tree like your David Suzuki and make sure your feet are at the base of the tree and your bum is as far away from the it as is humanly possible. (The lack of a tree results in a squat, which causes my under worked thighs start to burn).

The fifth step is simple, just pull yourself back into the tree, take a hop away from the contaminated area and move on with your day (I am just assuming you know the common sense of the front to back you need to do before pulling up your pants).

Simple? Yes. Effective? Absolutely. It may not be as efficient as a go girl but the system works, I have used it for years. They system has been a constant for me and is in my eyes, perfect. The only small tiny glitch is, if you miss a step, you can really land yourself in some trouble.

Step Two is brought to you by the Adirondacks in upper state New York. It's a breathtaking area of foothills and mountains, made for hiking. I was still a canoe trip leader even if this particular trip had no canoes, it was all altitude and on foot.

It was day three or four this time, I can't remember which one but it was dab in the middle of our adventures. We were moving base camps and heading up into the alpine zone and over a mountain to cross down to our next camp. I was hiking with my pack full of gear and was making sure I stayed hydrated (lovely to have fresh mountain water at hand).

I guess I got a bit too hydrated, and nature called (I was conveniently already in the woods - har har). Unfortunately at a higher altitude the ground had but moss and pine needle coverage and the trees had gotten smaller and more sparse.

I told my campers I would be right back, and they giggled when I explained I needed them to all face the other way. I walked about a hundred feet but was still in eyesight of the trail.

I felt secure that no one would turn around and I began my steps - if there is no coverage - just improvise like that. Step two I will tell you now, is check the tree. I mean really check it. Make sure that tree is solid, and I mean solid. Take a test run hanging on that thing before you move to the third step.

I missed step two, I fucking missed step two and didn't check to see if I had something to bear my weight. I wrapped my arms around that skinny half dead tree and was nearly completed step four aside from my shake and wipe (needs no explaining, sorry if it's too much info but that's what I am all about).

I did the shake and it all went to hell.

The tree cracked, it cracked in half. It hit the forest floor and the sound of the crack and crash echoed through the mountains. The hills were alive with the sound of failure.

As the tree fell I fell backwards with my hunter green hiking shorts around my ankles. My tan boots kicked into the air, and the entire group of campers turned around in reaction to the noise.

I have body image issues sometimes, and it is thus no suprise before even telling everyone I was ok, I yelled out "I'm fat!"

They all burst into laughter knowing I was ok, and I was now the literal butt of any joke for the end of the trip. 

So there you have it, when your doing a number one out in the wilderness, don't forget step number two.

Coming soon: Canoe Safety

Canoe Trippin with LB: Bear Safety

Continuation of Canoe Tripping with LB: Equipment

That right there - is an actual photo of a bear shitting in the woods

BEAR SAFETY

When I was a young girl, I was always given the same reply when I asked my mother a question with an obvious answer ' "Does a bear shit in the woods?" It was a staple, and in Jasper Alberta during the summer of 2007, I witnessed an actual bear, shitting in the woods. I called my mother immediately to let her know - yes, they do.

This was however, not the first bear I had seen in the flesh. To recall that I will have to return to my summers as a canoe trip leader. The incident took place in Algonquin Park, but not the same trip as my previous mishap (because I like to spread out the craziness for all to share). 

The week before I left for my trip news was buzzing around Ontario that there had been a bear attack in Algonquin Park. No one was harmed, but a lady and her daughter had been chased off a cliff (leaping into a lake) by a bear. 

I have and will defend that bears for the most part are not a threat, they are mainly vegetarian and have no interest in eating humans (just the processed food and garbage irresponsible campers leave behind). Bears are generally quiet and solitary, only getting to a dangerous point around their young. 

A week before my trip and I wasn't panicking, because there is no need to be afraid of bears. Pack a bear kit, make noise when in the forest and of course, don't feed the bears. Simple, easy, I told my mother not to worry when I called home, I would be fine, the campers would be safe. 

The week flew and after re-routing the trip to avoid a lake that had been closed due to a bear I was ready to rock. Before I knew it I was packed in a van with a fellow leader, seven hyper campers and one very quirky driver named Dane who always told me on a scale of 1-10 how much I "ranked" after a trip. 

When I registered at the main gate, I was told that the lake closure had been lifted and the "bear problem" solved. I didn't ask further questions, I knew it was either a relocation or they put the poor thing down and I didn't want to hear it. Either way, the original route was back in play.

Day four of the trip my group made it to the lake of the bear. It was a very windy day and we were all struggling to paddle against a strong headwind across the lake. I wanted to get as far ahead as possible before we stopped (our permit was to stay on that lake on that night). 

The weather was unforgiving of my plan, so after consideration (and a really tired upper body) I directed the canoes to a campsite to stop and set up for the evening. As we paddled closer to the site, I noticed a yellow sign posted. 

We tied up the canoes and I told the campers to hold off while I investigated. I read the sign easily: SITE CLOSED DUE TO BEAR PROBLEMS

Fucking idiots, I thought, they forgot to take the damn signs down. 

I gave the go to unpack and my junior camp counsellor agreed to walk with me to inspect the campsite. I always did this to start, locate the toilet (aka hole in the ground with a half barrel over it), look for lone wilderness men etc. 

We walked liesurley down a pine coated path and chatted as we checked things out. There was an interesting cave located a bit down the path and just as I was about to make a bear related comment, I saw it. 

I saw my first bear. Brown fur, black nose, cute little bear bum, it wandered off in the distance, just a tiny little guy, nothing scary. Nothing scary until I realized it wasn't that far off, but it was tiny, and it did have a cute little bum, because it was a bear cub. Holy fuck I thought, I have loured my campers to their deaths. 

I quietly whispered to my friend, "slowly start walking backwards, we need to leave."

She noticed the bear at this time, and we walked backwards slowly until the bear was out of sight, and made our way to the campers and more importantly the canoes. 

"OK guys!" I announced, "pack it all up, we are leaving."

The campers whined, moaned and asked why because we just got there. 

"Just move quickly, we need to leave now." I said. 

They argued again, told me it was too windy, they were tired, they like the site etc. 

"There's a bear on the site." I snapped trying my best to sound calm (shitting my pants on the inside)

That did it. My mind and heart were racing as we pushed off shore and made our way around the site, and then I saw it. 

A cliff face, a giant cliff face leading into the water located on the site I just tried to claim. A site that was clearly marked closed. I stopped at the exact site where the bear attack had happened the week before, and there it was, the cliff. 

The cliff with a giant red X painted on it because assholes like me apparently need more that a stupid sign to tell me to keep off a damn site. Assholes like me who assumed taking care of a bear problem didn't mean posting a damn sign on one site as though the bear would never travel elsewhere.

Of course, it didn't. It was still there, and this asshole almost pitched a tent and started cooking dinner meters away from a bear cave, with a cute cub and a very protective mama. 

It's a laughable matter now and was for the whole lot of us once we were safe and a bit of time had passed. I know you're thinking now, wondering, was I allowed to take more trips out after this incident?

Answer: Does a bear shit in the woods? 

Coming soon: Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bathroom Etiquette

Canoe Trippin' with LB: Equipment

 That's me, pretending to be part of the Canadian Shield  

(if you can find me)

Lift your hands up to your ears, cover them in full and prepare yourself to hear a very loud toot. By "toot" I don't mean the kind my nephew swears comes out of his penis, I mean the loud resonating tooting of my own horn. Toot Toot! Side note: my nephew who is just under three farted on me this week, and when I told him he tooted at his Aunt because his bum was facing me, he giggled and said "No Aunt L, I toot out my penis!" (Either I need to call Family and Children's Services on my sister or this kid is full talent and may just change the world). Anyhow - here's my loud toot (which incredibly enough is coming out of my fingers at this moment)

I can be a bucket of fun, did I tell you that? Well, I can, and when I was a summer camp canoe trip leader in my early twenties and the early 00's - I was KNOWN for my fun. Children I had never met would be in glee when they found out that I was to be their canoe trip leader; they celebrated and danced around to have ME because dang-it - I'm fun stuff. Those that had gone on trips with me would run back to their fellow campers upon return and regale tales of laughter and silliness. I was famous the two summers I devoted to that place. The canoe trip leader all the kids wanted to camp with...and there's the toot.

Here's the echo of that giant toot; I may be looking at reality in a different sense. By that, I mean I may at times (and maybe even this time) exaggerate or perhaps rephrase a tiny bit of truth here and there (and everywhere). It's true, I mean children around camp did mention me, but it may not have been because I was exactly the most "fun" leader in the camp. You could maybe say that it was because on my trips "funny" things always happened. By "funny" I mean hilariously disastrous. You know, LB's law of absolute ridiculousness, also known as reverse horseshoe up my ass (which in todays world would be #horseshoesthewrongway or some such).

The kids weren't wrong at all either, it was true, any trip I took out from the three-nighters to the week-longs, mania occurred. If it could south, it did. There was the usual fuck ups you would expect. The time or two I forgot the poles for the tent; the few times a canoe tipped or leaked; the times I got lost and made up stories of complete bullshit as to why we paddled or hiked how ever many hours or kilometers off track. Usually it was some "legend" I made up and then would show the campers the magical or special fill in the blank (rock, creek, tree, dead end etc) before announcing we were now going to turn around and head in a completely different direction (after checking the map again for no reason....)

The remaining events, perhaps less average but sadly true.

BARREL OF LAUGHS

It was somewhere in Algonquin Park, day one of a seven day trip. I was the luckiest leader on staff, as the week long trips in Algonquin were a big deal to lead and only happened twice a summer. I was looking forward to the trip and  excited to try out new equipment the camp had purchased: a barrel pack. It's an interesting piece of camping equipment if you have ever used one and basically is exactly what it's called: a barrel that is indeed a backpack.

 

This gem of a creation is meant to keep supplies dry and safe and can be useful to store food in at night to keep out wildlife. It's designed for anything but comfort, and the barrel is larger than most people's torsos making movement both awkward and kinda painful. The straps help distribute the weight like a regular pack, but anytime the wearer moves with any sort of jump it jabs into their back and slowly bruises their tail-bone. It sucks to get stuck wearing it, but it was better than what we brought the year prior: a heavy wooden box with a strap.

On day one of the trip, it was packed to the brim with seven days worth of food. This is not normal practice for the barrel, it is not a fair or even distribution of weight among the camping party. The smart camp leader separates the food per camper and puts all the food in the barrel at night, but no, on my trips you just skip that fuss and pack it all in that fucker.

The upside of being a trip leader is being outside all summer and getting paid (not much but enough) to have fun and camp. The downside, being responsible for the lives of other people and being the sucker that gets stuck carrying really heavy shit because you can't force campers to do it - that's abuse.

The first portage that day was tolerable, a mere kilometer. I ended up with the barrel heavy on my shoulders and attached to me at chest and waist. It was heavy and I told the group I would lead since I needed to get moving.

I could feel my spine curving and crushing with every step of the journey to the other side, and my muscles tightened and twitched as the landscape rolled from downhill to uphill. By the end of the kilometer I was red, sweaty and muttering to myself.

I hauled over one last hill and up ahead the trees parted and there was the lake, it was heaven. 

"You got this Anderson." I gasped, "this is all you."

I pushed with everything I had left and made it to the waters edge where I could finally get what now felt like twenty cinder blocks off my back. Seeing the campers slowly following behind as I turned, tired but proud look on my face I let out a huge sigh, clicked the chest strap off and tossed that barrel right off my shoulders.

It would have been nothing short of the best release of my life, had I only remembered to remove the waist strap. Not being directly next to a natural ditch would have been ideal as well.

With the toss of the barrel and an audience of young teens, I flung back violently, smacked against the ground and rolled with that thing all the way to the bottom of the ditch. It rolled over me. I somehow managed enough momentum to run over myself.

I shutter to think trusting parents allowed me to take their precious children into the deep wilderness, there has to be a law against that shit somewhere. I'd like to say that was the last time I used that barrel, it wasn't.

I had six more blissful days with that thing. Six days and the rest of the summer.



Coming next: Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bear Safety