I saw Caribou. Not the so-called "supermodels of the animal kingdom", but the band from Ontario. I bought a pink t-shirt to commemorate the event. (Hey, I didn't know it was pink, I thought it was red!) I've listened to Dan Snaith's music for years now, first under the moniker Manitoba and now reincarnated as Caribou but I'd never seen them live until last night. It only took about five minutes of them playing to realize that my $18 was well-spent. Snaith fronts the band sideways, playing guitar, keyboard, electronics and drums. Not all at once of course, which means the band has a dedicated drummer. This young guy on the skins (a replacement apparently?) has his kit set up at the very front of the stage, and for good reason. Usually drummers are relegated to the back, providing a backbeat to the overall music, but in Caribou, the drums are the music. And when Snaith jumps onto the second drum kit to bash out hard-hitting, manic rhythms in sync with the sweating drummer, the sound is intense. They play both the same beats, producing just a big, thick rhythmic sound, and complementary beats, sometimes sufficiently complex to make your head spin. Most Caribou songs are a long build from weird sublime melodies, sometimes with Snaith playing a recorder, to manic, barely held-together rhythmic chaos. It's like that part at the end of a song, where everybody lets the feedback kick in and the drummer goes crazy, except that with them it goes on for about five minutes and it has a constant rhythm, breaks and all. The bassist sings as well as Snaith and their voices harmonize nicely, sweetly in tune with the big sound of the eclectic guitarist who plays on a big hollow-body jazz guitar. All in all, a very full sound.
It was weird being out at a show again, but good, and I think it was sufficiently inspiring musically-speaking, that I'm going to pick up the guitar again and start jamming with friends. I'll be sporting my pink shirt for sure.
I love the forest. The smell of it is ingrained into my existence from growing up in Victoria, hiking East Sooke, camping in Tofino, wandering along Goldstream, even walking up Mt. Doug. The forest is where I go to lose myself, to let everything around me go and just put one foot in front of the other. Clambering over massive root systems is something that’s become an entirely subconscious, natural act, and one I’ve been teaching to my daughter. But lately, I’ve been torn by a strange brew of ambivalent thoughts.
I remember being little and peering over the dash of a beat up old blue pickup truck with my grandpa at the wheel, bouncing up crazy, steep logging roads—or often, reversing back down those roads as a full logging truck stared us down, filling the windshield with the view of its grill—and loving it. I still use those roads now too, to go to old Forest Service Recreation sites to camp or to hike. I remember the smell of the mill in Chemainus as we drove past; my dad worked there when he was in his twenties. I’ve known loggers, and I know loggers now. I like them. They’re industrious, hard-working types who love being outside. They like hiking and beachcombing and exploring the natural world; they like their jobs precisely because it allows them to be outdoors. But aren’t they, in the simple act of going to work in the morning, taking away these things we love and appreciate? Well, that’s where the ambivalence comes in.
If Canada were to suddenly ban logging, the entire infrastructure of much of B.C. would collapse. Thousands of people like those loggers—good, well-meaning people—would be out of a job. Their families would go hungry. Then what? These aren’t people with a lot of options. It’s not like they can just pop down to the local temp agency to check the job postings. Entire communities like Sandspit, Quesnel and Gold River (to name only a few) would become ghost towns if resource-based industries stop.
But what of the alternative? Do we keep going with this unsustainable rate of deforestation? Where’s the balance? (Is there a balance?) I’m sure there’s someone out there trying to find it; there are probably lots of people. But as average people, we usually only hear about the extremes. On one side, there are the developers behind outfits like Bear Mountain; on the other, there are radical hippy types shaking their fists and placards. Is there anyone in the middle? I, for one, want to hear ideas that come from neither side of this debacle, ideas that speak to everyone. I don’t know if there can (or will) be a solution to this problem until we appease everyone involved; and frankly, as far as I can tell, that means we need to come up with ideas that make money. Lots of money.
One idea I’ve heard bandied around a few times is to keep logs local—encourage people to start building furniture and houses and sundecks and anything else out of the wood we chop down here. That way at least we’re maintaining some jobs and losing a little of the reliance on our big brother to the south. Perhaps a government grant or similar incentive might nudge this along. But is it really a good idea? What about the single parent who can’t afford not to buy her furniture from Ikea or some other cheap manufacturer? I mean, let’s face it, not many of us can afford to buy a $1,900 handmade dining room table made from Haida Gwaii cedar by a local craftsman.
This is a big deal. I went for a hike up Mt. Finlayson shortly after the Bear Mountain project kicked off (unbeknownst to me while I was in another country—some treat to come back to!) and saw the view I cherished from my childhood completely gone. I was livid; I still am. I understand that some development needs to happen—we’re a growing population—but let’s find a better way: in-fill the city, make it easier to walk or bike to work, offer some kind of mass transit to the Western Communities, pedestrianize parts of downtown, build more self-sufficient pockets like Dockside Green. That’s a start. Then, find the middle ground and appeal to the greed of the developers. No one will listen to a protest without a solution.
The recent rally down at the legislature was a good step in the right direction—both sides were represented and the ultimate goal was clear. Protection of old-growth forests and a ban of raw log export were the two points on the agenda for the 1,300 people who attended. Over a thousand people—that’s the biggest environmental rally in 15 years, since the Clayoquot Sound protests of the 1990s. Between environmentalists, politicians and representatives from the Pulp, Paper and Woodworkers of Canada and mills in Crofton and Nanaimo, the ralliers seem to have sent a pretty clear message to the government. The Western Canada Wilderness Committee, organizers of the rally, outlined exactly what they expect and it wasn’t just a full-on ban on logging. They suggest a more conclusive move to second-growth forestry, a solution that allows the industries to still remain but preserves the old-growth ecosystems. It’s a start, and it seems the important thing is that everyone has to get in on it.
This is a problem to which I don’t know the answer but, like anyone who loves our forests, I’m hoping someone out there finds it soon. What I’m really asking for is a new idea, a balance, a solution . . . perhaps even a miracle.
