In the early 90s we sold our climbing shop and the three of us—Max, Dustin and I—moved to the Chilliwack Valley. The plan was to build a home and office on the banks of the river to sell paragliders and teach the art of flying. And, with all the earthly pleasures of hiking, climbing and skiing in close proximity it was the ideal location. Plans, however, are not always well laid and like the little piggies that built their houses out of sticks and straw, we opted for living under nylon while the months of August and September rolled by in a halcyon daze.
We waited until the clouds rolled in and the winds started to moan
before we decided to build. Couldn’t paraglide then, right? Hiking was okay but
not as much fun, and it was too early to ski. I already had one black eye from
rafting, so I wasn’t too keen on that idea. Building was a default action. And
perhaps the practice of sleeping three to a two-man tent was wearing thin,
although I don’t think Dustin had any complaints. Living off the land made him
a bit of a novelty at school. One day we hiked Elk early in the morning, and
then the four of us (including Teddy bear) flew off on Max’s tandem. He made it
to school for the first bell.
The house did eventually get built... but not before a few wolves (of our own making) threatened to blow it all down. But like I've said many a time... you'll have to read the book!
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