EAT THIS BOOK: Trail of the Lost by Andrea Lankford

EAT THIS BOOK!

Last fall, we made a sentimental journey to Stowe, Vermont, which included a visit to one of my favorite bookshops, Bear Pond Books, the second largest indie bookstore in the state. Bear Pond showcases local authors, intelligent kids books and works about adventuring and nature. That’s where I grabbed my holiday read: Trail of the Lost by Andrea Lankford. 

I’m fascinated by stories of mysterious disappearances, especially people who vanish in the wilderness. (See my previous blogs, The Riddle of Julian Sands and The Cold Vanish.) Andrea Lankford, author of Trail of the Lost, worked for 12 years as a park ranger with the USA’s National Park Service, leading search and rescue missions in some of the most beautiful – and dangerous – places. Her bestselling book shines light on the unsung heroes of search-and rescue: the many volunteers who end up devoting their lives, often over many years, to locate people who walked into nature and were never seen or heard from again.

Lankford investigates the cases of three young men who went missing while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, which stretches 2650 miles from California to the Canadian border. It’s the west coast twin of the Appalachian Trail, celebrated by Bill Bryson in his hilarious book, A Walk in the Woods, which captures perfectly the utter misery of hiking. The Pacific Crest Trail is perhaps the more remote and more dangerous of the two.

Chris Sylvia. 28, was an unemployed artist living in California. After suffering a few emotional setbacks, he decided to do a 2-week hike  on the PCT to find himself. Since it was February,  he headed south toward the Mexican border. Only four days in, he phoned his best friend, Min, to pick him up, but he never showed. Worried, Min reported him missing. Sometime later, his hiking gear showed up at a gear exchange facility along the trail. The hikers who turned it in found the gear lying on the trail… 

On the other hand, Kris Fowler, 34, was an experienced woodsman. He’d already completed 2000 miles of the PCT and was making for White Pass and the end of the trail at the Canadian border when he vanished without a trace. The October weather was cold and dreary and at higher altitudes there was always the threat of snow…

David O’Sullivan, 25, was an Irish citizen out for adventure and determined to complete the full PCT. He started his trek from Campo, near the Mexican border. Though it was April, hikers reported icy spots in the higher, steeper regions that could lead to serious accidents. David vanished near Mile 179 …

Trail of the Lost: Highly recommended. Five stars! A poignant portrayal of hiking, its euphoric highs, the sacrifice and heroism of participants and volunteers and the dark dangers inherent in nature and the occasional human.

SURREAL TRAPDOOR: THE DAY THE SUN WENT OUT

When my husband, Ed and I learned that a total eclipse would pass near Toronto on April 8th, we got excited. After all, we’re Trekkies and space nerds. The next total eclipse near Toronto won’t take place until 2106, so if we didn’t see this one, it was now or never.

Toronto would only view a partial eclipse. I’d witnessed one once before in the 1990s. A business friend and I broke away from our lunch near Yonge and Bloor and rushed out for a look, allowing ourselves only 1 or 2 second glimpses so we wouldn’t burn out our retinas. At the max of the shadow, all went still. Traffic stopped. The only sound was birdsong: very cool.

Back then Ed made a pinhole camera for our daughter for them to watch the moon cross the sun. Now, 30 years later, he made another and ordered safe viewing glasses from Amazon that resembled retro cardboard 3-D movie glasses. Fingers crossed they worked!

Dorky but it works!

To see the full eclipse meant a drive to Hamilton or Niagara Falls. News reports said The Falls were expecting 100,000+ people so we opted for Hamilton. Somewhere on Hamilton Mountain surely we’d find a spot.

Getting there proved to be a challenge. Sadly the news reports weren’t wrong. Highway 407, the toll road, looked as clogged as Highway 401 at rush hour. Time was running out and we were beginning to lose hope when Ed remembered that the path of the total eclipse passed through Burlington.

We turned off the 407 and raced down to Burlington and Lake Ontario. Not too much traffic, thank God. We parked on a residential street and made the long walk down to the lakeshore, armed with our safety glasses and trusty pinhole camera. Bolstered with refreshments from Tim Hortons, we found a spot in Spencer Smith Park right next to the lake near a large hotel called appropriately enough, The Waterfront Hotel.

How Canadian!

Spectators were in a festive mood.  Hotel staff were giving their outdoor cafe patrons eclipse glasses. They continued to hand out glasses to the nearby crowd  – even to drivers who’d slowed down and parked to view the spectacle.

The beginning

Then we waited – and waited.  It started slowly with a tiny edge of dark crescent. Overall daylight stayed bright.  Yet incrementally over the next 20 minutes, the light dimmed to the level of a cloudy day.

“Maybe this is as good as it gets,” my husband mused. Indeed during the partial eclipse many years ago the noon day light dimmed to early twilight.

Then it happened: the moon moved over the sun and we saw the corona. A few seconds later, the light went out. Exactly that: midnight! All the night lights of the city came on: the streetlights, the restaurant and store signs. The sun was gone – snuffed out.

The corona
The Brant St. Pier in Burlington, Canada at night (Stock photo, my camera didn’t work.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And it got cold. All I could think of were those retro science documentaries we’d seen as children: all life comes from the sun….No kidding. How long would it take for the earth to cool down to the Absolute Zero of outer space?

The light comes back.

Then the moon moved away and the light came back. Spectators cheered and applauded. For a short time, a warm camaraderie shared by tiny denizens on Earth.

NEWS! NEWS! NEWS! Launch of Snake Oil and Other Tales, Nov 4th, 2 pm, Sleuth of Baker Street

Greetings Readers!

The launch of Snake Oil and Other Tales, my second collection of crime stories is this coming Saturday, November 4th at Sleuth of Baker Street Bookstore, 907 Millwood Road, Toronto.

The paperback edition of Snake Oil will be available for sale. Sleuth’s will always be happy to take your order, too.

I’d love to meet and chat with you in person. And do take the opportunity to browse Sleuth’s unrivaled collection of vintage mysteries and buy that book you’ve always been looking for.

With huge bears hug and thank you’s to my publisher and editor, Donna Carrick at Carrick Publishing; to Sara Carrick for her fabulous cover and to Marian Misters and J. D. Singh of Sleuth’s for hosting!

NEWS! NEWS! NEWS! Snake Oil and Other Tales Now Available!

Greetings Readers!

My second collection of crime stories is now LIVE on Amazon. It’s available in Kindle ebook, paper back and hard cover format.

Here’s the link

With a huge bear hug and big thank you to my publisher and editor, Donna Carrick at Carrick Publishing and to Sara Carrick for her fabulous cover!!

NEWS! NEWS! NEWS! My Interview with Melissa Yi!

Greetings Readers!

Delighted to be interviewed by my friend and fab author, Dr. Melissa Yi, about my upcoming book, Snake Oil and Other Tales.

I’m excited to be part of Melissa’s kick-starter for her new Dr. Hope Sze mystery, Sugar and Vice, Book 3 of the Seven Deadly Sins series. Hope attends a festival that celebrates dragon boat racing and food, an unusual pairing made sinister by a warning that someone is about to die.

Read our interview here and do check out Melissa’s kick- starter here.

 

NEWS! NEWS! NEWS! Snake Oil and Other Tales Available for Pre-Order!

Greetings Readers!

I’m delighted to tell you that my second collection of crime stories is now available for pre-order on Amazon. It’s in Kindle, paper back and hard cover.

Here’s the link

With a huge thank you, as always, to my publisher and editor, Donna Carrick at Carrick Publishing!

THE TITANIC and ME

On April 15, 1912, the Titanic sank on her maiden voyage 430 miles off the Newfoundland coast after colliding with an iceberg. Of the 2224 passengers and crew on board, more than 1500 died. To this day, it remains the deadliest sinking of an ocean liner or cruise ship. 

I grew up hearing a lot about the Titanic disaster from my father, who claimed that he’d been taught dinghy sailing by the surviving First Mate.  That might have been Charles Herbert Lightoller, who was actually the Titanic’s second officer

Now my dad notoriously got facts wrong, so I can’t guarantee that his claim wasn’t pure wish-fantasy. But if Dad was indeed shown the ropes (literally) by Lightoller, he had reason to be proud, because Lightoller was a hero. He made sure that women and children got in the lifeboats first and managed to save his life and the lives of fellow crewmen by climbing on top of a capsized life boat and getting everyone to balance it.  He went on to serve in the Royal Navy in WWI (twice decorated) and in WWII, while in his sixties, he sailed his personal yacht to rescue servicemen from Dunkirk!

The Titanic remained lost beneath the waves while I grew up. Excitingly, on September 1, 1985, a few days before my daughter was born, Admiral Robert Ballard and his team located the wreck, 12,000 feet down. They’d previously searched for two lost nuclear submarines and discovered that they had both imploded from the immense pressure of the water.  Ballard located the submarines by their debris fields and this is how the Titanic, too, was located. (See map below.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rediscovered, the Titanic looked incredibly creepy. It had broken in half, as reported by many eye witnesses – and it had hit the ocean floor with immense force. We can related to objects falling through air; it’s a stretch to imagine an object as large as the Titanic falling through water with the consequent damage. Mercifully all biological materials, including human remains, had vanished. The iron hull, too, was dissolving due to deep-sea micro-organisms, resulting in eerie, melting rusticles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think it’s prophetic that my daughter, Claire, was born so close to the Titanic’s discovery. We share the same fascination with its story. Watching the documentary, Titanica, together at the Ontario Place Cinesphere is one of my cherished memories.

Titanica was a joint Russian-American expedition. (Remember those sunny days when shared economic prosperity promised to save the world?) We learned more about the immense pressures at depth and the perils of submersibles, including the hyper-oxygen atmosphere. Even more importantly we learned about technology-induced hubris.  No one believed that the Titanic could sink: the number of lifeboats was reduced so as not to spoil its sleek look. The passenger list was crowded with names of the rich and famous. Sound familiar? 

So what destroyed the Titanic? The ice berg did not rip a huge, entrail-spilling gash in its side. Rather it bumped the side of the ship, popping out the rivets to create a modest looking bulge that let in water.  The design of the ship’s interior worked like an ice cube tray, allowing water to flow from one interior compartment to another, dragging it down.  

Which brings me to the most recent Titanic disaster. On June 18. 2023, Oceangate’s Titan submersible was bringing  billionaire, Shahzada Dawood and his son, Titanic expert Paul-Henri Nargeolet and adventurer, Hamish Harding, down to view the wreck. It imploded on descent, killing everyone on board in milliseconds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Titan was being piloted by OceanGate CEO, Stockton Rush, who had a history of flouting conventional designs and safety rules. The body of the submersible was carbon fibre, which, as any cyclist can tell you, is extremely light, strong…and brittle. One hairline crack would have been enough to cause the implosion. Also Rush did not equip the Titan with an emergency locator beacon and used an Atari (?) game controller to steer the vessel. (Really??) Criticisms of his design were dismissed as a “serious personal insult”.

When I studied industrial health and safety, I learned a concept called the Heinz Rule: how many close calls do you have before you get into a serious or fatal accident? The answer is surprising. Intuition says 3 or 4 times, but in fact, it’s more like 200 to 300 times. Small wonder Rush felt he was invulnerable and above mere mortals. 

We all know how that worked out…

 

THE RIDDLE OF JULIAN SANDS – Part 2 / Eat This Book: The Cold Vanish

On January 13th, acclaimed British actor, Julian Sands, disappeared while hiking alone near Mt. Baldy, California  The search for him resumed after the winter snows melted though deep patches still linger.  Last week hikers stumbled across a set of human remains in the area where Sands’ cell phone last pinged, remains now confirmed to be his.

In Part One, I introduced Dr. Robert Koester, an expert on the behavior of people who get lost in the wilderness. Now, in Part 2, I’m recommending an excellent book about searching for missing people in the wild, The Cold Vanish, by Jon Billman.

Eat This Book!

Jon Billman, an athlete, creative writing teacher and contributor to famed Outside Magazine, uses his decades of personal experience in search and rescue to create a compelling and thought-provoking narrative on how and why people go missing in the wilds.

Billman shares representative cases of missing persons, from a runner murdered by a serial killer to deaths by falls, exposure and other misadventures to the miraculous rescue of a yoga teacher in the remote forests of Hawaii. And yes, she’d wandered off the beaten path and yes, she’d ended up many miles in the opposite direction from where logic dictated she’d be. She was spotted by mere chance by a search plane which, ironically, had also flown off course.

The overarching story that ties Billman’s book together is the case of Jacob Gray, a young man on a solo journey of self-discovery. Jacob was reported missing after his bicycle was discovered abandoned in Olympic National Park. Billman became close friends with Jacob’s father, Randy Gray, who spent years searching tirelessly for his son. Initially searchers feared that Jacob had fallen into a nearby fast-flowing river, but when divers came up empty, Randy and Billman together explored a gamut of wild possibilities, including Jacob’s joining a cult. In the end, Jacob is found, but no spoilers. Eat the book!

Missing people are located largely due to the efforts of volunteers. Billman introduces colorful characters who have made finding lost people their life mission: Duff, the blood hound handler; Michael Neiger, bushman and self-taught expert; and David Paulides, ex-cop and dedicated Bigfoot researcher.

Sadly many times the outcome is tragic. The classic scenario is that hikers or hunters stumble over the missing person’s skeletal remains, exactly the way Julian Sands was eventually found. Often it’s in a spot far from where the person initially disappeared.

The takeaways from Billman’s book reinforce Dr. Koester’s warnings: don’t stray off the main path, tell people where you are going and if you get lost, stay put!  Best advice of all, don’t go out into the wilderness unprepared and alone.

MY NEW BOOK! Snake Oil and Other Tales

red letters neon light
Cover reveal soon!

I’m excited to announce that Carrick Publishing will be bringing out my new book, Snake Oil and Other Tales. Launch date is slated for October in keeping with the tradition of the Mesdames of Mayhem anthologies.

Snake Oil brings together ten of my stories and novellas published since the release of my first collection, Glow Grass and Other Tales, Carrick Publishing, 2016. Many of the stories were finalists for the Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence.

Stand by for the cover reveal by talented artist, Sara Carrick. I’m especially delighted by this one!

 

MY 16TH RIDE TO CONQUER CANCER!

Once again I jumped onto my trusty old Trek hybrid bike to complete the 2023 Ride to Conquer Cancer, a 200+ km journey from Toronto to Hamilton to Niagara Falls. Feeling a bit exhausted this morning, but happy to be one of the 90 “Sweet Sixteeners”, cyclists who’ve done The Ride every year since it began in 2008.

For a few days, thanks to the forest fires and poor air quality in Toronto, it looked that the Ride might not happen at all. Fortunately, the weather turned in our favor with two days of rain before the start date of June 10th, which literally cleared the air.

At the start line

Day One: 

Last year was the first “real world” Ride since COVID. Happily, this year participation numbers were back up to normal levels and together, riders raised $17.3 million. My donors were extremely generous, which spurred me on to complete what turned out to be an onerous journey due to (a) the weather (b) crowding and (c) significant route changes.

The biggest challenge on opening day was the heat: 30 degrees by the afternoon! Fortunately, a mild headwind and light cloud cover shielded us. I know from my running days how draining – and dangerous – heat can be. It’s vital to drink enough water and to replenish electrolytes through Gatorade, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to take in enough.

Training for the ride is essential and it’s easy to underestimate how much you need to do. Ride organizers urged participants to complete at least two 75 km rides. Given the routing this year, this was clearly inadequate for ordinary mortals.

Opening speeches were nicely delivered and not overlong. Efforts to prevent a bottleneck at the start worked well and I was off and riding faster than in previous years. As always, Lakeshore Blvd was closed to traffic, which got us out of the city quickly until we hit a glitch turning north onto the Queensway.  Often in the past, I’ve grumbled about training in the city, dealing with rough roads and traffic, but this proved invaluable now while negotiating the next 40 km until we headed into the welcome countryside.

Lunch wasn’t served until the 75 km rest stop. Fortunately, my loyal roadcrew, Ed, brought Rahier sandwiches at the 50 km stop where I could refuel and rest up in relative calm. Little did I know what was awaiting me for the next 25 km!

Many years ago, the route had a long stretch of rather nasty hills. My buddy, Marci and I trained for these by doing several stretches of 80+ km rides in the hills north of Holland Marsh. For the past several years, route organizers have skirted this section for flatter countryside, but not this year. The hills were brutal, especially in the heat. From experience, I’d learned that conserving energy is vital to finishing a race, so I walked up several of the longer inclines.

I did wonder if perhaps I’d skimped a bit on my training until I ran into my friend, Della, from yoga class. Della is a super-strong cyclist who trains around windy Lake Simcoe. When she pronounced the hills “brutal”, too, I felt vindicated. We both envied Della’s friend who’d opted for the “Ride Express”, thus avoiding the hills altogether. The sweep vehicle / sag-wagon was pretty busy during the last half of the ride: beginners suffered.

Toward the end of the day came our reward: a glorious 3+km downhill into McMaster University. The route winds you through the campus, past the Phoenix Pub, Ed’s watering hole from student days and over the finish line to “camp” and a most welcome Steam Whistle beer!

Best beer ever at end of Day 1

Free food and lots of it: pulled pork and chicken, mac and cheese, lots of salads. Ed and I shared a plate after I parked my bike in the secure lot. Then home for a most welcome shower and sleep. I dozed off in the car while Ed fought through the weekend traffic.

Day 2:

We were up at 4:30 am, grabbing a quick breakfast and putting our cat on gravity feeders. The drive to Hamilton went smoothly with practically no traffic and I was on my bike off and riding shortly after the route opened at 6:30 am.

Much cooler temperatures were a relief as was the cloud cover. We glided through early morning Hamilton, though here, as in Toronto and later all through Niagara, the road surface was rough, pitted with hazards, especially for the super-skinny tires on modern bikes. Carbon fiber bikes are extremely light and fast, compared to old hybrids like mine, but they’re fragile. Bike breakdowns were common. In the past, several volunteers helped fix flats and did easy repairs, but I didn’t spot their friendly vehicles this time out.

Route organizers sent us to the top of the Niagara escarpment the familiar way, up a 7 km long bike trail with a very low uphill gradient. From there, the route headed into the countryside past vineyards, huge stone mansions, horse farms and the like. I was passing the derelict barn where last year I’d sheltered from a thunderstorm, when I felt the first few spots of rain.

I’ve done the Ride in the rain a few times. First, you go into denial. It’s just sprinkling, it’s not that bad. Then resignation, as you realize, it is not going to stop. Luckily I had with me the impermeable rain coat I’d bought from a Goderich bike shop – a life saver. Getting wet is uncomfortable, but the worst thing about rain is getting cold.

I pressed on and after an hour or so, the rain tapered off.  In Jordan, I had deja vu all over again. The route goes right past our friends, Bill and Lynda’s house where they were cheering riders on. So great to see them! I took the opportunity to pack up my raincoat and drink some much needed Gatorade.

Friends Bill and Lynda

Bill was inspired by the new rule that allows electric bikes. He’s envisioning charging up the many batteries needed for the distance by pedaling a stationary bike!

I carried on and had a few animal encounters. I was charged by a squirrel and a large grey tabby cat and once again, praised my disc brakes. A short distance later, I ran into two Canada geese crossing the road. Those birds weren’t stopping for anyone. As I headed them off, they took wing and we nearly had a mid-air collision!

An unwelcome change to Day 2’s route happened hours before the event began: a 23 additional kilometres. Organizers claimed this extra mileage was beyond their control. Once again, the sag-wagon was busy as were the first-aid riders and ambulance pick-ups.

The new route did not pass my favorite apple orchard, but we did cross the  drawbridge over the Welland Canal.  I slogged through the distance,  refueling with Starbucks goodies provided by Ed. There was once particularly evil hill, impossible to bike up and one which leaves you breathless even pushing your bike up to the top. I had to agree with the older gentleman cyclist beside me who said: “That hill was unnecessary.”

The route finally landed us on the banks of the Niagara River. In the past, this stretch was the reward for a journey well-pedaled, but honestly, by then, I was too tired, longing for the end. There was supposedly one last pitstop before the end, but if so, I missed it. Before I knew it, I passed under the arch at the finish line. What a relief to finish: 127.97 km, the most I’ve ever ridden in a day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sadly, the Steamwhistle people had run out of beer: the first time in 16 rides, so Ed and I settled for a free glass of wine instead. We chatted to a few fellow cyclists, including a young woman who’d done a scary header over her bike, but carried on nonetheless to finish. What commitment!

We headed home. Lots of tourists crowding Table Rock and the sidewalks along the Falls.  The Horseshoe Falls were shrouded in mist and even the American side looked beautiful, much more water than normal. We drove through Niagara-on-the-Lake, which appears to be thriving, then fought through the horrendous traffic back home to tea, Rahier cookies and an early night.

Will I do the Ride again next year?  Perhaps it’s time to let younger riders on new equipment take the field.  The cause, of course, is wonderful and compelling…I will let you know.