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Outdoor Tips, Tricks, Inspiration and Activities | MEC Blog

*The passionate staff we have in our stores is part of what sets MEC apart. Running experts like Matthew Travaglini, a staff member in our MEC Calgary store, have helped programs like the MEC run crew and running clinics come to life.*

*His love for running has helped shape an exciting and inspiring lifestyle, which includes being crowned the men’s 2017 Canadian Mountain Running champion earlier this year. Since then, he’s been invited to participate in the World Mountain Running Championships in Italy, and we wanted to catch up with him before he left – and to wish him good luck!*

**How are you feeling about the upcoming World Mountain Running Champs?**

Excited! This will be my first international competition and that part’s a little nerve-racking. But with the way my training has been going, I feel ready to compete and am excited to run against the top mountain runners in the world.



**Why did you start running?**

I started running because it was a way to get in shape to play soccer. When I didn’t make the final cut for my high school soccer team, running for the track team was a happy second choice. Looking back, I don’t think that I understood how important getting cut from that team would end up being in my life. I chose to run competitively because the more I ran, the more I enjoyed it and the more I wanted to get better at it.



**How did you get into mountain running?**

I started mountain running last year when I moved to Calgary. Fellow MEC staffer Josh convinced me that this would be something fun. With what felt like a near death experience on my first mountain run – like any logical person – I was hooked. Since then, I’ve headed out to the mountains more frequently because there’s nowhere else you can experience the feeling of running straight uphill for 5km and still not be able to see the top.



**How has working at MEC inspired you to run?**

Being surrounded by active staff and members is definitely part of where I get my motivation to run from. Whether it’s sharing commuting stories or comparing Strava segments, working with and talking to so many people who are passionate about the outdoors and being fit is amazing, and is one of my favourite parts of my job.



**How do you get most of your running in?**

If I’m not going to the mountains for a run, a lot of my weekly mileage comes from my runs to and from work. Other than limiting factors (like an injury or going on a training course for work that involves bringing gear) I’ve run every single day to work. My route is about 8.5km away from the store, and it takes me through some amazing neighbourhoods and parks looking out over the city. It’s a really cool way to start the day seeing the sun coming up over the city skyline.

Depending on where I’m at in my training, I’ll add a few kilometres before or after work or will [sneak in a tempo](/en/article/be-a-better-runner-get-the-tempo-run-101) if I’m “running” late. The hardest, but most rewarding, is when I’m able to do a workout after a day at work.



**What kind of running events do you help with at MEC Calgary?**

The MEC Calgary run crew and the learn to run clinics have been a cool part of the work I do with MEC. My summer racing schedule makes it a little more difficult to go to the Saturday meet-ups because that’s typically the day that races happen. But I’ve been able to help with running clinics we offer and get to see the amount of effort these first-time runners are putting in to achieve their goals.

The free Saturday morning run group is super cool. We meet at the store and head down to the river for a run and then hit up the local coffee shop after. Recently, I’ve also been able to do some presentations at our race series package pick-ups where I give a 45-minute talk on race preparation.



**What’s your favourite part about running?**

I don’t know if I have one thing that I can pinpoint as my absolute favourite part. If I did, it would probably have to be the people I’ve met or the places I’ve been able to go to because of running. Almost all the people I’m closest with have come through running (minus a few, and those are ones who I share a passion for the outdoors with).

On a deeper level, I will say that the solitude and grandness of mountain running is something I have never experienced before. There are points when you’re breathing so heavily and your heart is pumping so loudly that you can barely hear what’s going on around you. The sound of only your heartbeat and breath and the sight of the Rockies is an extraordinary experience.

*Have a great trip, Matthew! We’ll be cheering for you at the World Mountain Running Championships. If you’re interested in trying trail running, check out our [beginner trail running tips](/en/article/how-to-start-trail-running-tips-for-road-runners).*

*Top photo: Josh Denison ([@joshsonofdenis](https://www.instagram.com/joshsonofdenis/))*



Meet the 2017 Canadian Mountain Running champion from Calgary.

MEC staffer spotlight: Matthew Travaglini | MEC Blog

MEC staffer spotlight: Matthew Travaglini

*We love that you love getting outside. That’s why we’re profiling inspiring members across Canada who connect with their communities through active outdoor lifestyles.*

Member: Melody Markle
Member since: 2007
Activities: mountain biking, camping, hiking

**Tell us about yourself. How do you like to get outside?**

I am Algonquin Anishinaabe-kwe and grew up in Algonquin Anishinaabe traditional territory in Ontario. I spent many summer seasons camping, fishing with my brother, playing in swamps to catch turtles and stargazing into the night sky. I was fortunate at an early age to have my mother sprinkle seeds of culture in me and around the importance of being First Nation. I often give thanks to her for instilling my pride to be loud and proud of my motherline.

During my adult years I moved to Toronto and attended Ryerson University. I also started spin classes with the goal of building my stamina and cardio levels for my move to BC.

**What was your first introduction to mountain biking?**

The summer of 2007 was full of endless trail adventures. I started riding with the Cumberland Ladies Ride Group. My first day of biking in Courtenay, BC, was a ride to remember. I borrowed a large downhill bike from the guys and threw my helmet on with hopes of not crashing. It was a short-lived dream – I ended up going over the handlebars five times during our ride on Tomato Creek. I even had my first panic attack during the climb on the logging road.



**What do you like about mountain biking? What’s changed for you since you started?**

I love the personal transformation, from increased confidence to leading a healthier lifestyle. I spent a lot of time in urban settings where trails are harder to find, and my health wasn’t a priority. It wasn’t until my first trail ride that I realized how much exercise was involved. I began to train four times a week on local group rides. I loved how supportive the riders were, and the weekly outings settled my anxiety around venturing off on my own in the forest.

I began to ride downhill and XC and built up my cardio to handle two-hour rides without being too exhausted. Now I’m learning to ride Kamloops terrain, which is primarily singletrack enduro, and I’m beginning to love the climb. I’m riding with intermediate to advanced riders now too, and enjoy how they encourage me to push myself. I love setting goals and watching the progress with a group or recording my time on [Strava](https://www.strava.com/athletes/21213135).

**How did you get involved with the Aboriginal Youth Mountain Biking Program?**

I was connected to [Patrick Lucas](http://vancouversun.com/news/local-news/mountain-biking-helps-put-b-c-first-nations-youth-on-a-positive-path) and the [IYMBP](https://iymbp.ca/) through a friend who works with the Aboriginal Sport and Recreation Collective. She suggested we meet to chat about our love for mountain biking and engaging the Aboriginal community. After a few rides and conversations we created a video about how I connect to the territory when I’m riding the trails. I guess I consider myself a role model when riding because there are so many other elements I incorporate when pushing my pedals. Presently, I volunteer my time with various groups from surrounding communities if they need additional help with group rides.



Melody2015



**How is mountain biking a healing tool for you?**

I strongly believe in muscle and blood memory as a framework when decolonizing my body. I practice this by looking after my health holistically. There are many layers to tend to: mental, physical, emotional and spiritual. I strive to maintain balance in all the elements that make up a whole and assist me with my biking performance. This is how I work through the impacts of colonization and continue to heal myself from the effects of what happened to Indigenous people.

**Like Anishinaabe Aki, the traditional territories of the majority of Nations here in BC are also unceded. Does this impact how and where you ride in BC?**

I love to ride anywhere that good people have been involved with the trail building. I believe we don’t own the trails as this is Mother Earth that we all share. I’m also aware and understand that I am a guest here in BC, I respect the land and support the surrounding Bands when we defend land from future developers. I feel very honoured when I’m invited by a community member to ride in their territory and often chat about the history of the people and celebrate how biking has brought families together. I’m stoked that First Nation communities are becoming part of the trail building process and rebuilding their communities in healthy ways.

**What does the mountain bike community need to know about where they ride?**

I think everyone in the biking industry should be aware of the traditional territories their bike races take place in and acknowledge the original peoples that have resided for thousands of years. Also, maybe in the future, when trail building happens, involve the community and consult with them about Indigenizing the trail names. Incorporate medicine rides that teach people about the plants they are riding into.



**Do you see mountain biking as something that helps you connect with the land?**

When I’m riding my bike, I’m reminded of the all the plant and medicine diversity that is utilized to heal. As I ride through the trails, I’m mindful that Mother Earth has all the answers for me when I’m encountering a complex decision. Mountain biking always takes me far into beautiful backcountry that is full of plants, all of which have a role to play when we talk about holistic health with Indigenous people.

For example, while riding in Kamloops – the traditional territory of the Secwepemc people – I noted the sage that has been planted on the hillside for thousands of years. I always stop and reflect on the use of these plants and others by the Secwepemc people for food, medicine, technology and ceremonies. Around spring time, the smell of sage reminds me to clear my mind when I’m having a difficult time. It is when I’m out on the trails in the hills that I remember how important our traditional foods and medicines are to keep us whole. The only plant that I try and steer clear from would be [stinging nettle](/en/article/how-to-do-anything-spot-dangerous-plants)! It was the worst pain and rash experienced when I rode a trail in Ontario.

**Talk to us about identifying as a woman in sport known for its masculinity.**

I think the sport has evolved within the few years I’ve been biking. There are more women entering the sport at an early stage. More are racing, coaching and guiding. I used to be the only lady riding with men at the park and typically ran into men on the trail. I was lucky to have some patient guys who would wait for me at an intersection and cheer me along the way. I haven’t really noticed a difference of whom I’m riding with. All genders can become competitive for the same reasons and I’m grateful for my riding friends. Actually now that I think of it, I have a lady rider pal who loves to chat during a climb which is really helpful for me to keep on going. I find most men will have smaller conversations but want to focus on their breathing.

Another important trend that has changed quite a bit is women’s biking attire. I remember only owning one pair of riding shorts before and they were men’s. I think within the last 5–10 years, there’s been a lot more of a selection of women’s riding attire.



**On that note, what are your favourite MEC products?**

I have a lot from MEC, including a camping dish set, tent, sleeping bag, water bottles, hydration packs, clothing, and rain jackets to name a few.

**What are your favourite trails to ride?**

Within BC, I think my favourite is 7th Secret in North Vancouver on Mount Fromme. Also Full Nelson in Squamish, Beer Run in Kamloops, and Cupcake and Two-in-a-Juice in Cumberland.

**Tell us about your perfect day outside.**

Loading up my bike and camp gear and venturing to a new mountain. I love exploring with my wheels of health. That post-ride feeling of relief is the satisfaction I strive for on my weekends. I also enjoy good company of friends who share that passion for biking too.

**What is your hope for the future of the mountain biking community?**

I hope there will be more First Nation communities encouraging their people to ride and spend time in the beautiful forests and hills. I hope more young people will give biking a try and keep at it as a hobby.

**Are there bikers you follow or look up to?**

I just started using Strava and have been following my friend Carolyn, a Kamloops local. She’s a mother as well and reminds me to encourage my little ones to ride once I start a family. She’s also very kind and encouraging when we do weekly rides.



Meet MEC member Melody Markle, an avid mountain biker from Long Point (Winneway) First Nation who is all about trailblazing to mino-pimadiziwin (the good life).

MEC member spotlight: Melody Markle | MEC Blog

MEC member spotlight: Melody Markle

Since the Fundy Footpath (FFP) opened in 1994, people have underestimated its difficulty and duration, which has resulted in tougher-than-anticipated hikes and expensive search and rescue operations. We wanted to make some videos to highlight the safety precautions needed to hike the FFP. But who would ever watch a safety video about hiking? Enter our main character, Bruce “should-I-say-my-last-name” Persaud and our *Surviving the Fundy Footpath* films. Bruce grew up in Toronto and had just moved to New Brunswick from Montreal when we met him. When he agreed to have his first serious hike filmed, we knew we had our hook.

These films are a must-watch before you head out on a challenging hike. Bruce illustrates that you don’t need to be a hardcore backpacker to complete the FFP, but you do need some good knowledge before you head out, and helpful advice from experienced hikers can make a huge difference when you’re a beginner backpacker.

### Episode 1: Is He Ready?


Episode 1: Is He Ready? (CENSORED)



##### What is the Fundy Footpath?
Where the resistant igneous rock of the Caledonia Highlands drops off into the mega-tidal Bay of Fundy in Southeastern New Brunswick, you’ll find the treacherous Fundy Footpath. It’s over 60km long, crosses nearly 20 watercourses and traverses very steep terrain that culminates in over 4000m of elevation gain (and an equal amount of loss).

##### What is the FFP’s reputation?
It’s rocky, rooted and riddled with steep elevation changes. Backpackers are lured by the promise of a one-of-a-kind coastal experience and an intimate encounter with the great Fundy tides, but it’s also a raw wilderness experience.

### Episode 2: Many of Firsts


Episode 2: Many of Firsts (CENSORED)



##### What are some misconceptions about the footpath?
Many hikers expect the FFP to be flatter, smoother, more forgiving and faster to complete. These misconceptions can lead to people pushing themselves too hard, too fast or to trying to take short-cuts, resulting in injuries or just a bad time.

### Episode 3: Threading the Eye of the Needle


Episode 3: Threading the Eye of the Needle (CENSORED)



##### Where should beginner hikers start before tackling the footpath?
Train by putting some weight on your back and finding some elevation to climb and descend. Anything technical with tricky footing is good practice and using trekking poles will be very helpful, especially on steep downhills. Pole placement can seem complicated at first, as each step is one more task for your brain.

##### What does hiker preparedness mean?
Here are some things you’ll need to be prepared:

1. Mental toughness: be ready for the challenge and recognize when you’re tired and not thinking clearly. Not everything will go according to plan.
1. Physical conditioning is a key preparation activity; learn some good stretches to reduce soreness.
1. Proper gear choices and packing covers a lot of things, from boots, backpacks and clothing to shelters, personal hygiene and kitchen equipment. Take only what you need and make your pack as light as possible. Make a list of essentials.
1. High calorie, lightweight food is key. Have a plan to treat or filter your water and remember to keep drinking; dehydration leads to all kinds of physical problems.
1. Tell people where you’re going and when you’ll be done. Register before beginning the FFP on either end so help knows your hiking agenda. Take a first-aid kit, map of the trail, guide book, tide chart and a cell phone/GPS. Cell coverage is very thin, so don’t depend on it. If you must call 911, be ready to give them detailed information on your exact location and the nature of your situation.

### Episode 4: Hitting the Wall


Episode 4: Hitting the Wall (CENSORED)



##### What do you want people to know about the footpath?
The mega-tides of the Bay of Fundy are impressive along the trail and vary by as much as 11.4m (nearly four storeys). Tide level is vitally important here, as it can close routes, limit your travel, and even trap you on the cliffs when exploring the beach. The wrack line – a line of dead seaweed and driftwood – shows the reach of the tide, making it a safety line of sorts. Camp above it and don’t lose track of the tide while you’re exploring.

### Episode 5: Becoming a Hiker


Episode 5: Becoming a Hiker (CENSORED)



##### What are some instances of things going awry on the footpath?
The example in “Episode 5: Becoming a Hiker” is one of the best. Two men hiking the FFP were worried they wouldn’t get out on time because the trail was taking longer than expected and decided to take an intertidal short cut. With darkness falling, they likely panicked and tried to climb up the cliff back to the trail, only to become stuck. An expensive helicopter rescue saved them. Another time, a hiker nearly froze to death in the winter, while one called for rescue due to sore knees, only to be found later, living it up on the beach.

##### What else do you want people to know?
If you’re an experienced hiker, then help others get out and take on outdoor challenges. Everyone should spend time in the wilderness and it is up to others with experience to help them along, whether through guiding, teaching or just encouraging them. In an urbanizing landscape we must all stay connected to nature and gain experiences that will allow us to understand the importance of conservation.

### Episode 6: Some Serious Chafing Going On


Episode 6: Some Serious Chafing Going On (CENSORED)

### 

*MEC was proud to provide a grant to the Fundy Biosphere Reserve, and ultimately help Ben Phillips, Alonzo Leger and Marc Leger lead Bruce Persaud along the Fundy Footpath safely while Craig Norris captured each moment. Congratulations to Bruce for surviving the FFP! Time to pick up some [real water shoes](/en/gender/men%27s/products/footwear/sandals/water-sandals/c/1801).*

*Photos by Craig Norris.*



Follow Toronto-born first-time camper Bruce Persaud as he attempts to complete the Fundy Footpath, one of Canada’s toughest multi-day hikes.

Surviving the Fundy Footpath | MEC Blog

Surviving the Fundy Footpath

Most mountain bike trips involve well-known destinations or at the very least, places other mountain bikers have been. For the most part, our trip to India involved neither of these. Mountain biking does exist in a few select places in the country, but those spots were meant for a different kind of bike adventure.

We’d hatched a plan months prior, at home in Whistler, BC, and dreamt up two goals: the first, to explore the remote Spiti Valley, where we could build and ride big mountain lines in some truly unique places. The second, to ride the mystical root bridges of Nongriat in a corner of India known for being one of the rainiest places on earth. So, on a crisp fall morning, Chris Draper, Vince Emond, Justa Jeskova and I departed Whistler, excited for what our six-week trip held for us. India has a reputation for being a tough place to travel, and we had the added weight of bikes and camera equipment, but I don’t think any of us were prepared for some of the more trying moments of our journey.



Our first stop was Manali, widely considered the mountain bike capital of India by the small community of bikers here. A fair description, but it needs to be taken in context, as mountain biking is still very much a fringe sport in India – the number of locals asking for a photo with us and our bikes confirmed that. There’s a small ski area just above town where, once a year, the few local riders in town hold a downhill race, and there are plenty of trails surrounding town to keep you busy for a while. We stayed for about five days and there were still many areas we could have explored. It was the only place our tires wouldn’t be leaving first tracks.

Our goals would be accomplished over the Rohtang Pass and beyond, deep into the high mountains. Our first day in the Himalayas was one of the most astounding days I’ve had travelling. Until you see the mountain range in real life, you don’t truly get an idea of how massive and beautiful they are. Travel was slow due to the state of the roads, yet none of us cared; we were glued to the windows of our van for hours as we took in one of the world’s most awe-inspiring landscapes. Our emotions were heightened too, knowing we would be riding our bikes in this wild place.



Following 12 hours of driving, we arrived at Chandra Taal, a high-altitude lake sitting at over 4300m. Bike assembly went rather hastily as we were eager to finally lay tread on the massive playground before us. Pedalling uphill at this altitude felt like riding through mud, but it was easy to ignore while scanning the horizon for rideable lines. We settled on a shale slope with a short chute entrance and hiked our way to the top. Each step we took resulted in a half-step back due to the loose surface and our lungs gasped for air. At the top looking down our line and taking in our new view, there was a distinct “is this for real?!” moment. Each second we were in the Himalayas was more surreal than the one before, and now we were about to let loose down a long slope where no one had ridden their bikes before. And it wasn’t just the novelty factor that made it so great – those turns were some of the best turns I’ve ever made in my life.

The next two weeks were a blur of building, riding and exploring, plus hard work, sweat and blistered hands. The days were short and hot. The nights were long and cold. The exploration and prep work to ride lines and trails in the Indian Himalayas resulted in some of the most gratifying biking we’ve ever done. We would come home each day covered in dust to a sporadically-functioning cold shower and even that couldn’t kill our buzz. It was an incredible few weeks that culminated in biking through a high alpine village with a centuries-old monastery a stone’s throw away. A mind-blowing end to our time in the Spiti Valley.



Getting to Nongriat to explore its network of living root bridges turned out to be a much more difficult process than we envisioned. After three days of crude dirt and crumbling asphalt roads, we briefly made it back to civilization before spending four days navigating the over-complicated bus and train systems just to get there. Along the way we learned how to cram bikes, people and luggage in rickshaws and found out that full trains were *not* designed for travel with mountain bikes. Most importantly, we learned to *never* eat the train food again.

After what felt like months we finally made it to Cherrapunjee, the closest town to Nongriat. Still reeling from the effects of a food-borne parasite, we gladly took a day off to plan and rest, and mapped out a descent high above Nongriat to navigate to the valley bottom, usually only accessible by foot (or in our case, bikes). The trail down took every ounce of our energy. It was steep and technical with many more switchbacks than we anticipated. We were more than happy to swim in the valley’s crystal clear river, which gave us the rejuvenation we needed to ride on.



Sooner than we expected, the first living root bridge appeared: a two-level span hundreds of years old. The bridges are created from the roots of the banyan fig trees, and manipulated by humans over generations to grow across rivers. The bridges are their means of inter-village connection during the monsoon season when the rivers grow impassable. It was an otherworldly sight and an unforgettable experience to ride across – not exactly the most technical feature to ride, but easily one of the most unique. On a trip full of wonderful and wild experiences, it was a big highlight of our adventure.

Our exploration of unridden India was an adventure success. A veritable highlight real of stunning views and surreal riding environs. It isn’t a mountain bike mecca (yet), but with a little hard work it was so much more: riding in a biking world unknown.



The story of a small team of riders, a photographer, and a videographer on a mission to explore and experience new riding and cultures on the sub-continent of India. With little information regarding India’s terrain and trails, the group decided it was best to uncover it themselves first hand.

Shot and edited by Vince Emond.

India: An Uncertain Road

### 

India’s fringe mountain biking community turned out to be a massive playground for Steve, Justa, Vince and Chris. MEC was proud to support them on their epic journey via [expedition grant funding](/en/explore/outdoor-impact).



*Want to see more wild places to ride in the world? Check out*[*10 must-do mountain bike destinations*](/en/article/must-do-mountain-bike-destinations)*.*



India’s fringe mountain biking scene meant a ton of first lines, mystical root bridge crossings and Himalayan backdrops for these bike-crazy Canadians.

Mountain biking in Northern India | MEC Blog

Mountain biking in Northern India

It’s no secret that running crews and training clubs are basically a gold mine of motivation, expertise and new friendships, just waiting to be tapped. But when you find *your*club – the one that hits all your checkboxes for fitness and support – life-altering things can happen. Just ask twin sisters Julie and Andrea Kocsis, members of the Barrie, Ontario-based triathlon club the [Barrie Baydogs](https://www.barrietriathlonclub.com/), who went from just walking to finishing multiple marathons.

“With the Baydogs, whatever you start, you finish together,” notes Julie. “With hill training, everyone waited at the top, you all high-fived each other and then ran down together. Even if you were the slower runner, you never felt like people were waiting for you or that you were left behind. They include everybody. You don’t feel like an outsider or that you’re slowing anyone down.”

That sense of family and belonging is something that was a massive motivation for the pair, who Andrea says were brutally teased throughout school. While they’ve always been each other’s biggest supporters – they start and finish races together, holding their hands triumphantly in the air as they cross the finish line – they really got the welcome and community encouragement they were looking for through the [Baydogs mentoring program](https://www.barrietriathlonclub.com/mentoring).



“When we went to the mentor training, they really welcomed us with open arms,” recalls Julie. “Everyone there was of all different physical abilities and were very sociable.”

“It was important for us to join a club that understands the importance of supporting each other and finishing together,” adds Andrea. “They built up our self confidence and our mental strength. It’s not ‘I can’t do anything’ anymore, it’s ‘I can do it, and if I believe in myself anything is possible.’”

The twins have made massive strides in their fitness levels over the years. They each weighed over 200lb. (91kg) when they started with walking in university. Over time, they decided to pick up the pace by running to a neighbourhood landmark, like a light post, then running a kilometre and so on. Eventually, they set a goal to finish a marathon before graduation. Not only did they hit their goal, but they’ve lost over 120lb. (54kg) between them and now exercise regularly, greatly improving their overall health.

> “When you’re in a group, if you’re suffering, you’re all suffering together, so you don’t feel like it’s that bad.”
>
Andrea’s knee injury was the key factor in joining the Baydogs. A friend in their run club suggested they try triathlons, so they bought bikes and joined up. “The number one thing I’ve gotten out of joining the group is knowledge,” says Julie.

These days, the twins welcome a bit of sweaty stress. They completed the Disney Dopey Challenge in 2015, which sandwiches together four days of back-to-back running, starting with a 5K, then a 10K, half marathon, and full marathon, for a grand total of 78.2km. “We’ve probably done a good 10 half marathons and four full marathons,” estimates Andrea. “We have a half coming up in May, and we started working with a coach that we met through the Baydogs to help us with our running. We’ve PB’d the last three races we’ve been in. The big goal for us is a full Ironman in August.”



The successes haven’t been without their interruptions either – last year Andrea faced a rugby injury and had to take the summer off. “That was really tough for me, as a twin. Every day I’d see my sister out and wish I could train. But it allowed me to grow mentally stronger.”

“It was tough for me too,” echoes Julie. “I never thought I’d be starting or finishing the half Ironman without my sister on the line. I found the run particularly difficult. That’s when Andrea is usually yelling at me ‘it’s all in your mind! Just keep going, one foot in front of the other’! Or we start singing to each other. Last summer our go-to was ‘Fight Song’ by Rachel Platten.” Since Andrea couldn’t join Julie for the Muskoka 70.3, she wrote different song lyrics on the handlebars of Julie’s bike.

If they could impart one lesson, they hope people know that they are capable of more that they give themselves credit for.

> “The only thing that’s stopping you is you, putting up the wall. Just put your heart into it. Speed doesn’t matter,” they say.
>
“There’s that quote about how the slowest person is still faster than the person sitting on the couch, so no matter your physical ability, just get out and try. You see so much more of the world when you’re out running.”

*MEC is proud to support Julie and Andrea’s efforts through the Community Contributions program via a grant to the Barrie Baydogs, which helps fund their mentoring program. Good luck on your Ironman!*



Get seriously inspired by Barrie Baydogs club members and twin sisters Julie and Andrea as they chronicle over 120lb. lost and 20 races crushed.

The life changing magic of joining a club | MEC Blog

The life-changing magic of joining a club

This is a story of luck and survival in avalanche terrain. I’ve told it before, but after exploring [Avalanche Canada](https://www.avalanche.ca/)’s excellent [Rescue at Cherry Bowl](https://www.avalanche.ca/cherry-bowl/#/intro) feature, I’m sharing it again. Both as a reminder of the role human factors play in backcountry decision-making and in the hope it might alter a single group’s actions or save a life. (If you haven’t explored the extraordinary story of what transpired at Cherry Bowl, just outside Terrace, BC, in March 2013, it’s well worth your time, particularly the embedded video interviews of survivors and rescuers.)

My story started, as all adventures do, with the simple, wholesome desire to have some fun. My good buddy – and expedition partner of fifteen years – suggested we go ski touring. Despite the fact we live in the same small town, busy schedules had prevented us from getting outside together for over a year. To remedy the situation, we picked a day in late February or early March and marked it in our calendars weeks in advance.

The night before our planned departure, a heavy winter storm blew in. By dinnertime, snow was piling up at over an inch an hour, and for the first time, I began to wonder about our plans. Had the commitment been with anyone else, I would have suggested spending the next day at our local ski hill instead of travelling in the backcountry, but there was human history to consider. For years, I’d been the conservative one in our partnership; the one suggesting bailing when things didn’t look or feel right. It had become such a bone of contention that my friend and I began doing less together. This outing was supposed to be a step towards healing that rift, and I knew he’d still be game. I set my alarm for 5:30am.

By dawn, a foot of new snow lay on the ground outside my house. There would be more in the high peaks. The avalanche danger rating was *Considerable* for alpine and treeline – one of the most challenging forecasts to deal with; the same one the skiers at Cherry Bowl had faced – but neither my friend, nor the two experienced skiers he’d invited to join us, seemed concerned. They’d all been out more than me that winter, and lacking the heart for confrontation, I decided I’d bite my tongue. In fact, I decided I’d bite it all day long, and for once, to just go with the flow. It was a mistake that nearly killed me.

The road into the southern Purcells was obliterated beneath a blanket of featureless snow. Just minutes outside town, my friend missed a curve and drove full speed down a farmer’s lane, soft powder billowing over the hood as we drifted to a stop. Even as it happened, I knew it was another warning. We should have turned back, but we didn’t.

An hour-long snowmobile ride along abandoned logging roads brought us to the basin where we planned to ski. Heavy clouds and mist meant we could see nothing. I’d visited the area before in the summer, but never winter. Now I would have to rely on others for their understanding and judgment regarding the terrain both above and below us; we were in that grey zone between the treeline and the alpine.



Even as we attached skins to our skis and tested beacons, the ominous sound of natural avalanches filtered through the forest. Somewhere, in the cliffs above, snow was coming down on its own. First one. Then two. Then three. Surely we weren’t going to ski now? “Not a problem,” someone explained. “We can stick to safe trees.”

Skinning upwards, the trail we cut felt protected, weaving through stands of old-growth draped in old man’s beard. An hour later, as we reached a high ridge, the trees were thinning. In the mist to our left appeared silhouettes of thicker forest. To our right, blowing snow and cloud obliterated what looked like an open slope. “Which way?” shouted my friend, in the lead. “Go right,” came the answer from behind. “Better turns.” I knew it was the wrong call, but said nothing.



We had a quick snack, shared a few sips from a thermos of tea, took off skins, made our plan, and dropped in. Skiing one at a time, we regrouped after just ten turns in a small clump of wind-blown alpine larch. Then the first skier set out again. Soon his faint call wafted up through the mist. “Safe!” I went next.

Six turns in I dragged a hip in the powder to slow speed, and I suspect that is what broke the hillside free. Suddenly, everything in front of me was moving. As far as I could see, the slope was breaking into blocks the size of washers and dryers, tumbling away as puffs of snow rose like smoke. Acting purely on instinct, I managed to make a quick, messy turn away from the chaos. But ahead of me, in the opposite direction, the slope was moving too. Not knowing what to do, I put on the brakes.

Far above, I heard my friend scream, “AVALANCHE!” There was an urgency in his voice I’d never heard in fifteen years of friendship. My skis ground to a stop. I wasn’t moving? The hillside was silent. From below, a muffled cry: “I’m okay.”



It took a moment to piece together what had happened: a massive fracture had ripped across the slope above, 160cm deep and roughly 100m wide. Miraculously, a single vertical finger of snow smack in the middle of the avalanche path had not slid. And that finger extended all the way down from the crown to the point where I now stood. I’ll never know what caused that sliver of snow to stick – micro variations in the terrain or the finger of god – but I was perched atop the only safe island in a swath of total destruction. Had I been skiing just a few metres to either side, I’d have been swept away.

What about the skier below?

Leaping off the snow finger, my skis landed on the rock-hard slide surface below. Side-slipping as quickly as I could, I followed the yells until I spotted him, jammed between two pine trees, buried up to his neck.

“I always stop on the uphill side of trees,” he smiled, still unshaken. It was a decision that probably saved him. By the time I’d dug him out, the other two had joined us.

Below us, the slide had run over 800m to the valley bottom. We followed its path though the old-growth stands where we’d skinned earlier. Far overhead, beyond the reach of our extended poles, was a “high-tide” mark of refuse (branches, twigs, ice) showing the depth of snow that ran through these stands. Below, the slide funneled into a rocky gully, tumbling downwards and eventually spewing across flats below.

I appeared to be the only one shaken. And in my final act of stupidity, I kept skiing with the group that day.

I take full responsibility for the incident. I was the one who didn’t speak up and share my intuition, and in hindsight, my actions appear ridiculous, almost unfathomable. I pride myself on being an extremely conservative decision maker, with many avalanche courses under my belt and twenty-plus years of experience travelling in the backcountry. Why did I remain silent in the face of so many alarms and obvious warnings?



Human relationships and dynamics can exert powerful (and insidious) forces in the backcountry; personal histories, the perception of pecking-orders, the unspoken hierarchy of experience, the desire not to disappoint others, even those we barely know. Anyone who spends time in the mountains will recognize such influences, and I suspect will have wrestled with them at some point.

Following our “near miss,” I found myself returning to the day’s events over and over, trying to understand how to avoid similar situations in the future. Eventually three themes emerged. These lessons don’t encapsulate all the human factors that can influence backcountry decision making, but I think they’re a good starting place. And I made an oath to myself to follow these as best I possibly could. I share them now in the hope they might benefit you or the ones you love:

**Always speak up.**If you have reservations about snow conditions or route decisions, speak without fear. Speak even if you don’t know why you are worried; if it’s just a feeling in your gut. Ignore any concerns about the judgments of others. Speak up because it’s the only way you will learn. Speak up because you care about the lives of the people you’re with. This sounds easy, but anyone who has spent time out there knows it can be challenging.

**Don’t defer to experience and local knowledge**** when it pushes you toward risk**, or a decision that feels uncomfortable. Your opinion and judgment count too. While experience and local knowledge are extremely valuable, they’re not always correct. Other factors can be at play – including overconfidence, overfamiliarity and even the false sense of security that comes from surviving previous bad decisions. Trust your inner voice. (On the other hand, if you ever find experience and local knowledge suggesting you should act conservatively, listen up immediately.)

**Gravitate toward partners who share similar risk assessment,**or even those more cautious than you. Better to find yourself mildly disappointed at the end of the day than continually dragged into situations you don’t like. Travelling with a group with similar ambitions can take all the stress out of a day in the mountains and allow you to enjoy the splendor.



Staying safe in avalanche terrain is an odd mix of science and zen, of collecting facts while simultaneously listening to instinct. It’s a game of constant observation in the search for ultimately unattainable answers. No one can tell you with absolute certainty whether a given slope on a given day is safe or not. You might ski a run where nothing releases, but still have made a mistake. If you walk away from a slope, you’ll never know if you were being wise, or unduly conservative. So instead, the best we can do is stack the odds heavily in our favour.

A solid understanding of snow science, weather patterns, pack history and avalanche dynamics is the starting point. Carrying all the requisite [safety gear](/en/products/gear/snowsports-gear/avalanche-and-backcountry-safety-gear/c/798) and knowing how to use it further tips the balance in your favour. Proper training via an [Avalanche Skills Training course](http://www.avalanche.ca/training) (AST 1 and 2) and particularly the Companion Rescue Course that saved lives at Cherry Bowl, is critical. Don’t make the same mistakes I did by allowing human issues (pride, ego, time constraints, goal-oriented objectives) to pull even one chip from your stack.

*The right training, plus avalanche and backcountry safety gear can save your life. Get*[everything you need for backcountry trips](/en/products/gear/snowsports-gear/avalanche-and-backcountry-safety-gear/c/798)* and*[get trained with Avalanche Canada](http://www.avalanche.ca/training)*.*



On any given ski day, avalanche conditions can turn things deadly. MEC Ambassador Bruce Kirkby recounts a near-miss and passes on some valuable lessons learned.

The finger of god: an avalanche story | MEC Blog

The finger of god: an avalanche story

A sick feeling of terror threatens to overwhelm my concentration as I painstakingly inch my way forward. A rushing sound fills my head and I can no longer tell if it is the white water just inches below my feet or the surge of blood that my heart is furiously pumping through my body. The skis on my backpack are adding an extra element of imbalance to the already heavy load. My focus intensifies.

Just. Don’t. Slip.

I try to block out any thoughts of failure and consequence. One wrong step could mean at best, a swim down river and at worst, severe injuries, hypothermia and a prolonged rescue. With tiny, hesitant steps I fight to keep my balance on the log that is spanning Windy Creek. When I look up, I can see the three who have already made it over watching me. I look back down, focussing every ounce of strength and attention on crossing this log, our gateway to the final leg of the journey.

I made it, or rather, we made it. Five of us are committed to this adventure – Stephen Senecal and Douglas Noblet from Nelson, Sam McKoy of Pemberton, Mark Grist from Vancouver and myself, mostly based in Revelstoke – the first complete ski traverse of the Canadian Selkirks. This is day 32.

The trip has not been without its challenges: broken skis, bindings, poles, stoves, pumps and boot buckles, plus losing 2kg of food and our only multi-tool to pine martens. We’ve weathered each setback and interruption with (eventual) good humour and laughter. Whether it be watching remarkable sunsets and sunrises, being forced to cross slopes that inspire no confidence, or bushwhacking with skis on our backs, we know that when we catch the eye of any team member we’re more likely to crack a wry smile and break into laughter than we are to swear or feel resentful. This is a rare and precious dynamic to have on a trip of this magnitude, especially with people who had never met before. Somehow the mix of personalities, quirks, strengths and humour has worked out. We are in it together and we find ways to love it no matter what.



The adventure started at Kootenay Pass, and over four weeks we made our way steadily north towards Mica. With approximately 520km+ of distance and 42,000m+ in vertical gain to cover, we had made a conservative estimate of about eight weeks to complete this journey. We cut that time almost in half. The unusually warm spring has been both a blessing and a curse. The April heat wave that forced many other parties to bail on trips in the Selkirks motivated us to travel quickly, and only at night.



We would wake up at midnight, break camp, eat breakfast and be walking by 1:30am, our only light the glow of the full moon or the narrow beam of a headlamp. Despite a disrupted sleep pattern that left us feeling like zombies, our efforts got us through the Southern Selkirks safely, and we were left with memories of the full moon setting as the first light of morning etched itself along the eastern horizon.



The original idea for the traverse came up as a mutual adventure list item between me and Stephen five years ago. For me, it represented a way to explore and connect with the mountain range that I’ve grown up and lived in all my life. Essentially the traverse would link up several smaller traverses that are done with varying amounts of frequency: Kootenay Pass to Nelson, the Kokanee Glacier, Goat Range, part of the Bugaboos to Rogers Pass and the classic Northern Selkirks Traverse.

Finally, during the drive back from a ski trip two years ago Stephen said, “Hey, remember that idea we had for a traverse of the Selkirks? Well, I think I want to do it next spring.” I looked at him and blurted out, “Steve! You can’t do that trip without me!” He looked back at me with a wry smile. “Ok good, ‘cause I think the biggest issue will be finding people to do it with. At least there will be two of us!”



In that moment, we both committed. My heart soared, thinking about the possibility of such a huge adventure dream coming true.

Sixteen months of planning and preparation ensued, along with endless questions and thoughts about logistics. We ended up doing eight food caches; five were roadside and driven to us as re-supplies and three were flown into backcountry lodges along our route.

MEC gave us an expedition grant, which helped enormously with gear and food costs. We pored over maps and Google Earth to look at different route options and contacted as many people as we could to find out about certain sections in more detail. As others committed to joining the trip, they would help where they could. When the day finally came to put the skis on and start moving, a huge wave of relief and excitement washed over me. All the work we had put into this trip was about to pay off.



Over the course of the trip, we learned to adapt to different challenges, whether it was getting up at midnight to avoid the daytime warming or “normalizing” the fact that we were all increasing our risk tolerance with river crossings, alder bashing and sketchy descents with expedition-sized packs. It all became part of the daily routine – “*I wonder what will happen today?”*



Highlights of the trip would include getting to climb our one big peak of the trip (Iconoclast) in a whiteout with two friends who were at Sorcerer Lodge. We had many beautiful camps, but the best were in the alpine where our views were almost 360 degrees looking at the Monashees, Purcells, Selkirks and Rocky Mountains, picking out iconic peaks as our evening trivia.



Despite the fact that we were skiing through a lot of heli-ski terrain, the warm weather had affected the snow so much that powder was a distant daydream.

What stands out for me from this trip is how our incredible mountain community and friends supported us along the way. As we would dip into valleys for food drops or with broken skis or come across mountain huts, we were welcomed with familiar faces, beer and fresh food. It was great to be on the journey as a group of five, but even more rewarding later, when we could share the journey with others and feel the camaraderie of the mountain culture that defines so many of us.



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On May 8, 2016, Stephen Senecal, Douglas Noblet, Sam McKoy, Mark Grist, and Madeleine Martin-Preney completed the first continuous ski traverse of the Canadian Selkirks with the help of an [MEC expedition grant](/en/explore/outdoor-impact). Between Kootenay Pass and Mica, they braved headlamp skinning, log crossings and thieving woodland creatures.



A team of five daring Canucks finished the first complete ski traverse of the Canadian Selkirks, but it wasn’t without complications. See pics and the story of their expedition.

First-ever complete Selkirks ski traverse | MEC Blog

Shredding the Selkirks: a record-setting ski traverse

*In the summer of 2016, Benjamin Jordan gave a whole new meaning to the idiom “feels like flying.” With the support of an*[*MEC expedition grant*](/en/explore/outdoor-impact)*, the photographer and filmmaker soared 1000km via paraglider**from Vancouver to Calgary. The Toronto native is no stranger to unconventional ways of travel; in 2006, he rode his skateboard across Canada with three friends – a trip that led him to his passion of producing adventure travel documentaries.*

*Following months of staring at maps, obsessing over ridges, valleys, cut-blocks and logging roads, Ben walked over Vancouver’s Lions Gate Bridge, ready to make history. Here, through colourful photos and captions, he chronicles the experience:*

## Part one: the struggle


*Left:*From overconfident beginnings to humble proceedings, my first-ever flight from Grouse Mountain was not the glorious 100+km cross-country soar I had dreamt of. Instead, it was a 45-minute struggle just to stay airborne as the thermals became weaker and weaker in the sea breeze air. I spent a total of five days at Grouse Mountain before realizing it was the wrong season to fly in that region.

*Right:*Staying sane on the mountain for days at a time required me to branch out my activities. This activity is called standing on an island rock, singing at the top of my lungs.



After a last attempt to fly out from North Vancouver, I walked across West Vancouver to Lighthouse Park and made camp for the night. In some ways, this felt like the true start: bathing in the Pacific, a week of dirt already caked to my exterior, and a feeling that the worst was behind me. What lay ahead, however, was 100km of asphalt to pound out on the way to Whistler, and all uphill.



*Left:*I have two modes: hike and fly. In either mode, one thing is for certain: weight sucks. Thanks to MEC and my other amazing sponsors, I was blessed to have the lightest versions of everything I need.

*Right:*Trees, a busy highway or the sea? Hrmmmm … no, wait! There’s a tourist pullout! Looking back, I was such a fool to even attempt to fly this section. It was almost certain I wouldn’t make it to the open space in Squamish, still 30km north. Truthfully, I was lucky this pullout existed.

## Part two: now we’re flying!


After arriving in Whistler, I met up with local pilots Scott and Al. Together we hiked and flew from Rainbow Mountain. At long last, I’d escaped the effects of the sea breeze and was making real distance under wing. Together with my aerial brothers, we danced in circles up to clouds and moved steadily along our way to Pemberton for the next potential launch.



My sweet reward, after I just had my first real cross-country flight to Pemberton with top landing, was getting to stay overnight in the Marty Memorial Safety Hut on Upper Mackenzie. I don’t have the right word for the feeling of this moment, but it’s a mix of love, pride and gratitude.



However short (less than 40km) my first two flights were, they ended with spectacular top landings, higher than where I’d launched that day. At this point, I was not only 2300m above sea level, but I was also set up for an east launch, which allowed me to take advantage of the morning sun the following day. Coffee, oats, ramen noodles and the occasional visiting marmot were base camp staples.



A stark realization I found myself having again and again on this journey was how much it sucks to become dehydrated. And I don’t mean thirsty, I mean dry mouth, dry throat, hallucinating, not knowing up from down and making bad choices dehydrated. It happened from time to time, as I could only carry 2L of water in my normal bladder and certain hikes didn’t lend themselves to streams, so when I spotted a watering hole, I got up in it.



*Left:*Having flown for 12 years, I can safely say that most launches don’t really intimidate me anymore, but this cliff was giving me vertigo like something else.

*Right:*I’m proud of my rustic tech, but the weight of my camera stabilizer (a must) was too much for the system and kept flipping upside down.



After what was the most remarkable day of this entire project – a 140km straight shot over pure wilderness and the entire West Kootenay region – I just couldn’t resist an aerial jam session.



Successfully crossing over the Pinnacle Watershed in Monashee Provincial Park was a heart-stopping experience. Although there were still over 20km to glide to safety, little else was on my mind when I spotted the emerald lakes and snowy peaks.



*Left:*Ever since my first time driving from Banff to Radium ten years ago I dreamt of this day. While Kootenay National Park is a no-land, no-launch zone, I knew that wouldn’t be a problem.

*Right:*I felt as though my heart might stop from the beauty of this moment. Not one minute before I was on the verge of tears, when I realized I’d gotten myself way too low in a bad spot. Then, I was reminded why I’m so addicted to this incredible sport – I was dealt a wildcard that not only allowed my passage onward, but left this scene as a parting gift.



It was late when I began hiking up Cougar Creek toward the Lady MacDonald trailhead and set up camp for the night without the shelter of my cozy tent. I woke up at sunrise with the Three Sisters watching over me.

## Part three: home free


Whenever I step up to launch, I struggle with the feeling that I will just bomb out, landing at the base of the mountain in frustration. But time after time, a greater force proves me wrong, which makes my fantasy of crossing this mountainous divide as real as anything. This photo captures my first climb from Lady MacDonald. I knew then, without a shred of doubt, I’d get beyond the mountains.



After 37 days of massive mountains, glaciers, deep valleys and man-eating crevasses, I had completely forgotten that any other type of landscape existed. Like warping through space to an entirely separate planet, there I was: staring at a level horizon with farm fields as far as the eye could see. Ironically, now that there was no danger to avoid, I couldn’t figure out where to best fly and bombed out shortly after arriving in the flats.



*Left:*I set up camp along the famous Bow River. No longer concerned about running out of food, I spoiled myself with two packs of ramen noodles and a piece of chocolate to celebrate.

*Right:*Alberta had been struck by storms almost every afternoon all summer. Though it would have been nice to fly all the way to Calgary, I was happier beholding the power of these mammoth storm cells from the ground.



MEC was the first business to hop on board this project and the catalyst for many of my other sponsors to do the same. Having begun my journey from the flagship MEC location in Vancouver, it felt right that I complete it by arriving at the MEC Calgary store.



### 

Ben made history as the first paraglider to take a solo flight over Canada’s southwest mountains and the first person to vol-biv (that’s fly-camp) from Pacific to prairie. MEC was proud to support his journey via [expedition grant funding](/en/explore/outdoor-impact). Way to go, Ben!

Curious about what he brought along? Check out his [full gear list](http://benjaminjordan.com/adventure/xbc-gear).



*This is a highlight reel of Ben’s original photo essay. Check out the full story on*[*benjaminjordan.com*](http://benjaminjordan.com/photo/xbc/)* and follow him on*[*Instagram*](https://www.instagram.com/benjaminjordanadventure/)* for updates on his forthcoming film about the trip.*



Adventurer Benjamin Jordan is the first person to paraglide solo over the entire span of Canada’s southwest mountain ranges. See awesome photos and captions from his expedition.

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