Just show up and pay your money, the e-mail said, so I did. I showed up at Beaver Lake Park one evening, forked out the cash equivalent of a latte and a muffin, and was welcomed into orienteering.
Without much of an idea what I was getting into, I became a member of VictOrienteers, the only orienteering club on Vancouver Island.
On the web, orienteering is described as cross-country navigation by foot over unknown terrain using a map and a compass. The description alone had me packing survival gear -- at least my cellphone and breath mints -- in case I got swallowed up by the wilderness somewhere between Beaver Lake and the Pat Bay Highway.
It was the compass thing that gave me the heebie-jeebies. I've never been able to comprehend the workings of that wobbly needle, beyond knowing it has something to do with the North Pole, and/or a magnet.
The actuality for a beginner was that the orientation to orienteering was pretty painless, except for the mosquitoes.
Upon arrival at Beaver Lake Park, where the event was the final of the Determinator Series (nobody seemed to know what determinator stood for), I paid the annual membership fee ($5), bought a mandatory whistle to signal an emergency ($2), rented a compass ($2), bought a coloured course map of the area ($5) and had a little crash course in the sport.
Although there are variations, the object is to search out a certain number of locations shown on a map. Called control sites, the spots are marked by a hanging box-like triangle of brightly coloured nylon, complete with a punch or electronic device to record your visit. The controls must be found in order, within a specified time.
Very popular in Europe, the Vancouver Island version of orienteering assembled that night typified the range of participants. Among the group were Leigh and Gill Bailey, a couple in their 70s, teenage siblings Morgan and Simon Lay, French immersion teacher Laurie Hall, and serious adventure racer Todd Nowak. A variety of courses had been set, according to bushwhacking ability.
The beginners' route, the one I took, was literally a walk in the park, as opposed to Level 4, where competitors tore pell-mell through the bush, over logs, through bogs and under blackberries. Morgan wore shorts and finished with blood all over her legs.
For my part, I followed the well-marked map, enjoying the lakeside view until I got to a bit of a challenge at No. 5. It was then I realized I hadn't quite grasped the compass instruction, or how to decipher those little hieroglyphic-like clues on the map. Who could know a circle with a dot on the side meant the control was on the south side of a big rock?
Just as I decided No. 5 was simply not that important, I heard my named called. When I wasn't back as soon as expected, others in the group came looking, just in case. This friendly assurance was possibly how I convinced my daughter-in-law Christy to come with me to another
VictOrienteers event a few weeks later at East Sooke Park.
It was quite a landmark in our relationship. I took her hiking through the park two years ago, and she never went anywhere on foot with me again. That unfortunate experience was a combination of bad footwear (hers) and my assumption that being young, thin and good-looking automatically meant she was in good shape.
But this time we could quit whenever, I assured her, in just about the same breath as I mentioned that my husband had seen a bear crossing East Sooke Road that day. As we approached the park, I continued to explain that bears and cougars were all around, but usually avoided human contact like the plague -- unless maybe you got between a mother and cubs.
It's hard to believe talking with that big foot in my mouth was still possible, but I carried on. As Christy's face started to look strained, I sought to put her at ease by reasoning there was actually more danger from dog attacks. Anyway, I was carrying a bear bell.
It's a good thing our son married a gamer, even if she no doubt wondered why her mother-in-law couldn't just be happy traversing the Sunday Crossword.
Thank goodness for the friendly group at the entry tent, who had Christy smiling again, and besides, new members were free that day. We learned how to use the compass properly, I had a printout of the symbols and we really had fun on our little treasure hunt. After taking less than two hours to navigate the beginner's route, without running into anything wilder than a gamboling black Lab, we punched in at the finish line and helped ourselves to cookies set out on the picnic table.
Christy asked for a copy of the VictOrienteers schedule, and wondered when we could do another event. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Sometimes, when you just "show up," good things happen.
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This is the latest in a series of Monday morning columns that will track what happens when a 58-year-old grandmother decides to get off the sidelines and jumps in to find out about a variety of sports.
Each of the sports Sharie takes on is something that is possible for a novice without previous experience or a wad of cash.
Watch for future columns as Sharie dives into the world of rowing, in-line skating, kayaking, rock climbing and scuba diving.
