School Bully

From 1953 to 1957, Grades 1 through 4, I attended a Catholic school in Vancouver. One of the kids in my grade was the school bully – he was bigger and stronger than the rest of us. Nothing pleased him more than tormenting other kids. School staff made pleas to his parents, but his behavior didn’t improve. It was a regular occurrence out on the playground to see him physically hurt other kids, and we all dreaded we’d be his next victim. Finally, one day when I was in Grade 4, Sister Superior, the school principal, took matters into her own hands. After we had eaten lunch and were all outside, she called the police department. They arrived in a marked police car, siren blaring and lights flashing. That certainly got our attention. They parked, and 2 uniformed officers walked on to the playground, where Sister Superior led them over to the bully. They asked him point-blank if his name was Wayne. He said it was. They informed him that they were there to arrest him and take him to jail for bullying other kids. Well, you should’ve seen his reaction. He started sobbing, lay on the ground in a fetal position, and pleaded with the officers to not take him away. They stood him up, tears running down his face, crying like a little girl. Meanwhile, just about every kid in the school had gathered around to see and hear what was going on. The officers told him that perhaps they would give him one more chance, if he promised to never bully anyone else again. However, they added that if the school ever called the police again to say that he was bullying, that would be the end of it – they would load him into the police car and take him straight to jail. He promised, he swore, that he’d never do it again. I need to tell you that the tactic worked on that 9-year-old ruffian. He never laid a finger on anyone again, and was on his best behavior after that day. His macho image had been totally destroyed in front of the entire school, and all of us, both boys and girls, looked down our noses at him from that day forward. Years of treating us so badly had branded him a real asshole in our minds.

The Strap

Are you old enough to remember the days of corporal punishment in school? I am. Most places in the US and Canada had stopped the practice by the time the 1970s had rolled around. Such punishment was mostly administered in elementary schools. In the US, they used something called a paddle and would strike you across your buttocks. Meanwhile, in Canada where I went to school, they used something much stronger. It was called the strap, and was typically made of heavy leather or rubber. I was the recipient of the strap both in Grade 5 and in Grade 7. That was in Catholic school, where the discipline was much stricter. By comparison, the paddle was a wimpy form of punishment – getting whacked across the ass – big deal! When you got the strap, you held out your hand, open, with palm upwards. My male Grade 5 teacher would strap you in front of the entire class, whether you were a boy or girl – he had no favorites. In Grade 7, you were sent to Sister Superior’s office where she dealt out good, solid Catholic punishment. With the strap, the teacher would raise it up high, then bring it down across your open hand with all the force they could muster. The pain was not  forgotten anytime soon, and it would bring tears to anyone’s eyes.

Turn back?

One time on a big mountain, I had started for the summit before dawn. By the time the sun rose and reached me, my feet were freezing. Even though I was wearing the best boots available at the time, as well as 3 pairs of socks, I was losing sensation in both feet. I was concerned – should I turn back and reach the safety of my tent, a full 2,500 feet below, where I could warm my feet in my sleeping bag? What a decision that was. I had already failed once on this peak after having traveled half-way around the world. If I quit now, that would be a double failure – could I live that down? I was at 22,000 feet, and closer to the summit than I had ever been before. The temperature was around minus 15 degrees F. I started to stamp my feet hard on the ground. After a while, I could feel some sensation starting to return. I kept on doing it, encouraged. Well, I am happy to report that my feet warmed up and felt normal once again. I was able to continue, and stood on my summit about 8 hours later.

Hollywood Theatre

From age 6 to 9, I lived in Vancouver. One of my best memories from that magical time was how I spent my Saturday afternoons. It was a walk of 18 blocks from my home to the Hollywood Theatre, which I faithfully made most weekends. There, for the admission price of one thin dime, we kids could while away the entire afternoon watching our favorites like Roy Rogers and Zorro, the Lone Ranger and Hopalong Cassidy. How we would shout and cheer as the action unfolded – the noise could be deafening! I was delighted to see that, not only does this iconic art deco theatre still exist, it has been beautifully refurbished and still serves today as a focal point for the Kitsilano community.

Summer Snow

Have you ever been fortunate enough to have been snowed on in the summer? One year, I spent much of those summer months above tree-line in a mountain range in northern British Columbia working as an exploration geologist. The daily diary I kept showed me just how snowy a time that was. I’m guessing that because it was only a hundred miles from the ocean, lots of moisture kept coming my way. My records show that I was snowed upon this many days: May – 5; June – 10; July – 6; August – 8. Certainly it was colder up above tree-line, so it was likely that that accounted for my snowy days, while I’m sure that thousands of feet below in the lowlands, it just rained.

Locked In

Back in the mid-90s, my climber friend Bill decided to go climb a peak in central Arizona. He drove into the back country on some ranch roads, climbed his peak and made it back down to his pickup. He had driven most of the way out when he arrived at a gate that had been wide open on his way in. It was now closed, and locked – he was stuck on the wrong side of the gate! There was a ranch about half a mile back, but he didn’t want any trouble – they might accuse him of trespassing and call the sheriff. What to do?

Since he didn’t have a hacksaw or bolt cutters to remove the lock but had his .44 magnum revolver, he decided to use it to blow the lock off. Making sure nobody was around and backing off to a safe distance to avoid being hit by shrapnel, he took aim and fired, luckily blasting the lock clean open. Due to the sound of the blast and the proximity of a few ranch houses, he felt the urgency to get out of Dodge posthaste. He jumped into the cab of the truck and tore out of there like a bat out of hell, reaching the paved highway and making good his escape.

Many Goats

When I lived in British Columbia, I often saw mountain goats (Oreamnos americanus) while climbing in mountain country, nearly always above tree-line. Usually, they were solitary, but sometimes I’d see a small group of 2 or 3 near each other. One day in the 1960s, 3 of us were flying in a helicopter in the Telkwa Range. We were flying over a plateau above tree-line, several hundred feet above the ground. Something white caught our attention up ahead and the pilot slowed us down a bit as we neared it. It was a herd of mountain goats, a mixture of adults and juveniles. In and of itself, that was nothing unusual, but what we saw that day really caught our collective eye – there were so many of them. From our lofty perch, we started to count them. Since there was no cover for them, they were all out in the open. Each of us had counted over 100 goats before they started to scatter enough that we couldn’t really continue counting. I think it was highly unusual to see so many together.

Forget A Face

Have you ever wondered how long it would take you to forget a face? Let’s say you were stranded on a desert island, and you didn’t have any pictures of your loved ones. As time passed, do you think you could accurately remember the faces of those who were dear to you? Do you think you could sketch them from memory? Even your spouse or children, would those details fade away? I was once on a mountain for a month and realized that I had forgotten what my wife looked like. It may have been the high altitude and the lack of oxygen at work (or so I tell myself), but I was shocked.

Ultimate Stealth

A few climbers have done what are called stealth climbs. That is when you trespass on to an area that is closed to the public. My favorite type of stealth climb is on to a military base, the more forbidden the better. It’s one thing to sneak under a fence and climb something a mile or two inside a base, but the best stealth climbs are when you are operating deep inside, the bolder the better.

Ahh, how fondly I remember a trip back in 2016 that had to be the most outrageous stealth of them all. We used bicycles to reach 22 miles into a bombing range to where we would camp for a week, hidden deeply in the remotest of valleys. As the week progressed, we headed out in every direction to climb our peaks, but saved the best for last. On our final full day, starting under cover of darkness, we used the bikes to penetrate so far in to climb our last 3 peaks that, by the time we stood atop the last one, we were a full 40 miles inside the bombing range with bombs dropping nearby for added excitement. That was the best trip ever!!!

Newborn Moose

One time I was flying in a helicopter over a wooded area. The pilot, who had sharper eyes than I, noticed something so he circled back for a better look. There, in a bit of a clearing, stood a female moose with her calf. She must have given birth that same day. Her calf looked very wet, and was lying on the ground. Moose calves can stand within a day of being born. Normally, hovering over them like we were, they would run away, but it appeared that the calf couldn’t yet stand, and mama wasn’t leaving it, that’s for sure.

Not In My Chopper!

Have you ever seen an elk antler? They can be really big, with many sharp tines. One time back in the 60s, I was prospecting with a friend above tree-line and we found an especially large one. We wanted to take it back to camp, but when our helicopter pilot landed to pick us up and we told him that we wanted to fit it inside the chopper with us, he said that there was no way that was going to happen. Here are some examples of what elk antlers can look like.

The chopper was a Bell G3B, the kind where 2 passengers sit beside the pilot all in a row – there’s no extra room. We said that we’d set it across our 2 laps for the flight. He said it’d be like flying with a bunch of sharp knives, and sudden turbulence or a crash could cause it to impale us. Here’s what one of those choppers looked like.

He did allow us to tie it on to the rack on the outside of the chopper, though, so in the end we got our prize back to camp.