Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada

Things we have carried

Backpacks, Bursting with loose sweaters, a myriad of brightly colored accessories tied to the side straps dangle as we walk. Sleeping bags stuffed into their sacks, still wet from the pair of moist socks stored there nights ago. Rocks that smear mud onto clean(ish) trousers and remind of far off beaches and mountains.

Hiking boots, worn down and scratched, faded and sweaty, a hikers best friend for the first day, his worst enemy for the rest of the trip. A stick that gradually gets smaller as the expedition progresses, and hampers and trips far more than it supports. The CD player, hidden and lugged across the mountains only to become redundant when the lack of headphones becomes apparent.

The canoe, which is carried like a backpack over fallen trees and across swamps, the weight pulling down and making the Sherpa like students stumble like crazed old hags. A flashlight that when turned on emits the feeblest glow then fades altogether. The wallet, brought by the unsuspecting sole who thought we would be living in cabins and that there would be something to buy.

A pair of rusty scissors found at the last campsite, used together with those from the first aid pack to form Mohawks and other outrageous hairstyles. Only half a toothbrush, to save weight but that is so small it is forever lost among the bags of toilet moss. One loose sock, carried by a different person everyday and mysteriously belonging to no one. One of our group, stumbling with pain from blistered and swollen feet, supported by friends and encouraged by educators, as me make our long journey to graduation.


Kevin


Erica


Sam


Parbez


Jake

Outward Bound Course YLT48 Armstrong, Northern Ontario, Canada

I crouch in a trench made by a fallen tree as the storm beaks around my friends. Curled up in my rain jacket I spoon food into my mouth as water pools in my bowl. Suddenly a small figure leaps down and joins me in the quest for shelter. Jason, The jacker, the boy who hates cotton more than anything else on our trip and who can find chocolate anywhere. As we sit there laughing, the wind reaches a new peak and my barrel top lifts off and journeys down stream, leaving my clothes unprotected.

That night, soon after our tarp is flattened by a tree, I lie shaking in my tent. The tree roots lift up under us with every gust of wind and Al rises with a look of terror on his face. As all this is happening I think how sad I would be to be crushed by a tree now I am so close to the end of my expedition.

Outward bound had always been a requirment for Shackleton and I had never relished the prospect. I didn’t like the idea of being in a canoe for a month and eating camp food, and I am always partial to having a toilet near me. Fortunately, however hard I tried I could not negotiate and soon found myself floating in a red canoe somewhere in Southern Canada.

Each day as we paddled in our canoes down rapids and across lakes I felt calmer and more self assured. The birds flew around above me, the forests were dark and calm and our group moved through the wilderness. For the first two weeks things were stressed and it seemed as if we would never finish the course.

During this time I was trying very hard not to get into arguments which I found a struggle. Tempers usually rise when your cold and wet, the food portions are small and the man next to you in the tent smells. I had to learn not provoke people and try not to speak as much. I find I talk alot at inappropriate times and that this annoys allot of people.

One thing the course really taught me is that sometimes I do have something to say and that people will listen. For instance people chose my motto “Silence is silver, trust is gold” which I was very happy about. And for our name we chose “The Phantoms of Spetsnaz” Which was my joint creation.

As we wake and pack up camp, closing our barrels and slinging them into the boats I realize something. How ever bad things get out here, when the wind blows and I get wet, when some seem close too tears I always have something. Eight people stand beside me through thick and thin. What ever happens and wherever I am in the world I am still a Phantom of Spetsnaz.

Todo Santos, Guatemala

As the bus roared along the road I felt my confidence dwindle away with the dust billowing away behind us. I should have been thinking about the new skills I would need and things I should learn but I remember being preoccupied with thoughts of girls I might never see again.

Guatemala lies below Mexico and is a land of mountains and jungles, hills and small villages, one of which our bus has just entered. It is the country that Simon has chosen for our next expedition and the only one Jamie will visit with us. Jamie, my 14-year-old brother who is adapting to the country by learning pick up lines in Spanish. For all my bravado and showing off with my little sibling I am really very nervous As I climb gingerly down from the bus and grab my backpack I see that I am out of my depth to a new degree.

Todo Santos lies in the mountains of Western Guatemala, a small town with a population that differs with every source. Taking a five hour ride over potholed roads in a overfilled bus, few tourists make it this far and those that do seldom stay long. The houses are made of cinderblocks or mud and are never completed to avoid tax. It is as alien to me as Asia was when I stepped into the heat of Bangkok now months ago. There are no cars here but large trucks and horses travel past on the gravely road as we first explore. How strange I must look to the people here for they are not Ladinos, the decedents of the proud conquistadors but the Maya. Small and dark their race has lived for thousands of years in these mountains where ancient rituals are still practices in dark caves.

The Maya live in a way that the first world has left behind long ago. I find this as I lug my pack into the central courtyard of a house that will be my new home for a week. Chickens run around the legs of Bobby the dog while the daughter weaves in the corner and wise Lazaru reads the bible . The kitchen has a dirt floor and a wood stove where Joanna is making fresh torteas. All my family members are dressed in the clothes of the town, them men in jackets and striped trousers of red and white, the women in blue dresses. A machete leans against the wall showing that the family owns a maize field.

As I go to sleep that first night I know that I have fallen in love. I have a feeling that one day I shall be walking yet again past unconsious drunks and wild dogs until I come to that small courtyard up a hill.


Todo Santos catholic church


Man in the market


Farming on the hills