Once Upon a Time

It was early May and we were at the hot springs: steamy water, flowing from between 100-pound rocks into a series of pools. Lussier Hot Springs, one of many natural hot springs in the Columbia Valley, has been discovered but not yet developed, aside from the stone retaining wall and fenced path from gravel parking area to pools.

No admission fee, no lifeguards, no posted rules. Sometimes, no bathing suits.

We live less than an hour’s drive away from this little spot of paradise. It’s a must-do when guests have time for the drive.

In summer, these springs are so popular that a line can snake up the trail: urbanites and international tourists, towels in hand, await their turn to experience this natural phenomenon of sulphur-scented water trickling from the rocks through pools to a glacier-fed river.

In early May we were there to revel in the hot water and alpine beauty before the tsunami of summer tourists and part-time residents engulfed our little community.

Despite the early season, we weren’t alone. We chatted with a couple from Alberta. Nodded to other locals.

A trio of young women arrived, stripped to bikinis and toques, and stepped carefully over the massive rocks. They squealed at the water’s heat, which is the temperature of a hot bath. They perched in the upper pool on folded legs, so as not to get their bikini tops wet, and took photos with their cell phones, as so many do.

It’s part of our job as parents to pass the traditions down, so my boyfriend and I lured his pre-teens and my five-year-old to the river.

I set an example: I waded into the icy current, then lay carefully on the slippery stones and leaned back. Not enough to float away. Enough for goose bumps to rise.

Then up and back to the river’s rocky edge.

A normal human being would immediately climb up to the hottest pool, to recover from the immersion in glacier run-off. But we’re parents and so we waited on the rocks, shivering and cheering on our kids, applauding their bravery as they too dunked in the river.

A rite of passage. Like rolling in the snow between soaks at the Fairmont Resort hot springs. Like walking through the shin-deep river at Marble Canyon, and back again, on numb feet. This is how we raise the next generation of mountain kids.

Finally the trial was over and we began picking our way carefully over the slippery stones, back up to the hottest pool. One extreme temperature to another.

We crossed paths with the young women, who were on their way to the river.

ME: “Are you going in too?”

WOMAN: “No. We’re just here for the pictures.”

What?

My heart broke for her then, and I’ve spent four months trying to articulate WHY her response made me feel so sad and disturbed that day.

“We’re just here for the pictures.”

After our exchange, I watched the women as they “experienced” the springs. They did not dip themselves in the icy river. They wandered upstream at one point and took turns doing classic Instagram poses: arms out. Backs to the camera. Sexy bikini poses with the forest as background. Toothy smiles for the selfies.

And then they left.

My Gut Reaction

I was sad for this woman and her friends. They’re young: they have a lifetime of possible adventures and experiences ahead of them. And yet, appearances seemed to matter more to them than their sense of adventure. If they were only there for the photos, were they really experiencing the natural hot springs?

If you stop to take a picture of you smelling a rose so you can post it on Facebook, and don’t even bother inhaling its scent, did you really stop to smell the roses?

So Many Questions

I wondered: if they’d driven the 37 minutes on the narrow gravel road to the hot springs, risking life and limb with the ever-present logging trucks around every sharp corner, and then discovered in the parking lot they’d left their phones behind, would they have simply turned back?

And: was their need for external validation something they would grow out of? Would these young women change when they matured?

But some people never grow out of this mindset. Consider the many, many subdivisions in Calgary (and other cities) where mansions rub elbows with mansions, their garages and off-site storage bays overflowing with speedboats, jet skis and other mechanical toys. For some of us, appearances and peer-defined success are what bring us meaning, direction and (we hope) happiness.

I wonder: when this woman at the pools said those words to me, did she startle herself? Could she hear how superficial and empty she sounded? Did she have a restless night, tormented by existential doubt? Or maybe she doesn’t see anything wrong with living a life merely for the images.

And maybe I was, and am, being judgemental. Maybe it’s fine to live as these young women do. Maybe a collection of photos and lots of Instagram followers and Facebook “likes” are valid goals, or at least just as valid as my own.

Ripples

Maybe this woman didn’t think twice about her words that day.

But they resonate with me.

Since that day, I’ve been more thoughtful about bringing my phone (which is my only camera) along on adventures, or not.

Sometimes, camera-less, I wish I could take a picture — like when we found that beach of gleaming mica dust south of Nakusp — and I have to settle for the memory.

I’ve found that, when we don’t have pictures to help us remember our adventures, stories and words become more important:

“Remember when the teenage magician emerged from the forest and healed cousin Matthew’s leg when he fell?”

“Remember how terrified we were on the log ride at Calaway Park? Remember how many bad words I said when we plummeted?”

And sometimes I test myself: right now, experiencing this super cool thing, do I NEED to take a picture? Do I NEED to share it on the Interwebs, to make this experience any more special?

It’s my new Stoic meditation. Regardless of the answer, I learn new things about myself. And, more often than before, I decide to leave my phone behind.

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I’d love to hear your thoughts. Is a camera/phone essential for your adventures? Do you wrestle with how much to share via social media, or keep as a personal memory? How would you respond if someone said they were only there “for the pictures”? Please post a comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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