H 2 Ooooooh

Abraham Lake in western Alberta is known for a winter phenomenon known as 'frozen bubbles'. It wasn't winter at all, however, when I discovered this man-made masterpiece and all of its magnificence.

Lining the David Thompson Highway, the lake is easily accessible and incredibly eye-catching, inducing more than one "Stop The Car" moment within a very short distance. With the warm teal colour of glacial run-off, and the overwhelming beauty of a Rocky Mountain backdrop, it's safe to say I was absolutely NOT ready for what I found.

Pull off onto the shoulder... and WOW.

A little further up the road, and a walk to the shore...

The beauty was just not on a large scale.

At this point, if you haven't had your fill of gorgeous water, less than 30km up the road rages Crescent Falls. A few minutes drive up a dirt road, a short trail through the woods leads to the 25 metre (82ft) drop, and for the more seasoned mountain goat in all of us, a slippery slide to the rock base below. The tedious cliff side is worth the midway vantage point that allows for some pretty spectacular photography and the opportunity to dip yourself in the pool formed by the base of the upper portion of the falls.

The view along the trail:

And BOOM.

It was early evening when I left the falls.

As I was driving the dirt road back to the highway, the idea crossed my mind that it might be advantageous to drive back toward Abraham Lake to see if I could catch the sunset over the water. It had been raining off and on, though I had been lucky to stay dry all day, and I thought the brief downpours might make for dramatic light.

Again, I was NOT ready for what I found.

The lake, the mountains, and that RAINBOW.

Pure, unadulterated magic.

It started to fade as I made my way back to my original viewpoint, but I was able to catch the majesty as I pulled back into my still-empty parking spot.

...and someday, when this water is solid and air bubbles stand frozen in their attempt at a mass exodus through the ice, I will come back to this place again, camera in hand, to experience another side of Abraham Lake.

Ghost Story

Take a moment. Clear your mind. Let me tell you a story.

Imagine a tiny hamlet nestled in the foothills of the legendary Rocky Mountains in the mid-20th-century. Its population peaks out at about 2500 nearing 1940, the majority of whom are employed in the local coal mining industry. By the early 1950's, however, there have been a number of accidents, and despite the rebuild of the mines and plants, government debt and the introduction of the steam engine precipitate the decline of the town.

Fast forward to the year 2018.

An adventurous photographer sets out to explore a new part of her surroundings, and despite having never heard of this place previously, Nordegg, Alberta comes up three different times in her quest for suggestions for something new to see. Three hours' drive from her home in Edmonton, she arrives in the hamlet - current population: 200.

Current status: Ghost town.

Let's take a walk.

The old church is still used by the hamlet's few residents. A sign invites all to Sunday morning services and the building itself is immaculately restored to its original and somewhat Sleepy Hollow-esque glory.

The windows of the other buildings on the main road of the hamlet are artisticly painted in black and white to create the illusion of days gone by.

Further out from the main pass, the substantially more ghostly feel is palpable.

Of course, what would a proper ghost town be without a cemetery? A short path into the woods and through a wrought-iron gate brings a visitor to the 'piece de resistance' for any tale of spirits and restless dead.

This one does not disappoint in the least.

There is so much more to explore of this magnificent piece of history, and at least a full day is needed to cover all that Nordegg has to offer. My visit was a relatively short one, and only touched on the basic premise of the hamlet that stands welcoming visitors and standing as a legacy to those who once toiled and laboured at the base of the mountain range.

Things and Stuff

I learned a long time ago that 'things' are just that: things.

But I've learned much more recently that sometimes what those same 'things' represent can mean so much more.

My furniture is second-hand. My electronics are outdated. My minimal possessions that moved with me across the country and then from Okotoks to Edmonton all fit into one trip in a half-ton truck, and their value is based largely in sentiment. The only things I took with me with any monetary value are my cameras.

Then, a year and a half ago, I realized a goal.

I was debt-free, and had saved enough for a decent down payment on a vehicle. My own vehicle. Mine. No one else's. The truck I had dreamed of owning since I originally decided to move to Alberta. I had budgeted and worked out on paper what I could afford, and after 3 years, I was finally ready to make it happen.

In my head, it was cherry red, single-cab, and functioned just well enough to get me from point A to point B; I didn't need anything fancy.

What I walked out of the dealership with was a white, 4WD supercrew cab, 6.2 L V8 Ford F-150 Limited with air conditioned seats and a button to change the colour of the lights on the cupholder and under the dashboard. I named her Ashley until she was re-christened Betty White, and to me, she wasn't just a truck. She was freedom. 

The financial freedom I had achieved to be able to afford such a thing.

The freedom to choose my very first vehicle at the ripe old age of 37.

The freedom to just GO.

She has taken me to so many new places, and back to old favourites. She's taught me to change brakelights and windshield wipers and the proper way to unhook a battery. I've learned more about gas tanks and wheels and exhaust systems and actuators and insurance than I ever dreamed I'd ever need to know. I bought pink fuzzy dice for the mirror, Cape Breton and Oregon decals for the window, and a sparkly license plate frame for the back. I gripe about the cost of gas as much as the next guy, but I've paid $35 for a car wash without batting an eye.

So when Betty was vandalized back in early May, I was more than heartbroken. She's not just a truck. She's the embodiment of my independence: an independence that I have learned is so deeply ingrained in every facet of who I am. It wasn't just my truck that was violated: it was my goal, all the hard work and focus I had put into achieving it, and most importantly, my freedom.

My very core.

"Insurance will cover it," they said.

And it did. 

The missing parts were replaced, brand new and ready for action. My wallet benefitted legitimately and well. 

But my faith in humanity? Not so much.

Peace of mind? There is no insurance for that.

And I was angry. Boy, was I angry. I still am, as I type this just over a month later. 

I'll grant the jackass that did it that he could not have known the full impact of his actions. I have little doubt he'd have done what he did anyway, but I hang onto that tiny sliver of hope that says maybe, if he'd only known. Instead, he saw a truck with expensive parts and looked past the pink fuzzy dice and Cape Breton scarf that was a gift from my mom strung across the back seat, and completely violated the one thing I own of value. He took what he wanted and didn't give a second thought to me, or to anything else.

And I learned some more valuable lessons about humanity, about security, and about the blissful ignorance that had let me believe to this point that people don't actually do things like that to other people's property.

And I've learned that while possessions really are just things, sometimes it's what they represent that makes them become so much more important and deserving of respect.