"Someone told me,
It's all happening at the Tzou.
I do believe it,
I do believe it's true."
In the absence of employment and responsibilities, Mount Tzouhalem has provided structure and purpose to my otherwise idle lifestyle. It is the topographical and figurative highpoint of most of my days on Vancouver Island. To some this may sound like an indictment on an apathetic existence, to me it has felt like a renewal of childhood wonder. Having grown up with the autobiographical book "My family and other animals" by Gerald Durrell, I have been reminded of the joy of exploration and discovery derived from being absorbed into a landscape.
A great many adult past times that involve nature are inherently adversarial, the environment merely provides a backdrop and resistance to a predetermined activity. There is no doubt that people are fascinated by the conquistadors like Bear Grylls pitting themselves the wilderness but like all human dramas we presume that we are essential to the narrative. One of the most refreshing things about the time that I have spent on the mountain is the awareness of how inconsequential my presence is to all of the sub-plots that being played out around me.
Day by day I have had the privilege to observe the subtle shifts in the surrounding, the changing nature of light as summers warmth melded into the muted tones of autumn before winter drained away the light. The dry gullies have gradually transformed from damp patches to trickling streams now frozen holding Maple leaves in icy suspension. Tiny hamlets of mushroom communities have sprung up, thrived, expanding their fungal empires before falling into decay.
My first and abiding impression of the Canadian woods was how stark the contrasts are between it and the Australian bush. The bush is confrontational, trails are hard and dry, harsh, blinding sunlight piercing the swishing foliage of creaking gum trees. The heady hot vapours of eucalyptus oil hanging in the air and the spaces in between filled by a raucous chorus of cockatoos.
If the Australian landscape feels like it was the product of a big, brash backyard blitz by a Queenslander named Barry, then Canadian forests are sanctimonious shrines to the virtues of modesty. The flora and fauna abide by the monastic code of silence. Birds hum Gregorian chants in their little heads that they dare not put into song. Leaves fall their self-flagellating path through the whipping branches renouncing their colourful vanity, before finally carpeting paths with their prone form to deaden the sound of footfall. Pine trees stand at a respectable arms length distance and even in high winds they appear like awkward teenagers at a formal dance whispering mumbled apologies for incidental contact.
In accordance with the Papal edict regarding woodland impropriety all up-rooted and reclining timber, exposed boughs, unsightly rock formations and bare, earthy mounds must robe themselves in moss and lichen. These bryophytes are figurative fig leaf of this forest fresco, obscuring from sight the orgiastic spectacle of naked fir trees frolicking through open glens.
Whether it is genetics or environmental conditioning most animals have adapted to the prohibitive noise restrictions of Canadian woodland culture. Consequently the category of best actor in a silent role is an extremely competitive one. It is possible to debate for hours the individual merits of any of the following: the squirrel's Marcel Marceau rendition of "Devouring a pine cone"; the cougars method acting in " Stealthily stalking a hiker"; the demure doe fatale from "Serene fern chewing" or the thirty eagle ensemble piece called "The Salmon Hunter of Cowichan Bay." In the end there can only be one winner and for their insightful look into life in the mucusy ghettos of Tzou in "Slugz n the Wood", the award goes to gastropod molluscs.
If there is an ideal holiday spot for slugs to come and rest their tired foot it is here on Vancouver Island. Welcome to Costa del Sog, a mild, damp wooded wonderland. Laze away your days on the shores of pristine puddles. Soak up the essential oils of the forest floor, whilst the canopy of pines shield your optical tentacles from the dappled light. Stay in our wide range of fungus condominiums, catering to slugs of all colours and sizes.
One of the major consequences of the all pervasive stillness of the landscape is that automatically transforms any sound or movement in a mortal threat. At best the not too distant crack of a twig signals the presence of a cross-bow wielding red-neck sociopath who simply wants some company through the cold Canadian winter. Worst case scenario it's a foodie grizzly bear that has just swum across from the mainland and is looking for some contemporary Australian cuisine because he is tired of the ubiquitous West coast fare on offer in Vancouver.
Arbutus are a native evergreen tree on the island that reminds me a bit of gum trees back home. The outer bark is like fine dark scale which flake away to reveal ochre coloured bark. This fine parchment bark cracks and forms long curls like thin shavings from a plane. Beneath is the smooth trunk of the Arbutus, a yellow green form as if a cast bronze that has been buffed to highlight it's lean muscularity. They evoke in me the same sense of strength and life trapped in a form, as Michelangelo's unfinished slave sculptures in the Academia in Florence.
Even before the financial imperative of getting a job intervenes and takes me away from here, I know already that I'll miss my "fine and fancy rambles" to the Tzou.
In accordance with the Papal edict regarding woodland impropriety all up-rooted and reclining timber, exposed boughs, unsightly rock formations and bare, earthy mounds must robe themselves in moss and lichen. These bryophytes are figurative fig leaf of this forest fresco, obscuring from sight the orgiastic spectacle of naked fir trees frolicking through open glens.
Whether it is genetics or environmental conditioning most animals have adapted to the prohibitive noise restrictions of Canadian woodland culture. Consequently the category of best actor in a silent role is an extremely competitive one. It is possible to debate for hours the individual merits of any of the following: the squirrel's Marcel Marceau rendition of "Devouring a pine cone"; the cougars method acting in " Stealthily stalking a hiker"; the demure doe fatale from "Serene fern chewing" or the thirty eagle ensemble piece called "The Salmon Hunter of Cowichan Bay." In the end there can only be one winner and for their insightful look into life in the mucusy ghettos of Tzou in "Slugz n the Wood", the award goes to gastropod molluscs.
If there is an ideal holiday spot for slugs to come and rest their tired foot it is here on Vancouver Island. Welcome to Costa del Sog, a mild, damp wooded wonderland. Laze away your days on the shores of pristine puddles. Soak up the essential oils of the forest floor, whilst the canopy of pines shield your optical tentacles from the dappled light. Stay in our wide range of fungus condominiums, catering to slugs of all colours and sizes.
One of the major consequences of the all pervasive stillness of the landscape is that automatically transforms any sound or movement in a mortal threat. At best the not too distant crack of a twig signals the presence of a cross-bow wielding red-neck sociopath who simply wants some company through the cold Canadian winter. Worst case scenario it's a foodie grizzly bear that has just swum across from the mainland and is looking for some contemporary Australian cuisine because he is tired of the ubiquitous West coast fare on offer in Vancouver.
Arbutus are a native evergreen tree on the island that reminds me a bit of gum trees back home. The outer bark is like fine dark scale which flake away to reveal ochre coloured bark. This fine parchment bark cracks and forms long curls like thin shavings from a plane. Beneath is the smooth trunk of the Arbutus, a yellow green form as if a cast bronze that has been buffed to highlight it's lean muscularity. They evoke in me the same sense of strength and life trapped in a form, as Michelangelo's unfinished slave sculptures in the Academia in Florence.
Even before the financial imperative of getting a job intervenes and takes me away from here, I know already that I'll miss my "fine and fancy rambles" to the Tzou.
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