Discovering Marine life on the Pacific West Coast

 It took a few months to find the time to put the clips together, but there's finally a video product from a fantastic week that I, Kate and the kids had at the end of August 2022. 

Imagine spending a week on a charter boat: food taken care of, books to read, games to play, steaming mugs of coffee and tea on-demand all day long, conversation with family and friends... oh, and stunning nature out every window and up-close encounters with a huge variety of marine wildlife. 

We were SO lucky as a family to be able to do this. It was a wonderful family experience, created through the relationships and support of my mother-in-law and her partner and their circle of friends who welcomed our family of four into their circle for the week to take part in this excursion. 

As a Kamloops boy, you can imagine that I didn't grow up seeing much in the way of coastal wildlife. Black bears in the yard, eating from our fruit trees, sure. Coyotes, yipping all night just beyond the trees, absolutely. But Orcas slicing open glassy Pacific waters with their dorsal fins and Sea Lions bellowing incessantly as they flop around on rocky outcroppings... not so much. 

Despite living on the coast for 22 of the last 24 years, until this trip, I had pretty much never seen an orca in the wild. Two summers ago I got a distant fleeting glimpse of an Orca from a ferry deck as I crossed from Vancouver Island to the mainland, but that has been it. For decades worth of ferry crossings, and the occasional low-level float plane trip... never a sighting. 

That all changed during our summer adventure of 2022. We saw Humpbacks every day. We saw Orcas, over and over again. Dolphins, porpoise, a minke whale. Sea otters, seals, sea lions, mighty salmon leaping from the water, and birds galore. With the opportunity to get out in a zodiac and into kayaks on a daily basis, we also got up close and personal with a rich diversity of invertebrate life, which exists in abundance in the nutrient-rich cold waters of the pacific. In the Johnston Straight and Broughton Archipelago off Northern Vancouver Island, the tides flush in and out of small inlets, broken islands and narrows, refreshing food sources for a huge variety of sea stars, anemones, urchins and more. 

We also had a naturalist on board (Danny, whom you will meet in the video below) who knew...basically everything about birds, and we were treated to a wealth of sightings and information about an incredible diversity of winged friends. But one very basic fact for you... did you know there's no gull actually called a seagull? We just call these gulls seagulls because they happen to live around the water. But in fact... Glaucous-wing gull... California gull... Mew gull...these are the birds we tend to see around here that we lump in together as being the 'seagull'. we're now a family that is totally 'Woke' about gulls. spread the word, everybody. 

Honestly, I could go on about the birds, as well as all the other amazing creatures we got up close and personal with, but I'll just leave it to a few images below, as well as the video itself.

As for the weather, don't be fooled by recollections of a record-warm summer across most of our region. Here in the fog zone, most days were sunless and cool. Toques and warm coats were the order for most days! The sun did make occasional appearances, and we took advantage of the heat when it showed up, lounging on the bow deck and--in the case of a few brave passengers--even going for a swim in the chilly waters off norther vancouver island. 

We only saw the stars once, which made an appearance on our final night aboard. No photos as night photography aboard a boat is...well... kind of impossible since the boat bobs and moves around, but the sight of the Milky Way arching from one horizon, over our heads and down toward the other side, and all the billions of other stars to see in a sky that has no man-made lights to block the view... it was... wow. Pretty awesome to go "off grid" for a week to be able to see that. 

Thanks to the wonderful crew aboard the Oceanlight Adventures boat, Afterglow, for an unforgettable week!

Happy Holidays 2022

Hello everyone! It's time for that annual tradition of totally copping out on sending physical Christmas letters and sending you this virtual version instead. 

It's been a busy year in the Chase household! Central to all of our lives has been a significant renovation that has--as all construction projects do--taken twice as long to complete as was originally projected. Global supply chain, labour shortage... yadda yadda yadda. As you'll see in our Christmas card video below, we don't have a very inviting home for Christmas this year! 

We're looking forward to having this concluded in the new year when we can forget all about the delays, the noise, etc, and just enjoy the results of the work. 

As for each of us: Sacha has been active with hockey, soccer and school band in the past year (Winger, striker, and trombone respectively), as well as spending spare time playing PlayStation where his parents allow, and otherwise being forced into the usual domestic manual labour tasks around the house that can be expected of a 14-year-old boy. 

Heidi has turned into an expert seamstress having been taking very enjoyable sewing classes all throughout the year, and is looking forward to adding a gymnastics class back into her repertoire come the new year. There will be a fair bit of skating and skiing in the coming winter months as well, so that is to be looked forward to! 

Kate continues to be a stellar CEO of her non-profit, Nurture Society For Learning and Development. There have been some roller coaster moments in the past year as the government funding that is relied upon for the successful operation of her clinic (as in, the funding provided to families that allows them to take part in the effective therapy for their children) was announced as being removed by the provincial government. So, Kate had to think hard about how the funding model was going to work for her clinic going forward and spent quite a bit of time this year in a stressful situation of deciding how to remodel her business to work within the funding structure that was to come. Happily, just very recently the government reversed its decision around the funding model after a landslide of negative criticism from both service providers and affected families. Kate, therefore is ending off the year on a bit of a high note in that respect. 

My work with Make-A-Wish continues to satisfy me greatly, with interesting leadership tasks put before me and a great communications environment in which to work. And, of course, at the end of the day, knowing that we are granting wishes to children facing critical illnesses is deeply satisfying. My activity levels have been lower than I would have liked this year due to an acute case of Tennis elbow which reaaalllly put a damper on rowing... or anything involving my arms, frankly! after multiple therapies and a slow and steady rehab regiment, I'm feeling optimistic about the new year!

And so we find ourselves at the end of 2022, very much looking forward to a completed renovation in the new year and continuing along with our various activities and working environments. Especially at the present moment we are looking forward to Christmas spent with my brother and sister and their families. We haven’t spent time together for several years now, and it should be a great reunion. 

Whomever you happen to be spending Christmas and New Year’s with and whatever you're doing, we wish you all the best! Happy holidays, everyone! 

43rd birthday reflection!

Age 42 has come and gone. It started off in a world closed down by pandemic, it ended in a world more open, but still in a pandemic. Strange times.

It was, on some levels a tough year for me. My work excites me, but it also demanded a lot as my team was continually reshaped, our employees came and went and we’ve had difficulty finding the right people for several key roles on my team. So I’ve been wearing more hats than I’d like.

One thing that has allowed me to do more work is the fact that at age 42.3 yrs, I inherited my first-ever case of tennis elbow (less sport = more work!). I can only attribute this to advancing age. I’ve always taken part in sports that have heavy reliance on repetitive arm motions: volleyball, kayaking, rowing. Well, this past February, I got a very bad case of tennis elbow.

Like, real bad.

How bad?

Well, here’s a test for you: Place your hand flat on a surface, palm facing down, and spread your fingers out just slightly. Lift your middle finger off the table. Does that feel like a dragon is simultaneously scorching your arm with fire and ripping its claws through your flesh? No? Okay, well, that’s basically the acute level my tennis elbow got to in a very short period of time.

“Just use your other hand for stuff!” said everyone. A lovely idea but a crock of ablest bullsh*t to a guy missing most of his fingers on his left hand 😜.

Hans Moleman,
or picture of Stu? 

I gave up rowing last winter very quickly because of this. No repetitive motion or weight bearing in that hand for months on end, only the slightest of stretching exercises, and finally after consult with a rheumatologist, two rounds of corticosteroid injections over the course of a couple of months to finally bring the swelling under control.

These days, I’m very slowly, very carefully as per doctor’s instructions, reintroducing repetitive movement and weight bearing to the arm. I’d like to say I kept my cardio in excellent shape during all this time of very little strength training, but way back at the start of the summer I also blew my back. I’m just now back to riding bikes and jogging with comfort again.

Long story short, I’m on the mend. I look forward to returning to rowing hopefully in the new year, because I have A LOT of unfinished business in that sport, and in the meantime, I’m getting better each day and psyched for 43! Happy Birthday to me!

The Canada Summer Games: a 25th anniversary reflection

It has been 25 years since the worst/best sporting event of my life, the 1997 Canada Summer Games. 

Hosted in Brandon Manitoba, I had secured a spot on the British Columbia sprint canoe/kayak team, kind of a big deal for a then-17-year-old. 

Alas, when it came down to the week of competition, if it could go wrong, it did. 

Two weeks before the Games, I lost my paddle (stolen from an airport). It's a pretty specialized piece of equipment, with blade angles just how you like them, and length proportionate to one's height and wingspan (in my case, much longer than your average). Think of it like a road cyclist having their bike stolen and having to borrow a mountain bike that's too small to race in for the foreseeable future. 

That was strike one. 

Strike two was a little more within my own control, I realize after many years of retrospect. There was a coach who was not accredited as Canada Games coaching staff who was nonetheless there, and they--for whatever reason--chose to spend a lot of their time harassing my partner and I about equipment. Seats and a footboard for a particular boat, to be specific, which were under the control of an equipment manager. If I'd been better mentally prepared I would have ignored it, but I guess I wasn't so I let it get to me. It sounds small but it was a huge distraction.

One main race I was there to take part in was a team boat race: my "K2" (two-person kayak) partner, Doug, and I were going to be racing in a six-kilometre K2 race. 

Strike three came when Doug blew out his shoulder and couldn't race. We were both devastated. He, because he and I had been training for this "forever", and now he had to be replaced. I was happy to race with another young and speedy paddler named Matthew, but we had never trained in K2 before, so it was bound to be "not as smooth". Keep in mind I was currently using a borrowed paddle that was too short for me, so I was already "not as smooth". 

The team, hanging around (I still wear my
Team BC track pants today!)

Usually, three strikes and you're out. But we still had to race. Strike four was just around the corner.  

The lake we were on (Lake Minnedosa, if you've ever had the pleasure), was angry on race day. Whitecapping waves being driven by strong gusty winds. A rowing regatta would be cancelled outright on a day like this, but not canoe/kayak! Get out there and hope you don't sink!

With or without the right partner, the podium was not really in sight for this race for us. The superpowers at the time were from Nova Scotia, Ontario and Saskatchewan (The Ontario team had some kid named Adam Vankoeverden and he was in this 6K K2 race). Therefore, we were just going to do what we could. 

A 6K race involves doing laps of the race course. Each boat starts on a line, and as it's safe to do so, you move to the outside of the "track" and then start doing laps in a counter-clockwise fashion. 

The start was into the headwind, so it was slow and messy as everyone fought to get boatspeed, and then worked to move to the outside as soon as possible. 

The year Kate and I started dating! 
Here she was on the 
Canada Games podium (as she was 
for many of her races!)

Lining up took a while, everyone trying to maintain the line with the wind blowing hard in our faces. The starting official did their best, and then pulled the trigger. We were off.

Matthew and I were a few hundred meters into our race when our rudder cable snapped. We had done our equipment checks prior to racing. This was not an identified problem. 

Matthew, in the driver's seat and I in the back, were all of a sudden without steering. Facing into a wind, that's not too big a deal; your rudder will generally stay straight. But once we would be rounding the first corner and coming back down the course in a tailwind, we knew that a loose rudder would put us to the mercy of the wind. We stopped paddling, had a mild freakout and decided within seconds if we were going to push on or quit. 

Despite shit hitting the fan, it wasn't really a choice. At that age, you work for years to get to a race like this, no matter the circumstances. We decided to keep going. And just then, a stroke of luck (paddling pun intended). As the teams jockeyed for position as they edged toward the outside lane, Saskatchewan and Ontario had "incidental boat contact". With the high wind, it was all it took to dump them both in, and the pack of other boats continued on up the course. The paddlers in those flipped boats started to fistfight, right there in the water in front of us. Matthew and I did the quick mental math. They were rightfully upset; they were two of the top three medal contenders. With their chances now sunk (or, sinking, I guess), lil' old British Columbia now had a shot at a podium spot. This reinforced our decision to keep going, and so we did. 

Leif Einarson, scoring one of the only
medals our men's kayak team 
managed to pull in

Spurred on by this thought, we charged ahead as best we could. We knew we had a lot of catching up to do, and we knew that every 1,000 meters we had to put in on the downwind stretches would be brutal. 

Nova Scotia was off and long gone. They were most likely to win; that was established within the first kilometre of the race. As for the rest, it felt pretty wide open. Quebec was strong and going for it, Alberta and Manitoba were in it too. 

It was Alberta that became our main competition for what appeared to be a bronze medal. Each lap for us was hope and heartbreak, over and over again. In the headwind, we would gain on, and pass Alberta, moving us into a bronze medal spot. but each time we ended up in the tailwind, steerage became a disaster. I in the back would have to stop paddling at regular intervals and dive a blade into the water to act as a rudder, while Matthew used all his power to keep paddling. At times, I would paddle only on one side instead of rudder to at least keep both of us moving. But it was all for nought. Alberta overtook us each time we were in the downwind, and the challenge would start all over again for us when we turned the corner and headed upwind again. We swung between 3rd and 4th place for the 30 or so minutes of our race. We, along with all the other boats, also got swamped by waves and were absolutely soaked, water sloshing around inside our hulls and spray whipping off our paddles and slashing our bodies. 

In the end, the final stretch was... downwind. We could not hold off Alberta, and they crossed the line a few boat lengths ahead of us. 

The race course was a way offshore. We slunk our way back, exhausted and devastated that our chance to medal slipped away from us in the way it did. As we neared shore, people were cheering wildly. I couldn't understand why. There were pats on the back and whoops of congratulations. I had no idea why they were so elated. I was depressed beyond all measure. 

Matthew and I geared down. We shook hands.

And then we hid.

I found a quiet corner in a tent under a pile of boat bags. I sobbed quietly to myself. I did not want to be found. 

It's hard to explain why it hurt as much as it did. We weren't in line for a medal to start with so to not get one in the end maybe shouldn't have been such a problem. Maybe it was the cumulative pain of all the other elements that went wrong. 

At any rate, it left me in a funk for days, which wasn't how I wanted to be as my other friends and teammates celebrated their successes and strong races. From the photos you see in this blog post, some you see smiles, some you don't. The ones you see are most likely fake. 

***********

Today, I see "The race" in a different light. I appreciate that I went out and busted my ass, did something really hard, and that's enough. I know that type of attitude has served me well in other sports, and in family and work life, too. Running toward the danger is character-building. 

One of the real surprise moments about the race came to me two decades later when I was at national championships in Welland Ontario in 2017. As a then-mature-masters/para paddler, I spent time talking to some of the "older folks" hanging around the race site during the week, including some people who were witnesses to the ill-fated K2 race some 20 years earlier. 

"Some of the gutsiest paddling I've seen. It was incredible to watch." 

I was gobsmacked. 

I'd had people say that sort of thing soon after the race, but it felt like some conciliatory statement to cheer me up at the time. A patronizing pat on the back. 
But here I was, decades later, and this stranger offers up to me that not only do they recall the race, but they qualify it as being memorable. 

Oddly that race has come up again a few times since, also in conversation with people whom I didn't know at the time and certainly didn't know were watching. They remember the battle for 3rd and 4th place, and the performance of the pair from B.C. as the highlight of that race...  a highlight from that whole regatta. 

That's certainly added another layer to the value of that race for me. I'm glad I can look back on that race, now 25 years ago and recognize that ultimately, not only was it character-building to me, but it meant something to other people as well. Yeah, I'd like to have a medal for my troubles. But by now, I recognize the reward I was given for that effort. 

To all the athletes taking part in this year's Canada Games, 25 years after my own experience, I wish you all the best. May the wind be at your backs in all the best ways, your rudders (for the kayakers) properly affixed in your boats, and remember: even if it doesn't go well, you maybe just have to wait a while to see the true results of your efforts. It'll be worth it, eventually, I promise.  

The B.C. Canoe-Kayak team for the 1997 Canada Summer Games
I'm in back, centre with the flag. Tall guys in the back, as always. 

Wendy, that woman on the other end of my video conference screen.

It was a weird feeling, to send a text to Wendy on July 5th, her birthday. I struggled with it for a while; wondering whether or not to send it all. It was hard to get the wording right, knowing it would be the last birthday she got to spend on earth. 

I also had a nagging sense of imposter syndrome, having never met Wendy in person. Why would I send this text at all? 

Perhaps I should go into a little more detail. 

I was first introduced to the name of Wendy Roberts in 2019, when our working worlds collided. I, in my role with Make-A-Wish BC & Yukon, and she with her role with Children's Wish Foundation of Canada. Our two organizations merged in October of that year, and all of a sudden, we were colleagues. Wendy in Ontario and me in B.C. and before long Wendy and I were collaborating on things like press releases and text for donation web pages. 

As it happens when organizations merge, there are a lot of people who move around. Somewhere in the shuffle, I moved off the BC team and onto the Make-A-Wish Canada national team. And there was Wendy, and she and I were teammates on a much closer scale. 

But you guys, I don't know if you know, but this thing called the COVID-19 pandemic hit somewhere in the middle of all this, thus putting the kibosh on any plans to meet our newly formed teams in person. Little could we have known at the time, but COVID would thus ensure Wendy and I never got to meet in person, along with numerous other colleagues who would not have the pleasure. 

At this point, you're likely thinking that she succumbed to COVID. Not so. I'm coming to that. 

First, more about Wendy. Importantly, not meeting in person does not diminish the fact that this was a woman that you could really get to know. She was just one of those wonderfully open people, a book full of warmth, humour, insight, intelligence and charm. Our relationship, therefore, was online... but it was a great relationship. 

I loved meeting with Wendy. And in our roles, we had daily reasons to do so. Whether working on press materials, gathering materials for staff meetings or hunkered down in the trenches of issues management work, you couldn't help but be glad to be in Wendy's presence. .

Work aside, there was always time for a chat. Hearing about what her husband, Andre was up to, keeping up to date on her twin girls Taylor and Alicia, or chatting about her dad (COVID kept her from visiting family in the Maritimes for too long, but she managed to travel back when restrictions eased). You could chat with Wendy with the ease of a friend... which she truly was. Weekend plans, TV shows, the weather, politics. 

For the past several months, though, I've had no occasion to meet with Wendy. We've exchanged texts and photos through our thumbs on our cell phones, but Wendy has been off work as she had the biggest task of her life to deal with: a diagnosis of stage four pancreatic cancer. I don't know if you know much about pancreatic cancer--I'm not about to go into details--but it can be swift. And for Wendy, it was. 

On July 19th, 2022 she passed away peacefully surrounded by her family. I am at loose ends this week, feeling a deep sense of loss for, remarkably, someone I never even got to give a hug to "in real life". But as I said, this did not diminish our ability to get to know one another, even to love someone. On her birthday, I told her so. 

"I am glad you were born," I said. "Celebrating you today," I said, amongst a few other pleasantries. Some things you don't get another chance at, so you better say what you're wanting to say when you have time to say it. 

And truly, I am glad she was born and that our life paths crossed when and how they did. I will not wallow in disappointment that we never met in person, but rather will let my heart be full of love for knowing the remarkable 'Wendy' at all. She was a gift in my life, to be sure. 

In her final act of kindness, Wendy wanted to keep paying it forward. One of her daughters, you see, was a wish recipient a few years back. It was that event that eventually drew Wendy to the work that she was doing, and the reason I had to meet her. That's how the universe works, after all. It is Wendy's wish that this work of granting wishes keeps going. She requested that a fund in lieu of flowers be set up to collect donations for Make-A-Wish, so that another child facing critical illnesses may come to know the joy of a granted wish. If you feel so moved as to contribute to her noble goal, you can do so here. 

Wendy and I would end off all of our calls be they collegial or casual in pretty much the exact same way. 

"Okay, my friend," she would preface the conclusion, "Nice talking to you/have a good afternoon/weekend/we will chat again very soon," and always signed off with "take care, bye for now." 

I can hear her voice now. I have missed it for months, but today, I really miss it. I will continue to miss it in days to come. 

Okay, my friend. Take care. Bye for now (and all my love). 

Photo courtesy of Petra King Photography