I am deep in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. I am not only surrounded by spectacularly angular mountains but I am staying half way up one of them. I am in what the pioneers have called Tunnel Mountain, and what the Aborigine peoples have always know as Sleeping Buffalo.
Tomorrow I shall climb to its peak. I shall. I shall climb to its peak and look out from the top of the world. And I shall shout at the clouds and the sky and the galaxies and I shall scream out to the milky way and the comets and the atmosphere and the planets that circle the earth.
And no doubt I’ll trip unpoetically and unceremoniously over a baby elk “nyaaagh” and the only sound in this peaceful place will be an elongated echoey “ooooooooaaaagghhhhuuuu” interupted occassionally with a Homer-esque “Doh” and “Ouch”. These sounds will carry on echoing by the tranquil mountain until I land in the silence of the valley. Why so silent? Why no wildlife?
The bears! Sheeyat, the bears.