51暗网

When reporter Sarah Makowsky decided to trade in her press pass for the police badge this August, it was back to the hiring process here at the 51暗网. Not unlike at so many other businesses in Jasper around this time of year, we found ourselves sifting through resumes, looking at mug shots and portfolios, replying to email queries (and then replying some more), shortlisting and interviewing candidates.

One question topped the list: have you considered what it means to move to Jasper for work? Our small town, mountain lifestyle has some definite upsides, but also some challenges for newcomers鈥攖ravelling to get here, adjusting to a new job, finding a place to live and settling into a new community (a very unique new one at that), among them.

Trevor Nichols鈥� answer was to ask what winter in the Rockies was really like. His worries were somewhat concerning given our climate, but Trevor鈥檚 honesty, humour and journalistic work ethic resonated with us. And so, despite being from further away than some other candidates, we decided to take a chance on the eager Maritimer from Nova Scotia.

Then the adventure really began, for Trevor anyway. On Thursday, he started his 5,000 kilometre road trip across the country to his new Rocky Mountain home. But rather than putting words in his mouth, we thought we鈥檇 let Trevor shed some light on what it鈥檚 like to be #jasperbound.

It wasn鈥檛 until I found myself folded into my Honda beside a sack of dishware, frantically defending myself from a rogue quilt attacking from the back seat, sweating like a sun-baked heifer and frantically cursing at the robot inside my GPS that the full extent of my undertaking hit me. That鈥檚 not true. I had only been driving for three hours at that point; I wasn鈥檛 even out of Nova Scotia and I was already mid-breakdown. I imagine I will finally lose it somewhere in the never-ending horizon of Saskatchewan.

When the 51暗网 offered me a job and asked me to come to Jasper, my initial reaction was a joyful yowl that sent my cat torpedoing face-first into the window. My next thought was: 鈥渉ow in all the Lord Tunderin鈥� Earth am I going to get my whole life to Jasper in two weeks?鈥� Everything after that point is kind of hazy. But somehow I managed to pack, get the car inspected, finish packing, say my goodbyes, enjoy one last swim in the lake, throw out everything I packed, take another swim and re-pack in about a week. Before I knew it I was on the road, swatting at the quilt and cursing the Japanese efficiency that left my car with so little interior space.

Don鈥檛 worry, I valiantly defeated the quilt, put that smug GPS robot in her place and eventually completed the first leg of my journey. After a glass of wine with some old friends in Fredericton, I鈥檓 re-invigorated and ready for tomorrow鈥檚 marathon to Ottawa. In the background of all the madness is the simmering anticipation of a new and exciting life in the beautiful Rocky Mountains.

I don鈥檛 know what my mental state will be like by the time I arrive, but right now, as I enjoy just one more glass of wine to unwind, it feels pretty good to be #jasperbound.

Sunday, Aug. 25:

As I slogged around Lake Superior the country became wilder and wilder. Friendly patches of furs and rolling hills became towering rock cliffs and an endless blanket of forest; everything felt huge and wild, and I felt increasingly isolated with every kilometre. Yes, by that time I had been nine hours alone in a tiny Honda, but those trees!

It wasn't until my mp3 player died that things started getting weird. Without the faux company of Ira Glass, I started to despair. There were just so many trees, they were the only thing I could see anywhere I looked, and the lake just went smugly on forever into the horizon. I felt like I was driving into the abyss and would never return. It got so bad I started making wild turns at random just to hear my GPS talk.

But what nearly sent me over the edge was the runners. As yet another bend opened to a vista of trees and cliffs I spied a couple jogging along the side of the road with a their baby. "WHAT?" I yowled indignantly through the windshield, swerving like maniac on speed. "We are in the middle of a forest vortex no human has ever escaped from, and you're... jogging? You're wearing matching sweat suits! You're pushing a child! Where could you possibly have come from? There can't have been humans here for centuries!"

I was about to swerve into Lake Superior to end the insanity when I saw the sign for the provincial park a kilometre away. "Well, I feel silly," I said to myself. As I passed the couple they gave a friendly wave and I smiled. I looked at my GPS: only 500 more kilometres to go.

Monday, Aug. 26

As I was cruising down the Manitoba highway, a hawk burst from some roadside bushes and soared majestically across the road. Shortly after, it soared majestically into my front fender. I winced as the car shuttered with a muted plunk. A woman speeding by in a bright yellow Miata cupped her hands to her mouth, her eyes bulging, and glared at me like I was an elephant poacher. Another motorist slowly shook his head as he passed. I swear my GPS even blinked a little blip of disappointment.

I felt terrible, and was still dwelling on the bird slaughter about 15 minutes later when I felt a brief flurry under my car. I looked in my mirror and saw the hawk twisting off through the sky, flapping angrily away from the road. The poor creature had been pinned against my fender as I sped down the highway and had just now freed itself. That, my friends, is one tough bird.

And he must have had a lot of friends, too, because I swear the volume and intensity of bird crap hitting my car for the rest of my trip increased 10-fold. When I stopped, a single feather stuck ominously from my fender. Now, it might just have been my frazzled brain, but there is a real possibility a hawk screeched in the distance as I plucked that feather out.