The Village In The Mountains

Arrival

I don't consider myself to be an overly religious person, but at a time I definitely was. I used to start fights for no reason other than my beliefs; but I feel like I have moved on from those days, and am a better person because of it. Although now I may understand less about the world, I find myself as a more understanding person when it comes to others views, and am better at sympathizing with the other side better than others. This brings me to the time I stumbled across the village in the mountains, because it was the only time I never cared about other people's views, the only time I wanted to ignore what was happening in front of me, and the only thing in my life that I would rather forget than remember.

One of my favorite hobbies was to go hiking. Every time I traveled somewhere I would look up the best trails, so it's understandable that I was excited when I went to visit my family in British Columbia. I had only been to BC once before, and instantly fell in love with terrain. I spent the last time mostly in Vancouver, but I still took every chance I had to go on the walking trails around, and I was blown away by how intertwined that city is with the mountains and nature. Since I last visited a few years ago I had always wanted to go back, but the city just wouldn't be enough, I needed to go on real paths up north.

A few days before my flight left from Toronto I found a pilot online (his name was Mike) that specialized in hiking, climbing, caving etc. He took people to places very few others could get to, places not yet ruined by businesses trying to make some money off of tourists. He had great reviews, and when I called him up he seemed to know the countryside like it was his own backyard, so I booked a flight with him a few days after I would be done with my family. The flight in total would be two days from Vancouver to Chutine Peak; a giant mountain buried in an almost untouched mountain range.

After landing in Vancouver I visited my family in the city which was expectedly uneventful. Then I took the next two days to prepare myself for my expedition. So I wouldn't have to travel with my hiking equipment, I sent a parcel with all of it from my house in Toronto to my hotel, and the day I was to leave with Mike I put everything I didn't want to bring with me in the same box and sent it back home. I keep trying to convince myself that there was no cell service where I went, but I still regret not bringing my phone with me, it has all just really become a what-if situation.

The first real moment that really let the excitement of my trip sink in, was when I was waiting on the dock for Mike to come by with the plane. All sorts of small planes drifted across the surface of Vancouver's dark water until I saw the one I would be taking. It felt like time slowed down as I saw the large yellow beaver with NorthernCanadaExploration.com written on the side with large black letters. All I could hear was my heartbeat as the anxiety and adrenaline started to finally kick, and then the next thing I knew we were already in the air.

As I already said the plane was a beaver, so it wasn't the nicest of planes (which I can say as my family works with small ultralight airplanes) but my point is it still gave a positive feeling. Me and Mike chatted four hours as he flew just under the clouds. Mike ended up being one of the friendliest and knowledgeable people I have ever known, and it also helped that he just beamed with confidence. We talked about how we both loved the outdoors, and he was more than willing to start telling me about how he grew up living in a small town near Kamloops, and how his father would fly him almost every week up north to go on fishing trips. He actually got so into his conversation about fishing he took his hands off the yoke (that would be a plane's steering wheel) to draw the shapes of different lures in the air, which did scare me, but nothing happened.

As it was starting to get dark out we began to lower down into a small river near Smithers. He had already booked us a night at the Smithers Guesthouse, a small bed and breakfast in the town. As he landed in the river he told me to just take the things I would need for the night, and leave everything else in the plane. I asked him if he wanted any help tying up the plane but he insisted I should go into town and enjoy myself that night. He most likely expected me to look for a bar and have a big last night in civilization before he dropped me off, but I just went straight to the "Guesthouse".

Inside the building a somewhat cold lady at the front helped me find my room, and then gave me the keys. She around my age, and if I wasn't going to only return to the town once in my life, I would have definitely asked her out, I mean I really wanted to. By the time I settled down in my room it was almost fully night, but I so far north it wouldn't get much darker. I never even turned on the lights in my room, I just opened the curtains to let a bit of light leak in and went to the bathroom, and then to sleep.

Around 2 AM that night though I remember hearing the first of that dreaded sound, something like war drums in the distance, but too faint to tell for sure. The sound slowly woke me up as it peaked my interest, but looking out my window the town had lights on and some people were walking around, so I just assumed someone was doing something without respect for the peace. Without thinking much of it I went back to sleep. I now know that sound came from the mountains, and the fact that it was there too still scares me deeply.