So I followed the narrow trail and found myself in another world. It was almost like falling through the looking glass. The unfamiliar path, the light slanting through the trees in a different way, the birds chirping and swooping. I remembered how much I had enjoyed walking with the dogs up old logging roads when I lived in the Kootenays, going where we hadn't been before, getting a bit lost. I love that feeling. I never felt at risk in any way, even though I may have been many kilometers from other humans, and I rarely told anyone where I was going. Yet I am not an adventurer, I just feel safe and protected amidst the trees, and trust the dogs will eventually get me back to "civilization".
But I am probably the odd one out. The fear of being lost in the woods is a foundational myth in many cultures, particularly that of Canada. For years I have carried with me the clipping below. The story captured my attention because it seemed so preposterous. In August of 1909, the Governor-General of Canada, Earl Grey, got completely bushed in just a few hours. I loved how the formidable wilds of British Columbia got the better of him. I pictured someone like Lord Downton being plopped down on the north shore of Jervis Inlet, thinking he would bag a couple of grouse before returning home in time to dress for dinner. The arrogance of the British aristocracy, asserting their privilege to raise a ruckus in the woods and prove their dominance over the land (and Nature).
|Earl Grey, in the back seat, visits the hollow tree in Stanley Park.|
|Official portrait of Earl Grey.|