Sunday 14 February 2016

Riding the Sacred Headwaters - Part Two: Same Spot, Different Place

This is Part Two of a two part series.  Click here for Part One.

Pulling Together

Stikine River (Photo: Patrick Lucas)
We follow the road down into the valley in one long swooping descent.   Around a corner we come upon a small group of horses standing in the road.  Many homesteaders in the area leave their horses out to graze during the summer months and these are standing perfectly still and calm in the middle of the road as if they have been waiting for us.  It seems like a mirage as we ride up to them without stopping.  They suddenly turn and start running down the road in front of us.  They split into two groups and move off to either side of the road, still running.  We are cruising along in between them.  We can feel the wind from their powerful bodies, their breaths coming out in heavy snorts and grunts.   The pounding of their hooves shaking the ground, the vibrations reverberating up through our wheels, into our bike frames and into our bodies.

We are riding alongside, almost eye to eye.  The horses decide to show us how powerful they truly are and without warning they suddenly galloped off ahead of us.  All the riders, all of us together, sprint as hard as we can, desperately trying to keep up, but we are no match and the horses run off ahead and disappeared into the forest like ghosts.  

The power and energy of the horses stays with us and we continue on as a group, peddling hard together.  There is a powerful feeling of connection amongst all the riders. We are in this together.  A feeling of calm has come over us and we are ready to accept whatever the land wants to do with us: embrace or reject us, we are prepared. 
(Photo: Jeff Samuel)

We start to climb a long steep hill, still together; every pedal stroke, the forward rocking motion of our bodies, completely in sync, willing each other up the hill.  Dunna’eh is at the back of the group, and like the captain of a massive war canoe he is calling out, urging us forward, “STROKE!  STROKE!  STROKE!”

Cresting the hill in a final burst of energy, we come out of the trees and find ourselves riding across the top of a high rocky plateau squeezed up between two rivers: the Tahltan on one side and the Stikine on the other.  The plateau is a long narrow peninsula that stretches out for nearly a kilometer and ends at a point where the two rivers came together forming into a single powerful current that carries on to the Pacific Ocean. 

The Heart of the Tahltan 

We stop, get of our bikes and follow Dunna’eh as he walks out to the end of the peninsula.  Standing together on a rocky outcrop we look 400ft down to the confluence of the two rivers, the clear blue waters of the Tahltan melting into the languid and dark muddy waters of the Stikine. 

A hidden world lay before us: a deep gorge with massive rock cliffs that rise up on either side.  At the centre of the gorge is a small fishing village: a string of colorful cabins along the banks where the two rivers collide.  The sockeye salmon fishery is soon to begin and the village is busy with people preparing for the harvest when they will string their nets across the opening of the Tahltan River to catch the fish as they swim upstream to their spawning grounds. 
The confluence of the Tahltan & Stikine (Photo: Patrick Lucas)
Directly across the river, overlooking the Village, a massive rock wall rises straight up from the waters edge.  At the very centre of the wall there is a large crack that spreads across the face of the rock like a twisted, snarling mouth.  From this gash, ribbons of rock streaked outwards in all directions, the epicenter of a cataclysmic geological explosion frozen in granite, a petrified sun burst. 
Dunna’eh turns to us, This is the most sacred place to our people, the very heart of our Nation.  This is Tahltan.
Siskia'cho - Big Raven
We scramble back to our bikes and ride down the steep road into the gorge, through the village, and down to the banks of the river. 
The Tahltan elder who delivered the blessing at the start of the ride is waiting for us.  He waits for us to gather around him and then, gesturing up at the rock face, he speaks in slow measured tones.

This is Siskia’cho – Big Raven.  This is the place where the raven, the trickster, coaxed the sun out of the earth.  You can see the imprint of the raven on the rock where he was burnt by the sun as it came out and rose into the sky for the people.

Looking up at the rocks we can see the faint pattern of a pair of massive black wings that spread across the cliff like a silhouette burned into the rock.
Our people have been gathering here since the beginning of time to fish, to trade, to perform our dances, our ceremonies, our songs and to tell our stories.  This is what makes us Tahltan.  Without this place, there would be no Tahltan.
Standing before Siskia'cho - Big Raven (Photo: Jeff Samuel)
Dunna’eh directs us to dip our bikes into the river to wash them of all the grime and dust that we have carried with us along our journey.  One by one we all take turns picking up our bikes, walking into the cold waters, and plunging them down into the water where the rivers come together, blessing our bikes at the very centre of this magical, sacred place.  My turn comes and I lift my bike up and carry it into the river.  As I bring my bike down into the water I have a vision of this place from 1,000’s of years before: the volcanoes exploding, the lava flowing across the land, the Stikine and Tahltan river running together and meeting for the first time, the Raven clawing and shattering the rock and releasing the sun into the sky. 
Photo: Jeff Samuel
I stand up and pull my bike out of the waters and I see generations of salmon fighting their way up the streams and the rivers, the Tahlan people building a vibrant and prosperous culture that has endeared for millennia.
I lift my bike back up over my head and walk back to the shore.  As I reach the banks I stumble and fall on to my knees, exhausted.  I look up at my fellow riders gathered around the banks, talking and laughing.  Behind them the rock walls of the gorge rise up around us.  I can feel the ancestors of the Tahltan looking down on us.
Same Spot, Different Place
I turn over and lay back, catching my breath.  Looking up I see a small car on the cliff tops above the village.  I watch it drives down the road and into the village.  It stops just a few feet away from us and two people, a man and a woman, get out.  They appear to be tourists and, without even leaving the side of their car, they quickly look about, snap a couple of pictures, and then jump back in and drive off, leaving us all in a cloud of dust.  

I watch them go thinking, Wow, we are in the same spot, but we are not in the same place.
Telegraph Creek on the Banks of the Stikine (Photo: Patrick Lucas) 
Telegraph Creek
We still have a short ways to go to reach our final destination of Telegraph Creek.  We crawl up a long hill up out of the gorge.  At the top we are greeted by a group of Tahltan youth on bikes prepared to escort us the final distance to the community.
As we near the village, there is one last hill to climb.  The kids who have joined us attack it vigour.  It is too steep and those of who have been riding for more than seven hours since the beginning of the day, find ourselves struggling up the final grade while pushing one of the kids along with us.  With one hand pushing against their backs, the kids stand up on their pedals, legs pumping furiously, driven by the cheering and clapping of their families who are waiting at the top.  
Kody, the young boy who has ridden with us for the entire day, is at the front of the pack, standing up, leaning over his handlebars, arms pumping his bike back and forth under his body, determined to reach his mom who was dancing and jumping up and down with excitement.  

The music car is right behind us blasting “We Are The Champions” by Queen.  
(Photo: Jeff Samuel)

Just as we reach the summit, each of us give the youth we are pushing one last final shove so they can ride the final few metres into their parents waiting arms.  The crowd erupts.   

The looks of pride from parents for their children, smiling and happy, makes everything we've ridden through feel worth it.   The bugs, the rain, the endless hours of riding, all of it. 
We continue on through the community and down to the banks of the Stikine River to where the Tahltan have set up a community feast and celebration.  The whole community has come down to celebrate and we are treated to fresh salmon, along with singing, drumming and dancing. 
Tahltan Singer - Welcoming Song (Photo: Jeff Samuel)
The lower part of Telegraph Creek, away from the main residential area, is mostly a ghost town.  A row of dilapidated abandoned homes, storefronts, and a church overlooking the Stikine River.   At one point it had been a thriving colonial outpost.  The furthest point on the river where the steamboats could safely navigate.  Here they would drop off supplies, and trade goods for furs.  This had been the place where thousands of people had disembarked on their way to the Cassier gold rush seeking their fortune in the distant mountains.  All of that is gone now, but the Tahltan are still here, protecting their lands, their culture, their way of life. 
Walking about the village and viewing the empty buildings I can feel the weight of history all around, along with the hopes and dreams of the Tahltan for their future.   

I think about everything that has happened throughout the day, the challenges of the ride, Siskia’cho and the fishing village.  The Tahltan people have opened up to us.  They invited us onto their lands and shared their world with us.  

I notice the elder who has been with us throughout the day standing nearby.  I look at him and he looks back at me.   A warm generous smile spreads across his weathered face and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod and a wink. 
River Song Lodge - Telegraph Creek (Photo: Seb Kemp)
Bike Park & Trails
(Photo: Daniel Scott)

(Photo Daniel Scott)
Deeply impacted by this experience, we worked with the community to develop a plan with the guidance and input of youth in the community to build a small bike park and trails.  

With the assistance of Daniel Scott, from the International Mountain Bicycle Association, the kids in the community worked together over a period of six days building a small pump track as well as a couple of kilometres of trails.  

 The community formed a small youth trail crew that spent the summer out on the land rebuilding and revitalizing their ancient pathways.  Today the community continues with the annual ride, now called the Tour de Telegraph, and working diligently to protect their territories and their way of life.


Pump Track in Telegraph Creek (Photo: Daniel Scott)
Talhtan Youth Trail Crew (Photo: Daniel Scott)





Riding the Sacred Headwaters - Part I: The Land Opens Up

This is Part One of a two part series - Riding the Sacred Headwaters.  

This story was delivered as an oral storytelling performance at the 2015 Vancouver International Mountain Film Festival.

The Land Opens Up

After my experiences with the Boothroyd Indian Band (See story here and here), I worked with some colleagues to officially launch the Aboriginal Youth Mountain Bike Program with the intent of supporting First Nation communities to engage in trails and mountain bike recreation.  

With Boothroyd I felt as though I had finally broken through the fog of ‘Indian Act’ politics, Kafkaesque bureaucratic policies and programs, and the vagaries of corporate profit objectives, and had made an honest human connection with the communities with whom I was supposed to be working for.  

I knew I wanted more. 

The Chief's Ride
Unceded Tahltan Territories
This lead to the opportunity to participate in a unique event called the “Chief’s Ride’ hosted by the Tahltan Nation in northwestern BC, just a few hours drive south of the BC/Yukon Border.  It was through this experience, riding across the Tahltan territories, hearing their stories, visiting their villages and sacred sites, that I gained an even greater understanding and appreciation for mountain biking as a means for personal transformation, for community and cultural renewal.


I first learn about the ride while visiting Telegraph Creek, one of two reserves of the Tahltan Band.   People keep taking about this crazy ride that happens once a year between two of their communities over the course of single day.  Starting in Dease Lake, located on the Stewart Cassier Highway that leads up into the Yukon and joins with the Alaska Highway, and finishing in Telegraph Creek, a small village located in the Stikine River Valley  - one of the major salmon bearing rivers that drain from the Sacred Headwaters. 

The event is the creation of a man by the name of ‘Dunna’eh’, which means ‘Big Man’ in Tahltan.  Dunna’eh created the ride to inspire his people, especially the youth, to get outdoors, to live healthy active lives and reconnect with their lands and territories.  I knew this was something I am going to have to experience for myself. 

The Chief's Ride - Dease Lake to Telegraph Creek
The Ride

I am straddling my bike on a cold, wet morning in June, standing on a stretch of highway just outside of Dease Lake.  I'm staring up at a sign that reads ‘Telegraph Creek: 115km’.

The Chief’s Ride is a road event, following a partially sealed dirt road for its entire length.  

I have the greatest respect for road cyclists.  They are amazing athletes with incredible endurance.  Their Lycra outfits are to die for.  But for me, mountain biking has always been about trails: following paths that take you out into the wilderness, up into high alpine passes, along ridges with spectacular views, and down fast flowy single tracks that cut through the forest like a ribbon of silk.  Always striving for that moment when the ride becomes like a dance, a graceful union between rider, bike, dirt, earth and gravity and you experience a high when you hit the trail just right.    So, the idea of riding for 6 to 7 hours on a dirt road is not something that really appeals to me.

To start the ride, an elder is asked to say a blessing.  He stands before us, holds up his hands and speaks,  Creator we thank you for the opportunity to be here today on these lands that you have gifted to us. We ask that you look over these riders and see them safely across the land. 

He pauses, takes a deep breath and then continues.    

This is a long road, Creator.   With many deep valleys and long, long hills.  There are a lot of bugs, Creator, enough to bleed a man dry and leave him at the side of the road like a dried out husk.  There have been a lot of bears lately; they seem particularly hungry and aggressive this time of year.  I don’t think there’s a man alive who could outrun one on a bicycle.  And then there is that one dangerous part of the road with the steep downhill turn and the cliffs on one side.   My brother drove off that cliff last year.  He wasn’t hurt, but I would hate to see that happen to someone on a bicycle.  

He then speaks directly to all of us riders listening with a growing sense of doubt and unease. 

You will be tested, he says.  Each of you in your own way.  Just remember there is no challenge the ancestors will put before you that you cannot rise to.  If you keep your heart open and your mind clear, the land will open up and embrace you.

Dunna'eh (Big Man) Rick Mclean
The ride starts and it feels like an awkward high school dance.   We are not really sure what to make of each other as we start riding down the road, trying not to bump into each other.  

There are 17 riders from all over BC and from as far away as Colorado.  There is a mix of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal riders. There are some serious riders with expensive looking bikes and matching lycra outfits, and there are others riding classic ten speed roadsters that look like they pulled them out of a hiding place in the garage that very morning.  And there is Kody: a 15-year-old Tahltan boy.  He has been given a new mountain bike by his mom on the promise that he does the ride and he is determined not to let her down.

We settle quickly into the ride, each of us finding our own pace and the kilometres begin ticking by in a monotonous blur…5km…10km…

Any concerns we have about bears or other wildlife quickly dissipates as a pace car, generously donated by Aboriginal-owned CNFR Radio, starts blaring the classic rock hits of the 70s and 80s from two large speakers strapped to the roof.  Our soundtrack for the day.  The DJ displays his sense of humour playing “I Want to Ride My Bicycle” by Queen. 

We just kept peddling…15km…20km…

The road stretches on for an eternity
The road stretches on in front of us.   An endless tunnel of trees that press in on either side obscuring any view of the land. 

The Land decides to show us who's boss.  The skies open up and dump buckets of freezing cold water on us.  It comes down in sheets, blowing in sideways, buffeting us from side to side across the road.  The rain mixes with the chemicals sprayed on the road to keep the dust down creating a viscous, glue like substance.  It sprays up off our wheels and into our hair, our teeth, and inside our clothes.  It gums up our chains, our bikes emitting loud grinding noises like dump trucks stuck between gears. 

We just kept peddling…25km…30km…

When the rain finally lets up, the mosquitos and blackflies descended upon in relentless hordes of miniature-winged piranhas, attacking any patch of open skin and forcing their way into any piece of loose clothing.  It all we can do to put our heads down and desperately try and outrun them, slapping at our tormentors with one hand and praying for the rains to return.

Nothing, not the rain nor the bugs, seem to bother Dunna’eh.  He just keeps riding along, telling jokes and stories about the road like he is out for a casual ride through Stanley Park.  He keeps encouraging us. 

Be patient he says.  This road is like the Raven; it will play tricks on you.  The land will open up but you have to earn it; you have to be prepared to give a little piece of yourself.

Swatting away another mosquito, thinking about how much blood I have already given, it seems pretty clear to me the land simply doesn't want us there at all.

We just kept peddling…35km…40km…

My whole world shrinks down to the small patch of dirt road in front of my tire and every turn of my pedals, every stroke of my cranks becomes a supplication, an offering for just a few more metres of progress.  I can hear the music car from somewhere behind me, the DJ is playing “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor.   

That when it happens.   Without any warning the trees give away and the land opens up before us.    It is the Stikine River Valley: a broad expanse that stretches out in front of us to the horizon, mottled with shimmering bright greens of Birch and Alder trees intermixed with the dark green of conifers.  

The Stikine River Gorge, a narrow, sinewy, rocky canyon cut through the centre of the valley like a knife has sliced it open exposing its rocky innards.  

In the distance we see Mt Edziza: a magnificent snow crowned peak with massive volcanic cones that rise up from her obsidian black slopes like sentinels, pointing the way to our destination, Telegraph Creek, that lays just beyond.  

The view makes us giddy, like we have been lost at sea for months and this is our first glimpse of dry land, filling us with hope and energy. 


Stikine River Valley

This is the end of Part One.  Click here for Part Two.  
This is the end of Part One.  Click here for Riding the Sacred Headwaters - Part Two

Monday 8 February 2016

Aboriginal Rider Profile: Melody Markle - Finding Courage & Decolonization through Riding

As part of the Aboriginal Youth Mountain Bike Program, we are always seeking to gain a greater understanding of what mountain biking means to the Indigenous people and riders we meet a long the way.  Working with my brother and founder of Tree Meter Productions - a film venture we started to document the projects and experiences we have exploring mountain biking in BC - we embarked on an effort to profile some of the amazing people we meet and, when we're lucky, share a ride.  

Video: Melody Markle: Finding Courage & Decolonization through Riding

Our first Rider Profile, Melody Markle (30), is from the Anishinabeg community of Long Point Winneway First Nation in the unceded territory of the Anishnabe Aki located in the Abitibi-Temescamingue region of Western Quebec.   
We spent some time with Melody this past year riding on the North Shore of Vancouver and in the South Chilcotin region.  Melody provides an articulate and passionate description of what mountain biking and trail riding means for her as an Aboriginal woman and the impact that it has had on her life. 
Melody started riding in 2008 and was immediately captivated with how it pushes and tests her courage and her bravery. 
As someone who strives to walk a traditional path that reflects her culture and heritage, Melody was struck by how mountain biking brings people and communities together. 
I Love the sense of community once you enter the mountain bike circle and the fact that there is a lot of welcoming mentors who are on the trail who can be complete strangers and they’re willing to show you some different techniques”
Melody believes that mountain biking has tremendous potential to have a positive impact on the health and well being of Aboriginal communities.
“It’s a healing tool for me because I know that a lot of Aboriginal people we’re walking with the effects of colonization.  I consider mountain biking to be a healing Journey for me in terms of decolonizing my body and entering a male dominated sport and showing the world that women can ride.”
In addition to the personal and community benefits, Melody describes how she feels there is a spiritual element to riding. 
We’re closer to mother earth and we’re riding in different territories of BC and we’re honouring that relationship we have with the land.”
Melody sees a role for mountain biking for youth in Aboriginal communities and through volunteering with the Aboriginal Youth Mountain Bike Program she’s hoping to pass her love of the sport onto the next generation. 
“Why not jump on a bike and go explore the endless trials that BC has to offer?  I hope to inspire a lot of the young people and encourage them to take on mtn biking.  I hope to definitely see a lot more youth out there.”
Tree Meter Productions and the AYMBP team were honoured to speak with Markle and for her to share her stories and experiences with us.  These profiles will be shared with First Nation communities to raise awareness and interest in mountain biking and encourage youth to get outdoors, reconnect with nature and live healthy active lives. 

Singing and drumming by George Taylor, Kwakwaka'wakw artist and performer from Vancouver Island.