I have to address how serendipity and good fortune come together; When I was in Grade 11 (I am Canadian so ‘Grade 11′ is the nomenclature as opposed to the ’11th Grade’, which is how I hear my American cousins say it), I was selected for a special new course. Twenty select students were chosen from Grade 11 and Grade 12. It was called the Sooke River Course and we got to go out in the field and learn about our natural surroundings and our history. We became biologists, paleontologists, anthropologists and all-round explorers.

Assignments such as excavating, by hand, an indigenous native Indian midden, or wading out in teams, in the mouth of the Sooke River at low tide to measure out two-square-metre grids with string and spikes over a zone of sea grasses and other plants, then documenting and reporting everything we could see within our square, be it plants or other creatures. I remember there were large white fleas bouncing about that annoyed us on that sunny day.

The Sooke River Course only existed for the year 1979 and I was fortunate enough to be part of this fabulous experiment.

When I give thought about Three Things You Don’t Know About Sooke, British Columbia, I am compelled to share 3 things you really don’t know about Sooke and will never learn about on TripAdvisor. *I am not trying to insult users of TripAdvisor, of which I am one… I am just saying… you know what I mean.

First up: The Belvedere Hotel.

Up in the bush behind the Sooke River Hotel and Castle Pub (another establishment which is no longer there), I could never imagine there once stood a fancy hotel. I grew up in this village, how could I not know about it, nor my mother nor grandparents?!

As a class we walked a short single lane dirt road revealing two old tire lanes which rapidly vanished into bushes and trees. Our instructors guided us through the forest to the top of the hill where we came upon the stone and concrete foundation the old Belvedere Hotel. Mother Nature had aggressively taken it over. It was so dark in the forest that one could barely notice it.

We stood in the forest and got our history lesson. It was so powerful you wondered if there were ghosts here. Why had it never been part of the fascinating conversations of adults when I was growing up? Long gone? Out of sight, out of mind? What a discovery for me.

The hotel burned down in 1934. One of the first things we were told was about Emily Carr, staying here and painting. The hotel was visited by British Royalty, The Prince of Wales, powerful political players and famous personalities. Now the forest had grown back and you could no longer see the harbour nor the wharf. It was gone and lost in time. It was called the Belvedere Hotel.

Second up: Grouse Nest

Since childhood, Grouse Nest was always a well-known secret. An exclusive hideaway lodge resort. Not a place for us regular folk. It is rural and the big entrance is still hidden deep in the dark forest canopy. Recently, I was on Gillespie Road and I failed to find it – I was going by memory and hadn’t been there for 30 years so it too, may have been obscured by Mother Nature.

Grouse Nest is on private property so you certainly felt like you were trespassing if you entered. I once turned down the perfectly paved driveway back in the seventies but it only took 30 meters for me to feel like I was not where I was supposed to be. I got scared and backed up to Gillespie Road, which can be dangerous because Gillespie is one of those island roads that is tangled like a map of the brain. It may be rural and quiet but a car could still come around the bend and hit you.

I heard stories. Frank Sinatra stayed there. That one is confirmed … but Elvis Presley? … that could be a rumour. I heard one simple story of a brilliant teenage girl in a gathering of wealthy folks who failed to tell the chef that she was a vegetarian. She ate what was served and later, when asked why, she discreetly replied that she didn’t want to insult the chef.

For a time, when I was young, people would notice float planes landing at Grouse Next, which is in deep on the shore of the Sooke Basin, and speculation would abound as to whom it was. John Wayne, we heard.

By the late 70’s, activity at Grouse Nest went to sleep. How could they maintain the property and keep up with yearly property taxes? Grouse Nest is still there today and is still the biggest secret. I personally know nobody who can tell me anything about it, where I might trust I am getting first-hand knowledge. Visit, Mysterious East Sooke ‘Grouse Nest’ up for sale – Sooke News Mirror

Third up: The Sooke Potholes

Growing up in 1960s & 70s, Sooke was sweet and enchanting. No traffic lights, no McDonald’s restaurant, no bumper-to-bumper traffic. The Sooke Potholes swimming spot was alive every summer like our own private Six Flags Amusement Park. Nowadays it is a beautiful government controlled Provincial Park and as a local, to me at least, that’s a form of ruin. I got over it. Once again, I believe you understand.

1960’s – Chevy’s, Ford pickups, hot rods, station wagons. 1970’s – the AMC Gremlin, Ford Pinto, hot rods, Kawasaki motorcycles. Picture a dirt road that bumbles alongside the river where everybody clamors for a space on the shoulder to park their vehicle and the children tumble out of the car, excited to go swimming in their favourite pothole. My mother had a black and white Polaroid she enjoyed showing people of me, her fat little toddler, at the second pothole ‘eating the beach’ as she would say. Yep, that’s me in my diaper grabbing sand, pebbles and stones and putting it all in my mouth. I saw that picture many times throughout my life.

What I am about to tell you may now sound like folklore and is as real as I am. I recently traveled back to the potholes because I was researching ideas for the three things I might talk about. It’s been 40 years since I had been to the potholes, which is sad because we once lived on Sooke River Road about 2.5 kilometers from the potholes, which is at the end of Sooke River Road. I had never seen the provincial park that was built, but I had heard about it. Wow, nicely paved asphalt and dedicated parking lots at different elevations and stations. Public restrooms, information boards, bear and mountain lion caution signs.

The road never went that far when I lived in Sooke. My goodness, it goes all the way up to the falls. And groomed walking trails go much further. The potholes themselves seem to look much different than the way I remember them. Could it be erosion or drought? I don’t quite recognize the place we all went swimming and recreating for all of our young years until it was time for further education or career paths. It is still as beautiful as ever though. It even looks less trodden now.

However, it is the names of each pothole that is missing. The government abandoned them and to make my dream worse I could find absolutely nothing online that referred to the names of the potholes. The government instead gives no names to the potholes but rather gives names to the beaches: Crescent Beach, Sand Pebble Beach, Skipping Rock Beach, Ripple Rock Beach

It feels like a government conspiracy that the names we all knew them by have been erased from history. The Potholes is not something you didn’t know about Sooke. Everyone knows about the potholes. They might be the reason one bothers to travel to Sooke. What you don’t know is the names everyone, including our mayors, knew the potholes by and I fear that once our generation is gone so might be the real names.

I remembered two of them easily, but I was having trouble recalling all four of them, so I used Facebook Messenger to reach out to get help with my slipping memory. (My sincerest thanks to Eric Carlson, Laurie Vanderkerkhove and Carol Michaylenko for all coming to my aid.)

The first pothole, which appeared less like a pothole on my recent visit and more like a place in the river to simply go swimming, is called Bradley (Crescent Beach). The second pothole is called Little Lady (Sand Pebble Beach). That’s where I ate the beach. The third pothole is called Wielers (Skipping Rock Beach). There were never any signs to be found back in the old days. We just knew them by their names, so it is phonetical – which is why Eric, Laurie and Carol each came back with a different spelling; Wielers, Wylers, Whylers. This pothole has the best beach and it was my favourite one to swim in. Larger with deeper spots but in areas, shallow enough that the summer sun kept it at a nice temperature.

The potholes are geologically old so the rocks are all smooth. Nice to make slides with and nice to jump off of. The fourth pothole is called Beer Bottle (Ripple Rock Beach). Now, I never used to swim at Beer Bottle because it is where the older high school kids swam. They were cool. I felt too young and abided by the unwritten social rules. I could never see them from Wielers but I could hear them, jumping off the cliff edges and laughing and hooting. I remained in my station.

The potholes were a wonderful place to go growing up. It was thee place! In the off season we could go explore and feel like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Once I had reached high school age, my good friend John Jacobsen and I built rafts to go down the Sooke River, starting at the potholes. What a thrill. I wonder how much danger we were in? The currents and rapids can be pretty aggressive downstream. There have been drownings, unfortunately.

What you don’t know is the names everyone knew the potholes by and I fear that once our generation is gone so might be the real names. Visit and Swim at the Potholes and put it on your Vancouver Island Bucket List Swim At the Potholes – Vancouver Island Bucket List.

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When the ebb and flow of the urban densities that wash over us start to feel like riptide, we yearn for nature’s open spaces.  Do kids – does pre-teen daughter Katie Jane – share that quiet panic sorting out a place in the world amid all the cultural noise, the school and family pressures?  Sooner or later she will, living in the middle of Washington, DC, and dad wants to impart early the tools of realignment.  Nothing against the plains or oceans, but if you want to hypnotize a kid with nature, go for three-dimensional spaces with high vertical, try the Bugs – Canada’s Bugaboos – one of the continent’s premiere hiking and climbing arenas.

Throw in a helicopter chauffeur, a magician in rarefied air who puts a twin-engine Bell 212 into a dive that threads a needle eye of granite spires like a biplane.  Imagine that sight through the eyes of a child, jaw dropping, this new wow factor tumbling theme park thriller rides into second tier memory files.

Pressures ease as they thin out over an infinity of gray granite peaks wrapped in white glaciers.  They sink amid colorful valleys with a rich palette of greens – from cedar and hemlock and larch – the latter in fall sliding into yellow – to stream-drenched moss and lichen, punctuated by meadows of wildflowers driven in August by the reds and yellows of Indian paintbrush, columbine, monkey flower and fireweed.

These are the views that jerk the rugs of ho-hum usual, that will put everything else in perspective.  It’s a lasting comfort that there are very different places that, properly shepherded, will endure and wait for us for when we need them most.  When KJ, a patent pending perpetual motion machine, is on the road with me, she’s overtaken by serene calm.  But the underlying energy still bubbles, positively, and the Bugs can take whatever she dishes out.

Consider the vastness of the area, spilling beyond the Bugaboos into adjoining ranges of the Columbia Mountains of British Columbia.  This includes the world’s only temperate inland rainforest, running amid the rugged peaks which are a couple hundred million years older than our upstart Rockies.

The  purveyor of this experience, Canadian Mountain Holidays, operates twelve lodges, mostly for the main bread and butter of helicopter skiing, across an area nearly half the size of Switzerland.  Roll all the European Alps together, and that’s about the size of it.  And there is a similarity to the Alps, being at the top, seeing an array of peaks to the horizon.  But no people.  Five lodges also do helicopter hiking and mountaineering, and KJ and I signed on for one of the family specific offerings, at Bugaboos Lodge.  We flew to Calgary and motored to Banff and then a couple hours on a motor coach took us past Radium Hot Springs to a helicopter that took us the remainder.

The 35 room lodge is nearly a mile in elevation and looks up at the remarkable Bugaboos Glacier, flowing around the stunning Houndstooth outcrop, which tops out at 9,250 feet, all framed by a forest bowl and higher granite spires.  It’s a dang impressive swath of white for August, even if considerably trimmed from prior glory by global warming.

The guides, most of whom are also ski pros who never let career stand in the way of a good life, exhibit a genuine joy, and skill, at working with young people, from early grade school to teens.  I marveled at the heights they could coax KJ to climb, beginning with the daunting four story climbing wall that runs alongside a high stairwell.

Rooms are spartan but comfortable and roomy, ours had two big beds and a nice bath, and incredible views through windows that open wide.  Zero television anywhere!  Each room has a portrait of someone with a local mountain connection.  Ours was an English WWI military nurse, Edith Cavell, with a mountain named for her.  She became a English hybrid of Patrick Henry and the Alamo after she was executed by the Germans who claimed she helped Brit soldiers escape.  The bath is nice, but we usually showered by the roof deck with the hot tub, and adjoining steam and sauna rooms.

Our days at the lodge began early.  We were summoned by a bell ringer strolling the halls, prompting us to a stretching class and a hearty breakfast – the meals will make your lips quiver and dinners can honestly claim gourmet status.  We then scramble into queue near the copter with our equipment.  Weather changes on a dime and for most hikes one carries the necessary options in addition to plenty of water and energy snacks – chocolate to your heart’s content.  Packs with warm, rainproof parkas, rainpants, and poles are provided, as are hiking boots and, if needed, climbing shoes, ice axes and helmets.

Groups take off in fast succession,  like a precisely timed military assault, no one dares tarry. Which party one is in depends on general abilities or preferred activities, sorted by a joint assessment of guests and guides.  For some efforts families stick mostly together, for others, kids can split off with special hikes and activities, including a lake swim and games like capture the flag.  Guides impart a deep knowledge of the local ecology.

Camaraderie thrives along mountain slopes, and in a few short days of long hikes, usually two a day – four copter rides – people from very different walks of life connected to their feel for nature soon know each other.  Most return, including for ski season.  One guest told of a ski group introducing themselves at dinner, tossing out what they did, and one fellow sheepishly mumbled he was a king – for the rest of the week most thought Carlos of Spain was a wiseacre.

One late afternoon, an English barrister and his wife celebrating their 25th anniversary invited everyone to join them for champagne.  The mom then beat the pants off her son, a college athlete, at ping pong.

Katie joined my hiking group the first day, getting along well with the adults and keeping up after a guide and I divided her extra gear.  The next day she elected to hike with a younger group, no offense, Dad.

One day everyone, kids and adults, ‘coptered in after their first hikes – each copter group goes to a different locale so they don’t see anyone else on the hikes – to lunch at a fantastic locale where a barbecue was set up and the lady chef hard at work on steaks and sausages.  The surrounding mountains were deceptive, as the copter lifted away it looked like it would collide with granite any moment, but it just kept getting smaller and smaller, the canyon we were in growing larger and larger.

After lunch, most kids remained to climb area cliffs, most adults coptered to their second hikes, though they could stay, as I did, with the kids, climbing with them, some of the cliffs quite challenging in the moves they required.  KJ, now a human fly, wouldn’t believe she made it to the top of one very high granite cliff, belayed with a rope, until I later showed her photographic proof of the sun coming through her hair as her head popped above the edge.

Later that night, after a swim in lake by the lodge and a grand dinner, we joined families at a campfire for sodas and wine and stargazing.

KJ proved a marvel to the guides, who confided to me they wanted to bottle her and wished other kids were more like her.  Guides deal with their share of privileged kids whom some might regard a bit spoiled, and teens in particular aren’t shy about griping.  Katie never complained, despite her pack and despite having considerable blisters – though well-tended – owing to our discovery of too tight shoes before she was fitted with boots. The airline lost our luggage, so for the entire trip Katie had only what she was wearing and what I could find in the lost and found bin of a Banff hotel.  Wide-eyed and open to everything the guides  said, and easy with conversation, the guides couldn’t get enough of her.

But I was most proud of the attention she showed a young lad with aspergers who was there with his grandparents and who took a shine to her.  He’s the age of her younger brother, who’s recovering, splendidly from a medical fright that’s been a long tension, and her blossoming empathy was the prettiest wildflower on the mountain.

A grandfather who treats his family to a yearly hiking session confided to me that the mountain tonic worked well for one of his grandkids.  The teen had gone off his rails, heading to trouble in school and with a tough crowd.  The Bugaboos entranced him, and remain a carrot that keeps his school work up and his behavior in bounds so he can return the following year.  Along the way, he’s become a different kid, a pleasure to be around.

CMH’s empire of solitude began with Austrian Hans Gmoser, who in the 1950s became a guide for Canada’s Matterhorn, Mount Assiniboine.  During his off-time, he performed little mountain feats like the first Wickersham Wall ascent of Mt. McKinley.  One has to be in awe of such climbs, particularly given the difference in equipment decades ago.  In 1965, helicopters seemed like a good idea, and he flew with it.  CMH now catches about 7,000 skiers and 3,000 hikers a year, most of them repeat customers.

This 53 year old pressed his luck with a rocky all day climb led by Mikey Olsthoor, a seasoned skiing and mountaineering guide.  This wasn’t a venture I let Katie in on.  Mikey used the occasion to spank a college kid he’d heard complaining the day before that he wasn’t adequately challenged.  Though an innocent bystander, I was spanked as well.

I was stunned by Mikey’s sure-footedness up glaciers and cliffs, skimming the edges of crevasses and their deceptive optical illusions, his guardian angel an ice axe he wields like a sculptor.  Great to watch, then one remembers where Mikey goes, I got to go, wishing all the while I’d skipped the last couple drinks offered by the copter pilot filling in as bar keep the night before.  A gastrointestinal confrontation during the final nail biting climb forced me to summon a Zen concentration I’d thought beyond me.  I began to mull the multiple meanings of bugaboo, first a business scam in old England, then when a miner’s treasure vein runs out, finally the fears and anxieties one challenges oneself to move past.  It’s not the mountain we conquer, wrote Sir Edmund Hillary, but ourselves.

Mikey looks at a mountain, it’s like reading a book, with near psychic reading of his clients’ abilities and reservoirs of remaining strength.  Though one can’t recall exactly which crack in the rock he tickled or goosed with his toe, one at least knows there’s something somewhere one can grasp for a moment and advance inches here, a foot there, ultimately to find out no, that’s not the summit, more thrillers to come, but first a pause for views one struggles to commit to memory, with density now defined as someone up the rope, and someone below, and, things being relative, being the middleman seems crowded.

Post Script:  Catching up on our timeline, the celebrated Katie is currently finishing a masters in social work at Catholic U., and brother Jack is well and studying art at SCAD. Canadian Mountain Holidays is now booking for summer of this year, and for skiing, for winter ’21-’22.

CMH

Main Switchboard:
Tel: (403) 762-7100
Fax: (403) 762-5879
Toll Free: 1-800-661-0252
E-mail Inquiries:

In**@cm****.com

Mailing Address:
Canadian Mountain Holidays
Box 1660
Banff, Alberta
Canada
T1L 1J6
Tel: (403) 762-7100
1.800.661.0252
Fax: (403) 762-5879

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Jim Gordon of Vancouver, BC — Co-host/co-producer of weekly TV shows, Our City Tonight & The Travel Guys:

Well done to my #travelguystv colleague #weavecleveland for his contribution!! I live in Vancouver and have never been to that tiny fishing village. I would also add, taking visitors to #crescentbeach in #whiterockbc near Weave’s home!

West Beach has more rocks than East beach, but right at the water line in the photograph is where the sand begins. The tide tide goes way out on this shallow bay so there’s more sandy area than rocky area.

Harrison Liu of Miami Beach — Cruise specialist:

If I weren’t already living here, I’d say Miami. But I have to agree with Mattox, Memphis is my #2. My most memorable experience in Memphis was the Sun Studio tour. One of the best storytelling I’ve ever experienced.

Maribeth Mellin of Southern California — Author, free lance journalist:

Washington D.C. for sure. Lived there in the 70s and spent every weekend walking around the city, exploring neighborhoods. It felt like living in a national park with manicured gardens everywhere. No billboards, no high-rises, flower markets and cafes on the sidewalks and so many monuments and museums available for free. It’s truly an international city — the grocery stores held a fascinating array of ingredients and there were restaurants for every possible taste. I wasn’t into politics at the time and could enjoy the city for itself, without that distraction.

Judy Henry Heier of Puyallup, Washington — Owner/Antiques Dealer/Appraiser at the Heier Echelon:

Fantastic! Very inspiring article, and makes me realize I need to travel more… Deadwood, S.D. comes to mind as an interesting destination. A throwback to the 1870’s, 1880’s, with the renovated hotels, turned casinos… wild west and mining history including the Gold Rush, Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane… If you’re there at right time, you’ll see a ‘shootout’ reenactment… the beautiful trek through the Black Hills, and don’t forget to visit Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse a few miles down the road. Beautiful scenery to behold along the way. A fun destination.

Patty Medina of Southern California — Writer & actor:

Cambria, California. It’s our happy place! And, driving down the Pacific Coast brings joy to my heart.

Jill Rand of Perkasie, Pennsylvania — Heritage Estate Properties executive:

Fantastic article! I agree with Julian, CA! (#3, T.E. Mattox, on writer’s poll), The cutest small town, filled with Apple orchards, antique stores and Bed & Breakfasts. I went on a mother/daughter weekend when Amanda was 5 years old. Little did I know the throw back in time included lack of Wi-Fi and televisions! We played board games in the Parlor, sipping hot apple cider. Nearby farm offered a petting zoo and panning for gold! An incredible, memorable experience once I got over the panic of “unplugging from technology.”

Ann Bailey of Pasadena California — Writer:

New Orleans. Doesn’t feel like it’s part of the United States.

Alex Brouwer of Berkeley, CA — Youth counselor:

While I haven’t been to many places in the US, I love San Diego, CA; Crater Lake, OR; or Zuma or Malibu beach in Los Angeles, CA. My favorite place of all may be Mt. Rainier in Washington State.

Brom Wikstrom of Seattle — Artist , mouth painter & instructor:

Eureka Springs, Arkansas has an illustrious history, dynamic present and a promising future. From its earliest days, it was renowned by native Americans as a destination for the healing properties of the natural springs. Early settlers also migrated to the area for the same reason and left remarkable Victorian homes throughout the valley. Perhaps most striking is the famed Crescent Hotel, billed as the most haunted place in America. For someone like myself who uses a wheelchair, the steep, winding streets can pose a challenge at times but the natural beauty, charming structures and generous people make this an enjoyable and history-filled experience. I was able to board the historic train that shuttles visitors around the area and took several driving tours to soak up the natural beauty from selected viewpoints. Cultural venues are cherished with an annual opera festival, Festival of Arts in May and a Mardi Gras Festival. You don’t need to be particularly religious to appreciate the annual Passion Play performed out of doors from May through October or the sacred confines of Thorncrown Chapel, architect Fay Jones’ masterpiece, set in a forested glen that exemplifies serenity and blends with its natural setting beautifully.

Nearby is the Blue Spring Heritage Center, a 33-acre nature preserve and the world-class Crystal Bridges Museum of Art in Bentonville is barely an hour’s drive away. Only a bit further in the other direction is Branson, MO where music and entertainment options thrive. Other points of interest to note is Quigley Castle, a unique house museum and garden and Onyx Cave, a modest sized attraction where some of the 1969 production “It’s Alive” were filmed.

It was July when we visited and though it was hot as all get out, we cooled off with sun tea and some of the local craft beers in the taproom at Brews on Pine Street.

Jeff Stave of Sandy, Oregon — Musician & composer:

Okay, once while visiting the Flora-Bama road house on the state line Gulf Coast, I called my mother and told her I wanted to head over to New Orleans for a stay. She nixed the idea saying she worried about my safety. I was in my 40s .

Steve Mandel of Long Beach, CA — Music critic:

Love to go back to New Orleans or Memphis. Been too many years. “Steve, I want to go to Boston” – Jocelynn Pryor!

Gitta Kroon-Fiorita of Connecticut — Owner at Kroon Communications, LLC:

All great destination choices and wonderfully written. I am always drawn to places I have not been and New Orleans is high on my bucket list. I must say though I have come to appreciate what my own state of CT has to offer during this pandemic. Great state parks for hiking and small towns to wander. E.g., I discovered the historic town of Washington, surrounded by miles of trails at Steep Rock. Anyone bound for New England in the fall to see the foliage, don’t skip this little gem!

Roger Fallihee of Seattle — Writer:

I love Cannon Beach, Oregon. We go there almost every year. Amazing beach, town, people, shops, and restaurants.

Visit T-Boy Society of Film & Music’s Favorite Domestic Destinations — Writer’s Poll

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1. Question: What are some of the “things” or activities that the people of Vancouver do for fun?

Answer:

We truly love and cherish the natural beauty of our place on the planet. Walk the famous Seawall which circles the entire downtown, weaving through a variety of areas like Stanley Park, English Bay, Granville Island, Coal Harbour (you really don’t need a car to get around downtown). Some of the world’s best skiing is only a short distance in Whistler. And some of the most picturesque islands share the landscape of The Georgia Straight (great sailing!) There are so many distinctive neighbourhoods in Vancouver, all offering a wide array of food from all over the world. This is a world class city for foodies!

2.  Question: What’s one thing the public probably does NOT know about Vancouver?

Answer:

Our city has a large and truly fantastic city park named after our country’s sixth Governor General, Lord Frederick Stanley – Stanley Park. The very same person that the NHL’s championship trophy is named after – The Stanley Cup! We suspect that the trophy is now more famous than the park or the man ever was or will be.

* The Governor General is the Queen’s representative in Canada.

3. Share some aspect of what Vancouver has contributed to the world.

Answer:

Vancouver earned the nickname of HOLLYWOOD NORTH in the 1980s as American productions began to flourish (21 Jump Street, MacGiver, X-Files) but Hollywood North has flourished far beyond what many can even fathom as movies and television shows continue to be produced here that the list is so numerous that it is hard to believe. 273 TV shows so far without even mentioning the movie productions (Super Natural, Once Upon A Time, Fringe, etc).

Famous Vancouverites

Athletes

Karen Magnussen

Cam Neely

Joe Sakic

Paul Kariya

Justin Morneau

Lui Passaglia

Harry Jerome

Actors

Deborah Kara Unger

Ryan Reynolds

Seth Rogan

Hayden Christensen

Jason Priestley

Michael J. Fox

Carrie-Anne Moss

Musical Groups, Musicians

Sarah McLachlan

Chilliwack

The Payolas

The Poppy Family

Loverboy

Bryan Adams

Prism

Nickelback

Michael Bublé

Trooper

Said The Whale

Spirit Of The West

D. O. A.

New Pornographers

ODDS

The Headpins

Environmentalist

David Suzuki

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