An Unlikely Mentor

An unlikely Mentor

“Hi, my name is Tony, I’m from Colorado, down in the states, and I guess I’ve been travelling since high school really. In my senior year I enrolled in a student exchange program and spent a semester in Katmandu, Nepal. That experience gave me the travel bug! I went back that year and graduated, and figured I would just take a gap year before starting university but I couldn’t do it.” Tony was shrugging his shoulders now. Coy but unapologetic he continued “Anyways, yeah, so I took off that summer and did a bunch of different goofball jobs like planting trees and picking fruit. Anything that took me out of the burbs and into nature. That fall I landed a gig at a ski resort up here in Canada and that was it. I just never went back.”

“Phew, Well that’s a tough act to follow! My name is Harold, and I’m here with my wife Cindy. We are from right here in Alberta but a fair bit south of here in Lethbridge. We’re retired now and have spent most of the summer re-tracing the steps of various explorers from the region and blah, blah…”

And so it went. Round and round, one by one, we all introduced ourselves and gave a little backstory on who we were, and what we were doing here at a remote youth hostel in the mountains in Jasper national park. Pretty standard thing to do around a community fire pit.

Tony was there on his own, maybe mid 40’s, just seemed super chill dude. Before him a guy named Brett said he was here from Australia, and was killing some time before heading down to Calgary to try out for his Canadian PGA tour card! Hangin’ with a friggin pro golfer…how cool was that! Harold and Cindy, obviously late 60’s, trying to be cool but boooring as dirt. Another younger couple in their 20’s also from Australia seem pretty cool, I’m curious to hear their story. There is an Asian couple here too that arrived late, could be in their 20’s, or sheesh they could be in their 50’s I have no idea, I think they are struggling with the language maybe cuz they’re sitting way back with their hoodies pulled over and not really reacting to what anyone says.

The 2 chicks talking now are clearly high AF, and in full peace…love…and ‘hey do you wanna buy some of my jewellery’ state of mind. Pretty sure they’re local and said they are heading to a pow wow near here the next day to sell some stuff. They were alright, just had to cut them off now and then before they went too off topic.

I decided it was my turn and politely interrupted saying “Hey, my name is Shane, I’m 20” (Yeah I lied, 18 was still illegal to drink!). “Kind of a long story how I ended up here but, I’ve been on the road now for like almost 5 months. I’ve traveled over 4000km and it’s been an adventure. I have a quarter jar of peanut butter, a couple pita breads and a couple packs of Mr.Noodles left to my name right now and here’s the thing…I’m having the time of my life!” I shook my head laughing. “Man I have never been so broke but I’ve had one helluva summer!” I told them how I was heading to the coast but couldn’t pass up spending some time in the world famous Rocky Mountains first!

They all kind of laughed along with me in amazement. A few “right ons!” and “holy shits” and then it was the girls from Australia’s time to share.

They called them “youth” hostels back then though I have no idea why. They were certainly used by people of all ages and ironically, rarely by youth, and even less so by Canadians in general. At least that was my experience. This particular ‘hostel’ was at the base of Mount Edith Cavell and back in the 80’s, it was at the foot of a magnificent glacier (it has since collapsed during a major event in 2012). In the late summer if conditions were just right you could actually walk under the ice in places and look up through the hues of blues and greens that the sunlight penetrated. There is nothing like it on a hot day to feel the icy meltwater trickle over your toes into your sandals while you pick pebbles and debris out of the surrounding walls. You hear every step and breath echo and occasionally a cracking sound will reverberate and remind you of your insignificance.

The facility here was a rustic cabin offering minimalist resources. Basically it was just a shelter. With a few cots along one wall, and a communal food prep area. A single privacy curtain was offered to partition a section to accommodate a family and as with all amenities, it was first come first serve. The rules were simple. If you could not afford the nominal fee to stay, you were obliged to contribute with sweat equity. There was always a chore list. Off-grid sites like these required water to be retrieved to fill reservoirs, wood to be stocked, light maintenance and general housekeeping contributions were all deemed an acceptable form of payment in lieu of the $6-7 fee.

I had used a lot of these hostels that summer. I was 18 and left my home town about 5 months and 4000km behind me. I had been working my way towards the west coast. No real goals actually other than to eventually jump in the ocean and not die in the process. I had a backpack and a pup tent, a few bucks in my pocket and a keen ‘street sense’.

It was still the 80’s then afterall and with no internet, no smart phones and no gps we still largely relied on each other for directions and occasionally a helping hand from strangers. 24/7 newschannels weren’t around yet to inform me how dangerous all this living stuff was. I digress.

A good old paper map and a ‘Youth Hostels of North America’ handbook proved invaluable. Some of the more Inner-city hostels were a bit rough, but what they lacked in peace and quiet they fortified with crime and filth. They weren’t all bad but I kept these to a minimum. They did however serve a purpose.

With a complete embrace of humility comes a certain realization that resources are plentiful. Once you swallow your pride and engage in self preservation, you quickly realize just how little it requires to sustain life. There is a sub-culture that exists in some of these in-town hostels too. A community of migratory workers and recreational travelers that network and tap into local opportunities. Whether it’s Temporary work agencies fulfilling contracts or daylabour gigs with contractors or farmhands. There always seemed to be something on the go.

I did take occasional cash work and used the various food banks from town to town but it never took me long to grow tired of the hustle and feel the need to hit the road for greener spaces. Friends were made and new skills were learned but in the end I was driven to continue west in solitude.

Leaving the major cities as quickly as I could, I preferred the hostels more off the beaten path. There are a surprising amount of them actually. Almost every town has a Y.M.C.A or equivalent that would either put you up or direct you to shelter. Showers and toiletries were proffered often along with hot meals and even travel snacks.

In addition I became aware of an emergency transient system administered by the federal highways division of the R.C.M.P., While it was often somewhat time consuming, a visit to any precinct with a request for emergency travel assistance funds would always get you back on your way. It goes something like this; show I.D. to verify no warrants. Fill out a form that basically states that you have exhausted all other resources and are travelling to blah blah blah immediately with reasonable expectations of relocating there permanently.

This typically netted you a bus fare to wherever, a voucher for some groceries, a voucher for temporary accommodations for the night and maybe $40-50 cash for incidentals. All in all not a whole lot, but man you can go far on that with some know how.

As the night went on and war stories were swapped, one by one, the motley crew of campers that night in Jasper eventually faded to black. It was likely closer to dawn then dusk when Tony and I were the last two standing.

“My brother, I’ve talked your ear off!” I said embarrassingly. “Sorry man”

“Hey I get it man, no worries” said Tony

“It’s been kind of a while I guess. I should turn in now anyways, I’m humping it outta here in the morning.” I said

“Hold on a minute” he said this as he stood up and reached into his back pocket. He opened his wallet and pulled something out. As he leaned towards me with his hand out, he gestured to me to take what he was holding awkwardly so as to see clearly in the firelight.

I impulsively reached out and gripped what I immediately knew had to be a photo. Likely a snapshot of a precious moment worthy of being carried at all times, maybe a kid, or a pet? Instead as I tilted my hand into the light my stomach dropped. My eyes betrayed me in disbelief while my hands knew the familiar feel of money and fanned the three, crisp, $100 dollar bills!

“Oh shit dude, nah nah nah you got me all wrong man. Fuck. sorry man I am not begging here! I told you this shit cuz it’s wild to me, not cuz I’m asking for anything?! Here, take it back” I exclaimed. I was devastated to think my new friend thought I was begging.

“Woah, woah, stop!” he said. His next words shocked me and rewired me.

“Don’t insult me” he said, “I’ve been waiting to repay a Canadian for a kindness a Canadian did for me!” calmer now, he began to explain. “I told you about some of my travels too here tonight but I didn’t tell you about this one. When I told you about coming to Canada as a kid I didn’t really tell you the whole story.” We sat down again and he passed me a beer.

Tony continued “After Nepal I kinda got fucked up. Those goofball farming type jobs I was talking about, well, that fall I actually ended up moving up into the mountains and trimming weed for some nasty dudes. My family disowned me. Instead of going back to school, I drained my college fund and went to Europe.”

“Shut up!” I said “holy fuck”

“Yeah exactly! 18 years old and I spent my winter bumming across Europe until I ended up in Amsterdam that summer. I had been living like a rockstar for the first little while but then it caught up to me, and things got tough. Real tough.” His tone now was different, reverent.

“So what happened, or you don’t have to tell me?” I said

“Well this is kind of my point, I was at a hostel, in a frick’n red light district in Amsterdam! Yes I was getting by but it was getting desperate and I had no way to get home. It was a Canadian that helped me get out of there. We spent a night shooting the shit and he told me about his plans to go work at a ski resort in Canada and suggested I check it out. Before he left for the airport in the morning he left me his phone number, a couple rolled joints and $200.”

“Wow! , that’s unreal”

“No, it’s very real! And let’s just say you don’t get to deny me my right to repay a Canadian for what a Canadian did for me. Believe me when I say, I know how far you can make that go, and I wish you luck!”

Choked, I said “Sir, I just have to shake your hand right now.”

We shook hands and he held mine for just an extra beat, but in that moment his heart and his eyes said more than his words ever could.

“Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow to go work on a fishing boat up off Frick’n Kodiak Island for 3 months! What do I need it for!”

Epilogue

In 2003 Mitch Albom published a book called “The Five People You Meet In Heaven”. I doubt Tony expects to meet me there but I hope I get to meet him there. I have lived my life differently since that summer. Parlaying his generosity into a way of life. Far from a Saint I assure you, but at every opportunity to offer, or appreciate a simple kindness, I don’t hesitate. Paying it forward does not have to be a grandiose affair...just a way to be. Thank-you Tony for changing my life forever!