Read about Lisa Monforton's up and close encounter with one of Canada's most incredible views.
A voyage along the coast of BC’s Great Bear Rainforest reveals nature at its most super natural
There is something about paddling any distance in a canoe or a kayak. The sound of the water kissing the sides of the boat, the call of the birds that ripple with the waves and the scenery that changes with every paddle stroke. Its therapeutic, calming and some things challenging.
Epic peaks, endless shorelines, tree-clad valleys, thundering waterfalls or silent and secluded alpine lakes. That’s what much of Canada is.
Yeah, we Canadians are a quiet lot, aren’t we? Western Canadians even more so than the rest of the country. Maybe it’s because in comparison, the western cities are so young.
In front of me, on a polished long table in a refurbished industrial building on the outskirts of Medicine Hat, sits a piece of wood cut in the shape of the province of Alberta.
“It feels like candy in my pocket,” Deanna Brett said with childlike enthusiasm as she tucked away another piece of turquoise sea glass from the tumbling surf at our feet.
Sitting on a beach, it’s hard to resist dragging your fingers in swirling patterns to create your own mini Zen garden. The feel of the grains on your fingertips and the heat of the sand is very soothing.
From icing a cake to walking on ice, Sheri Landry of Edmonton is up to the challenge. As the creator of the popular This Bird’s Day web page featuring advice, antidotes and recipes Sheri keeps pretty busy.
The absurdly gifted environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy thinks often about ‘sense of place,” that feeling we have when we know we belong within a specific habitat, that priceless experience of being settled.
Mesmerized by the powerful and hypnotic beat of the ancient drums, we pull ourselves away from the fire-warmed trapper's cabin (after a delicious bannock and beef stew feast, a Métis favourite!) and hop on the wagon for the short ride to the main stage.
When I get too wrapped up in my daily responsibilities, I close my eyes and picture myself outside surrounded by fresh air and immersed in a natural world. Spending even the smallest amount of time in nature centres me.
Our zen hits its zenith when we sip the 2013 Perpetua Chardonnay following a hearty spoonful of the Ocean Wise seafood chowder.
With fishing lines dipping into the glassy ocean, we sat and waited. Boredom brought the lines up from the depths to check the bait that would slip back into the abyss with our hopes firmly attached to the lures. Then we drift some more with the only sound of the trolling engine pushing us on a meandering course.
Staring at me with sad big brown eyes from inside a chain link pen did the trick.
“Can Annie come with me?” I said to her owner.
Searching for heaven? Pull on your shoes and walk down No. 5 Road in Richmond, BC. No wonder it’s been coined the Highway to Heaven—it’s home to more than 20 spiritual centres.
Landing in Sandspit, the main airport to access the village of Queen Charlotte in Haida Gwaii, gave me the same anxious butterflies I felt on the first day of school.
As dusk descends, an explosion of violence shatters the tranquility of the world’s largest remaining tract of unspoiled ancient temperate rainforest. The chase is on.
On an unusually cold October in the Canadian Rockies of British Columbia, craggy towers are all around me. The wind and my heavy breathing are the only sounds I hear.
As we pulled our minivan into the parking lot at Dinosaur Provincial Park, we couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement about our upcoming Fossil Safari Tour.
Chris Wheeler says he lives in Whistler but I’m willing to bet he spends more time on the road than he does at home. Wait, let me rephrase that. He spends more time on the trails, in the water, on a horse or on a bike.
I am a professional storm chaser.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Yes, my mother does have a few choice words about this career path.
There's something magical about waterfalls. From hearing roaring water from a distance to up close and personal, each waterfall is wonderfully unique. They intrigue us, inspire us, and are one of nature's greatest beauties.
"This," said Jessie the guide "is your holy crap strap. If you go over, pull it!" That all-important strap was stitched to the front of the spray-skirt, which would shortly be attached to my kayak – a kayak soon to be launched into heavy seas just off the shores of Vancouver Island.