Something smokey

August 28, 2015:

The boarding area of the airport is crowded with people.  Apparently the planes are having trouble landing because of the smoke.  Forest fires in BC are nothing new for us, but this is the first time in recent memory that it has been this bad this close to home.  I had been riveted to my computer in terror only a few short weeks earlier as I watched videos online of people running for their lives from an encroaching wall of flame that was only about a two and a half hour drive from my hometown.  My mother grew up there.  That's definitely too close for comfort. 

The fires surrounding the region have placed their claim on the sky.  The smoke is thick and oppressive; it blankets and conceals the mountains in a dull monotonous grey.  The thin pale light that has managed to fight its way to earth gives everything it touches a washed-out and dreary appearance.  This atmosphere gives off the impression that we are in a war film, and that is not too far off I suppose.  Really, a forest fire film would make a great thriller movie - along the lines of Volcano and Daylight.  It's exactly the type of movie I hate to watch (and would hate even more to be in), because everyone but the hero dies at the end.  Depressing.  Just like the smoke.

I had taken a picture of the smoke on my way to Calgary only a week earlier.

A sense of anticipation fills the airport.  People, like me, are eager to leave.  Daydreams of smokeless horizons are dancing on the edges of our collective consciousness like sugar-plum fairies, and we are already envisioning our first deep breath of clean fresh air away from the fire-ridden BC interior.  My destination: Halifax, Nova Scotia.  I am about to embark on an extended journey to Eastern Canada to explore what the far eastern reaches of my country have to offer in the way of discovery and adventure.

I successfully made it through the luggage check without getting searched, to my jubilation, since everything thing I need for the next two months is currently jammed into the backpack on my back.  I am not used to the weight of my bag, though, so I want to sit down.  I spy a few empty chairs and unceremoniously plop my stuff down.  I raise my eyes and look for my travelling companion who will be joining me for the first few weeks.  There he is - he has just finished filling his mug with water and is searching for me.

"JOSH!" I call raising my voice to just under a yell, simultaneously not only catching his attention but also making the poor soul sitting in front of me just halfway out of his seat in pure terror.  He whips around, eyes wide, as though looking for the she-devil herself.

"Sorry", I give him a sheepish smile, "your name must also be Josh."

And just like that some of the tension in the airport is broken, as everyone around us gets in a good laugh.  For a moment fires cease to matter, and we all get to share in the amusement of what a small world it is that more than one person in the same place can share the same name.  I may not be good at fighting fires or surviving to the end in thriller films, but least I can provide the comic relief.

The sky in Halifax was as clear as I had hoped it would be when we arrived.