#this was all written in less than 24 hrs in just about one sitting without any proof reading or editing from outside sources so.

[honeylikewords]

penumbra. (jack russell)

jack and his wife are separated during the full moon. (set in the events of the pregnancy arc!)

(warnings: descriptions of food and eating, non-descript vomiting, scenes of fear and anxiety; first ever attempt at writing slightly angsty, potentially hurt/comfort fic(?), everything works out so don’t worry! word count: 6k.)

“Beaver moon,” Jack says, hands in his pockets. He’s staring at a patch of clouds that are skating rapidly across the icy blue sky, nose high in the air. Smelling the wind for what’s to come.

His eyes flick to the side to catch a glimpse of her as she comes to stand next to him, arms crossed over her waist to brace against the chill, and he extends a hand to invite her to stand closer. She does, and she is instantly met with the radiating warmth of Jack’s feverish body temperature as he pulls her into his side; he rubs a hand along her upper arm in soothing arcs, and the heat of his touch comforts her.

“Beaver moon?”

When he’s distant, lost to her, she’s found that pressing him with innocuous questions can help draw him out. An easy opportunity to explain something can warm him back up to talking, and one hapless conversation may branch into a more expository one, and she hopes that getting him to talk about this will help him talk about that. It’s on the horizon, and, presumably, the driving force behind his shift in mood.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “November’s moon. That’s what they called it in, eh, the Farmer’s Almanac.”

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, gaze returning to the skies, and she watches his face as his eyes wander farther and farther away. His thumb creates slow circles on her elbow as he holds her close, and when he does speak again, he mumbles.

“They re-named all the moons of the year. Borrowed--” --he says the word with some sourness-- “--From the people already here. Made up new names for old things. I remember when they started. But there are names, real ones, that people do use.”

Jack turns to look back at her, and she can see something dark hiding in his bright eyes. She knows the expression that has come to linger all too well, from the severity of the lines between his eyebrows to the way he pulls his lips taut, chewing the inside of his cheek. The crease over the bridge of his nose gets more pronounced, and the darkness under his eyes brings a haggard weight to his gaze. A hardness of muscle, a thinness of blood, a lack of color. He’s afraid of something. She feels the knot of fear growing in her belly, too.

She should be used to it, by now. Sometimes, she feels like she is. But every month, like clockwork, when the atmosphere will become tense, Jack’s anxieties become her own, no matter how much she tries to assuage them.

“This month’s a total lunar eclipse,” he adds.

“A blood moon.”

Jack never tells her exactly where it is he goes, and he insists that she doesn’t tell him where she’s planning to go, either.

“Just make it deep into the city,” he reminds her. “The deeper you go, the harder it will be for me to get there.”

“Jack, you wouldn’t--”

He puts a hand up, firmly halting the conversation, and finishes putting the last of his clothes in the duffel bag. As he zips it up, he glances at her and sees the hurt in her face, a downcast expression coming over his own. They’ve had this conversation before, but repetition it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m sorry, bebé. I know. But… we can’t risk it.”

Jack rounds the edge of the bed to come to her side, cupping her face in his hands. Regret and longing shadow him as he pets her cheeks, and she doesn’t like the way he’s studying her face; she’s afraid he’s looking at her for what he believes to be the last time. They’ve done this before, dozens of times, so why does this one feel so different? Shaking off the thoughts, she steels herself and holds his hand to her face, meeting his eyes.

“We have our systems,” she reminds him. “You’ll be alright. You’ll come back, all in one big, hairy piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at that. She can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh or if he’s just uncomfortable, but whatever the reality, it doesn’t seem that her attempt at a joke broke much of the tension in him at all. Damn.

Instead of replying, Jack pauses, then bends forward and kisses her on the crest of her hairline. As his lips warm her, he draws in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes faltering shut as he takes in her scent. He inhales so deeply that she feels a few of her hairs lift off her head; it tickles, and she can’t help the small bubble of noise that escapes her. After a long moment of him standing completely still, nose pressed to her scalp, she feels Jack shift, turning to rapidly kiss every inch of her face.

“I,” he mumbles, kissing her temple, “love,” a kiss to her nose, “you,” a kiss to her cupid’s bow, “so,” now one on the corner of her jaw, “much.”

He plants another dozen across her cheeks and chin and ears and hair, until she’s certain he’s gotten each individual centimeter of surface area her face has, and then pulls back, hands remaining cupped around her face and keeping her in his view as long as possible.

“I will come back to you.” His voice is low, tired. But the promise is powerful. “And we will be alright.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s only one night,” shrugs Jack, trying to seem blasé. “You might like the break from me. Get a little ‘you’ time in. Watch something you know I’d hate. Eat something with mushrooms.”

“Sounds fun.” It comes out more mournful than she meant for it to.

Out in the yard, branches snap: the cue. Jack frowns, the lines of his face deeper than ever and she thinks, in that moment, that all the hundreds of years have abruptly caught up to him. Wordless, he sighs, presses his nose to her cheek, and gives her one last, long kiss, savoring the plushness of her lips and the scent of her skin, before pulling away.

He grabs his bag off the bed and then takes her hand, the two of them walking in tandem through the house until they reach the back door, where Jack opens it and sees Ted squatting in the bushes. The massive creature waves sweetly at the two of them, and she waves back.

“Take care of my husband,” she smiles. Ted nods his tentacled head.

Jack hesitates in the doorway. The hand that grasps hers guides their encircled fingers to her belly, and he lets go of her with a trail of his fingers across it. His eyes hold there before he scratches at one ear, surprisingly aggressive, and breaks himself from his reverie.

“I end up having to take care of him, you know,” grumbles Jack, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

Ted makes an elephantine grunt and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Ay, I’m coming, man.”

Finally, Jack takes the step to go. He walks across the yard, towards the treeline that leads into the forest, where Ted holds open a gap in the bushes. As he crosses the barrier into the woods, Jack looks back at his wife, and the two of them do their best to be the one to look away first.

It’s only one night.

She breaks first, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, and when she manages to clear her throat and look back up, both men are long gone.

Paying in cash at the hotel is always extremely embarrassing.

Jack insists, every month, that cards can’t be used-- “They leave a paper trail, querida,” he admonishes-- so he gives her a massive pile of bills to use at her discretion for the night. It always garners looks.

The concierge had raised both eyebrows and quirked his lips to the side before remembering his job and her presence, penitently smiling at her as he counted out the hundreds for the room, and she’d stood at the counter in a haze of discomfort while he made the key card.

She wonders idly if this one would spread rumors of a “lady of the night” or a “woman on the run” in the break room to his coworkers, then continues unpacking her toiletries on the bathroom counter, dismissive. It doesn’t really matter what he says so long as he and all the other people in this city make enough noise and light and stench to keep the wolf at bay.

That was the hope Jack had each month, sending her into the city: the hope that the chaos of human civilization would scare the wolf away from wherever she might be. That their secrecy would keep any memories, even subconscious, out of the wolf’s mind. That he wouldn’t know where to find her, even if he did hunt for her. That was the system.

So far, it has worked.

She does her best to whittle down the hours as sunset begins. Television, phone scrolling, reading, folding and unfolding her clothes for the night and following morning. None of it sufficiently puts to rest the images in her mind; Jack, locked in a cage somewhere, waiting for the agony to begin. Jack, alone. Jack, transformed.

Getting up from the edge of the bed, she moves to sit in the stiff, polyester-upholstered armchair by the window and stares out at the skyline. The city seems to be burning to the ground as the sun sinks between the skyscrapers and streets, dipping lower and lower into the horizon, before being extinguished as moonrise begins. Blue-black night stretches over the land, and thousands of streetlights and windows and signs flare to life, filling the darkness, pushing it back.

The room is too quiet, even with the television running for background noise. She fidgets with a loose thread on the arm of the chair as her stomach churns. She can’t stop thinking about Jack, and how his attitude had been so foreign; he was always withdrawn and anxious before the full moon, but he’d seemed more frightened than usual this time. Her gut contorts when she thinks to herself that he may have been giving her a goodbye, somehow, as if this was the end of something, and all of a sudden--

She bolts up from the chair so violently it rocks over, and rushes to the bathroom, collapsing on her knees in front of the toilet.

“For the love of God,” she moans, voice echoing in the now-full bowl. “Really?”

Nobody answers, but she stands on shaking legs and wipes her mouth with a tissue, flushing the whole affair down the toilet as she brushes her teeth and tongue forcefully. When she’s done, she kicks at the wastebasket in the bathroom and glares at her stomach as it makes a loud, wet growl.

“Seriously? Now you’re hungry?”

The sudden pang, both of pain and hunger, shoots through her and she narrows her eyes further, sighing in frustration and moving to get her coat.

Jack normally instructs her that once the moon is up, she cannot leave wherever it is that she’s hiding. Staying behind doors and walls and out of the open air creates interference, he says, and that interference is key to keeping the beast confused. “If he can’t smell you, he can’t find you.”

Well, wherever he is, she reasons to herself, he’s not going to smell her deep in the heart of the city, much less in the few minutes it will take her to get from her room to the nearby pizza place. The jacket is shrugged on and she opens the suite door, a cold thrill running through her as she breaks one of the rules of the full moon. So much for the system.

She breaks it further still as she leaves the hotel lobby and ambles into the restaurant a block westward, gazing at the menu blearily before ordering two slices: one of her standard order, the second a surprising combination of mushrooms, peppers and pineapple that makes the man behind the counter scoff as he jots it down on the pad. Another fistful of loose bills is tendered, this time to no surprise.

She takes a bite her familiar pizza, first, sitting at a sticky plastic table in the far corner of the restaurant, closer to where the cooking is happening. She figures that if she’s going to break the rules, she might as well balance it out by doing them safely by masking herself in the hot, smelly din of the kitchen. The pizza is a warm meal on an empty stomach, so it tastes better than usual, and she scarfs the first piece down quickly before turning her attention to this new order.

The mushrooms had originally been a little joke-- as one of Jack’s least favorite foods, they seldom turned up in any meals they shared, so she would order them when he was away-- but the other toppings had been ordered on impulse, all of them individually hungered for. Pineapple for its tart sweetness, peppers for their verdant crunch, mushrooms for their earthy meatiness; she piles a massive amount of the tinned parmesan cheese atop her slice and dives in ravenously.

It is a little strange at first, she admits, but scratches an itch she doesn’t quite understand, and she soon finds herself chewing through the crust, the piece decimated and digested. She marvels at herself for housing it that fast and wonders if she might have forgotten to eat earlier today, lost in all the stress of Jack’s departure. Not quite satiated by both pieces, she returns to the counter, orders another slice of the mixed-topping pizza, and takes it to go.

She walks out the front door with the piece in hand, clutched in a slightly oily napkin, and begins to walk through the cold streets of the city, watching through windows as businesses shutter for the night and families turn out the lights in bedrooms and dens. The world is getting ready to sleep, and she feels restless.

Midway across the street that would take her onto the block her hotel sits on, she decides that she can’t go back to the room right now. The stillness is too intimidating, too constricting. She knows that if she locks herself in that suite, she’ll sit, motionless, on the edge of the bed, cycling through the same thoughts that had led her here, making herself sicker and sicker. The mere idea of being in that sterile, dimly home-like room sends a clench through her abdomen, so she chooses to keep breaking the rules.

She takes a left and crosses another street, meandering into the city park that spans multiple blocks. She’d seen it coming in towards the hotel, and knows where the hotel sits in position to it, so she won’t get lost, she figures, passing through the low gates of the park and following the paved paths past a bed of trees and unpetaled rose bushes.

The grass underfoot crunches dryly, almost entirely dead, as she works on her piece of pizza and wanders aimlessly through the park. Now that she’s had about two and a third of these large slices, she’s beginning to feel full, and the remaining two-thirds slice in her hand is becoming less and less appetizing as it gets colder and she thinks more on her worries. She doesn’t want to vomit again, so she decides to give herself a break from it and moves to sit on an empty bench overlooking a glass-smooth pond.

It’s a calming sight: the park is entirely empty, the water features all turned off, and all that she can hear is the wind through the trees and the distant sound of traffic, muffled by the foliage. The night sky is dim, starless thanks to the city’s light pollution, but the moon, enormous and luminous, cuts through the darkness, viciously bright. It glows orange-red, the penumbra of the earth edging in; the blood moon.

She thinks of him as she stares at the moon, mindlessly picking at the food in her hands. The wind gusts a cluster of leaves down from the tree tops and they rain down onto the surface of the pond, sending ripples flowing across the water, reflecting red moonlight in arcs and waves. Somewhere, a dead limb cracks off a tree and falls to the earth with a heavy thud, and she jumps a little, nails digging into the mushroom she’d peeled off the pizza and was ripping apart on the napkin.

It occurs to her, now, that she is a woman alone in a major city, in a park, at night. She checks her surroundings carefully, noting no sign of other people, and tries to remember which way the hotel is; after a moment’s consideration, she decides that it’s to her right and that she’ll follow the path out to the nearest street, which she should be able to cross and get back to the hotel via.

As she begins to stand, another crack issues through the silence of the park, this one less heavy but nearer than the first. It sounded more like something crunching through shrubbery, something with enough mass to disturb leaves and snap branches. Human? Animal? She isn’t sure; do coyotes come this far into the city? She’d heard that they sometimes wandered the suburbs, attacking dogs; now isn’t the time to remember things about coyotes, she thinks. Now is the time to move. Her heart is pounding, dread setting in around her, and she moves as quietly as she can towards the path that leads right, staring at the space she thinks the sound came from. Unfortunately, it works: she sees what she’s looking for.

In the light of the red moon, she sees it.

Something massive, much bigger than any coyote could ever hope to be, rises from a span of bushes a few yards away from the bench, hunkered low but coming up taller and taller and taller. Every inch it rises is another dagger in her heart, her ears slamming with the sound of her blood, and if she had half a wit left in her, she’d scream: scream until whatever it was went deaf, scream until all the city knew where she was, scream until her throat bled. But all she can do is stumble backward, unable to take her eyes off the indistinct thing in the darkness, her body begging her to move back, into the light, into the safety of numbers, into anywhere but here, as everything else shuts down.

She keeps taking rapid, wobbling steps back, faster and faster, eyes transfixed, as the shape pushes out from the bushes and begins moving across the grass, shadowed and faster than anything she’s ever seen before. It races at her as she tries to turn around and run, and she begins scrambling up the path when whatever it is lets out an inhuman screech that crescendoes into an unearthly howl, so loud it rings her ears and makes her start dry-sobbing, trying, still, to run.

Before she can get anywhere close to the edge of the path, the creature is behind her, arms around her chest, yanking her backward into the night, and she finally manages to let out a belting scream before--

She is laying on her back, in the grass, at the side of the pond, and the thing is over her, staring down. Her body is pinned under the creature, with its knees on either side of her abdomen, one of its hands under the backside of her head and the other supporting the small of her back. The arms holding her still must be enormously strong, as she feels that her weight is not resting against the earth, but rather solely in the grasp of the beast.

It tilts its head from side to side as it inspects her closely, and she takes advantage of the moment to do the same. In the full, bright light of the moon, it’s much easier to see what exactly this thing is; it’s certainly humanoid, to be sure. Wide shoulders covered in a dense pelt of fur block out the sky behind it, and its bare chest is similarly hairy, tapering into a manlike waist. It’s all bare, actually, excepting a shredded pair of sweatpants that fit tightly against the creature’s lean legs and that are torn below the knee, making room for its massive calves. The hair seems to be densest around the thing’s face and neck, where it splays out in a dark mane, backlit by the moon to create a halo of red-brown tendrils that shift with every breeze. Its nose is long, flared into a wide, brown snout that clefts into two distinct curves of cartilage; every breath drawn through it rankles its top lip, curling it into a snarl. Twin sets of razor-sharp incisors glint wetly in the light, framed by lips that hang open as it breathes, hard, through its mouth.

Most noticeable, however, are its eyes.

They glow from underneath massive eyebrows, peering at her through the darkness, twin sparks of the aurora borealis. Green. They’re green.

Her own eyes swim with tears and her throat closes up, unable to make any sound but little sore gulps, and the creature bends down to rub its canine nose against her jaw, whimpering in the back of its throat sympathetically.

No, she corrects, not its: his. She would know him anywhere.

Jack pushes his face along the underside of her chin, whining into her neck, and uses the hand cradling her head to push her into the crook of his, rubbing her in. At first, the action confuses her, and she rankles her nose at the strong scent of his sweat against his damp, musky fur, but it dawns on her that the smell is, in fact, the purpose of the gesture: he needs her to smell him as he is smelling her. The wolf wants her to know that she is with her mate, and believes the scent is key to convincing her. She settles for winding her fingers into the matted span hair that covers his back and shoulders and crying, equal parts relieved and frightened, into his pelt.

She shakes and sobs as the wolf presses her to his chest, and Jack lets out pained, short barks, baying and howling pityingly. He pushes her as close to his skin as he can get her, and his skin is so hot it burns her cheeks, already sore from crying; if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was on death’s door with a fatal fever. As her breathing starts to lull and the sobs mellow into hiccups, Jack shifts her weight closer to him, rising to his feet with her in his arms.

The shock sends her scrambling in his hold, gripping onto his shoulders and yelping in fright. Jack lets out a huff and bumps his nose against her temple, a silent attempt to calm her, and he begins moving back towards the trees, seeming intent on going deeper into the park. Tentatively, she puts a hand on his chest and pushes, and he stops, head jerking back in confusion. She watches his huge eyebrows knit together and he bares his teeth; it’s not a threat, but a question, his familiar eyes searching her face for an explanation.

“Jack, we have to get you out of here,” she rasps. “You’re not safe in the city.”

If he understands, he doesn’t show it; Jack decides to keep walking toward the trees, and she has to push again to get him to stop. This time, he lets out a growl, his hold on her tightening, but he does relent and holds still, waiting in the shadow of a tree.

“Where’s Ted? Why aren’t you in your…”

Her voice trails off as she realizes she doesn’t know what to ask, and that even if she did, Jack probably isn’t capable of responding. He cocks his head at her and frowns, again pushing his nose into the side of her face and nuzzling against her skin, and she melts under his touch. For as long as she’s known him, Jack has been firm with her that this part of himself is too hideous, too deadly for her to see, but, now, all she can see is her husband, vulnerable despite the power of his transformation.

She takes a moment to do some mental math, weighing her options. She can’t let Jack out of her sight for the rest of the night, that much she knows, but how she’ll get him to safety is the truly unknown element. Getting back to their house wouldn’t be entirely feasible, as she’d taken a taxi to get here, and getting him back to wherever he chose to hide during his transformations was out, since she both did not know where it was and knew that wherever it was, it was not in any condition to hold him: he’d gotten out, after all.

That left two options: try to sneak Jack out through the city on foot, or…

“Jack? Baby?”

His ears perk and he pulls his face out of her neck, head cocked like a dog listening for instructions. Jack’s pink tongue slips out and wets his lips and teeth and he flashes her something that she tries to interpret as a smile, but that reads more closely to a grimace. It endears her all the same.

“You need to come with me, okay?”

Jack stirs with a groan, his eyes blurry and unfocused. Everything is scaldingly bright, burning his retinas, and he covers his face with a large hand, rubbing at his sore lids and wiping away the crust of a heavy, pained sleep.

“Morning, Puppy,” he hears.

Oh, still dreaming. That’s frustrating. Jack hates it when he dreams that she’s near, only to wake up alone. It’s like barreling headlong into a glass door. He rolls over on his side and throws an arm over his head, snarling through his teeth at the world.

Of course he’d have a dream like this after a night like that. Dream that she’s rubbing his back, dream that she’s pressing her lips to his hands, dream that her scent is wrapped all around him, filling the room.

He tries to burrow his face into the pillow and block out the light, only to find that his pillow is hot. Solid. Not at all fabric, but certainly plush. He growls in frustration, wondering if he fell asleep on top of a deer carcass again: that'd be hell to wash out of his hair. But the pillow smells like her… painfully so. He pushes his face in deep and moans in misery.

"Are you still hurting?"

"Yes," he says, voice rough and cracking. "Everything hurts. Miss you."

"...You miss me?"

Jack opens one eye and stares up at the fuzzy, dark shape hovering at the periphery of his vision. From a certain angle, and with just the right amount of blinked clarity, it does sort of look like her. He figures getting it all out of his system in a dream is as good an option as any, and he rubs his rough-stubbled cheek into his warm, rising and falling pillow, sighing.

"I hate being away from you, amorcita," he rumbles. "Makes me feel like complete shit. I already feel like shit, then I come out of it, and you're not there, and I become, uh, doubleshit."

"Doubleshit?"

"Mm."

"You're not doubleshit," she purrs. A hand strokes the exposed curve of his face and he tilts his chin to meet it; this is certainly one of his more indulgent dreams. Lusciously detailed. It'll be hell to wake up from. "You're alright, now."

Jack wrinkles his brow and scrunches both eyes tightly before reopening them, rolling on his pillow to face upward. His gaze clears and focuses: her face is now visible, looking down on him from above. He squints at her.

“...What are you doing?”

At his question she knits her brow and smiles, shaking her head in amused confusion.

She looks so beautiful that it takes Jack out of his mind and into a purely animal place: all he wants to do is stare at her, at the angles of her face, the slope of her nose, the curvature of her lips. He wants to ingrain this thought in the forefront of his mind and forget everything else; the pain in his body, the ravages of the night before, the wild haze of unclear memories. All that matters is this.

One of her delicate hands reaches down and scritches at his chin, right in his favorite spot, the one that always sends his leg twitching, and he’s too worn to hold back the relieved moan that issues out of him, his whole body oozing into languid comfort. His eyes flutter shut, and he revels in the sensation of her. Oh, she really knows how to get him.

When her nails catch on a rough patch of stubble that tugs a little, it occurs to Jack that he is not, in fact, dreaming. That accidental scrape of nails feels too organic to have been generated by his fuzzy mind; his eyes flash open, staring up at her.

She pulls back briefly, and Jack leans up, cocking his head. This is not a dream. She is there, sitting above him. His mind goes blank.

Jack pushes himself onto his elbows and looks around at his surroundings, bewildered, heart racing. This is not his safe room. These are not concrete walls. They’re wallpapered, with tacky, directionless paintings glued on. He’s laying on a completely destroyed mattress, body between her legs, instead of on the cold floor of his cell. He’d gotten out, somehow, and--

“Jack, baby, it’s okay,” she says, reaching around to wrap her arms about his chest and tug his back flush to her body. He trembles a little in her grasp, feeling her pressing reassuring kisses all along his face and shoulders, but the sound of her voice and the touch of her hands brings him back down to earth, bit by bit. “It’s just me. You’re alright. We made it through the night.”

“We…?”

“You… found me, remember?”

A low series of curses in a mixture of languages seep from his lips as he turns on the bed, taking her face in his hands. He paws at her, tugging clothes aside and pushing her limbs this way and that as he anxiously studies every inch of her, checking her face and body for wounds, bandages, scars: any sign that the wolf had harmed her. He’d gotten loose? And, worse yet, he’d managed to get to wherever she was?

“Did I--”

“You didn’t hurt me, Jack,” she reprimands. His eyes rise up to hers; her gaze is firm, unyielding in its promise. “You were looking for me.”

“I… I don’t know how I got out,” he admits, stroking one of her cheeks. “I’ve never done that, before.”

“Well, it’s certainly a first, but… as far as I can tell, all you did was come to find me. I think you wanted to take me home, actually.”

He looks at the room. This is definitely not home.

“But I, uh, didn’t let that happen.”

Jack frowns. This just keeps getting more and more mystifying.

“You fought the wolf?,” he asks. When she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, he frowns even more deeply and presses further. “Then… what?”

“I just… asked you to follow me. I took you back to the hotel.”

“We’re at a hotel?!”

Reeling, Jack holds onto her shoulder for support and stares out at the room. Of course. Her hotel room. He recognizes all the telltale signs-- the chipped wooden furniture, the clunky black plastic amenities, the pale orange lighting-- but sees all of it in disarray. Claw marks line the overturned armchair by the window. Stuffing leaks out of the loveseat. All the sheets are shredded, the mattress beneath them carved with long, hard gouges. He thinks he sees bite marks on the legs of the writing desk.

The idea that the wolf was in a hotel room at all flummoxes Jack; that he could pass dozens, maybe even hundreds of opportunities to hunt, all sitting quietly in their little, individually-wrapped rooms seems impossible. Surely, he must have left a wake of destruction behind himself... right?

Jack peers down the entryway and notes that the front door of the suite is shut, with the desk chair shoved under the handle at such an angle that the door is, essentially, barricaded. He wonders if she put that there to keep others out, or to keep him in; either way, it seems to have worked. He can’t smell blood, nor decay, though there’s a minor tinge of stomach acid. She must have gotten sick rather recently, at least within the last hour, and Jack lets out a frustrated whimper at the idea of her being ill and his being unable to help her.

He collapses into her, pulling them both down onto the mattress, and exhaustedly moves his head to lay on her body. He isn’t even particularly conscious of his movements, just letting his instincts take over and guide him, and he ends up curled around her, his head firmly pressed into her belly, hands gripping her sides as she pets his hair to comfort him. Everything washes over him in a depleting wave, and he surrenders to her wholly, burrowing his face into her and kissing mindlessly into her tummy.

“This is actually how you slept for most of the night,” she remarks, playing with the patch of hair over his right ear. “Just like this.”

Her belly must have been the pillow he mistook for a deer carcass. If he wasn’t so drained, he might have been a little embarrassed by the error. It doesn’t matter, now. All that matters is getting her home, safe and sound, and making sure that none of this follows them back. Pay all this off. Get out without being seen. Find Ted. Repair and re-structure the safe room. The list keeps growing.

But he’ll straighten all of that out later. In the moment, Jack just wants to lay still and revel in her: it’s the first time he’s woken up from a transformation with her right there, by his side, and it fulfills some emptiness he had only dreamed of easing. She’s here. She’s holding him. He’s safe in her arms. What more could a man ask for?

His hand straggles up and he lays it next to his face on her tummy, tracing intricate patterns into the skin under her shirt. The texture of her skin is so familiar and grounding that he nearly is lulled back to sleep, his eyes drifting shut, palm splayed across her belly, but he manages to fight through and stir himself awake, blinking heavily up at her.

“You’re incredible,” he manages. “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re, you know, just… I love you.”

He’s not quite aware of his words, more cognizant of the feelings behind them than of their actual structure, and relents: maybe he can’t express himself like that right now. Still too frazzled. Instead, he settles for leaning in, and presses a kiss deep and hard into the softness of her belly. She pets the hair at the nape of his neck, mumbling her response distantly.

“I didn’t really do much of anything, I don’t think,” she says. “I just asked. You listened.”

The idea of the wolf listening to anyone should surprise Jack. But instead, he blinks, pensive, and nods into her stomach; if ever there was a voice that could compel him, both halves, wholly and completely, it would be hers.

“And I love you, too. All of you, by the way.”

“I tore apart a mattress,” Jack moans. “You sure you love that part?”

She laughs, the sound softening every line in Jack’s face as he relaxes into her, and she rubs his shoulders with a doting firmness that makes his heart sing.

“I do, actually; it was kind of cute. I think you were just trying to make a bed pile for us.”

“Leave it to you to,” he mumbles, trailing off, “to find something cute in a werewolf.”

“‘S not my fault. You’re the one who’s a cute werewolf. I’m just an impartial observer, making a statement of fact.”

Jack doesn’t have nearly enough energy to play-argue with her, but he has enough that he manages to open his eyes and stare up at her. Something looks different about her, now: a glow to her features, not quite new, but more pronounced. He wonders if she’s just his guardian angel, come to care for him, and that what he’s seeing is her halo; that must be it. Her halo.

Her light outshines the moon; the wolf bays for her, now.

links to previous fics in this series:

cubs.

familia.

thank you for reading! comments and replies are always appreciated, and give me immense motivation to continue these stories! feel free to let me know what you thought and what you’d like to see next!

[phoebe-delia]

hello! 3 & 12 for the writer ask game <3

Hi lovely!! Thanks for this 💛💛💛

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

I mentioned this fic already, but that's more than okay because I will talk about it forever/as long as people will let me because it means the absolute world: "this is me trying," for SURE.

I wrote that fic at a time in my life when I was feeling really lost. I put so so much of myself into both Harry and Draco, their experiences, their struggles, everything. I wrote them a happy ending before I had my own, and now I do too. I also just think it has writing that I'm really proud of.

Have you ever read the Wayside School book series? Well, I did as a kid. And there was this one chapter, I think, of one of the books where it describes how the cook, Miss Mush, makes food for all the students. Basically, it said that the more people she had to cook for, the less quality her food had.

That was my worry; that writing a longer fic would mean that it wasn't as good. I'd written 7k fics that made me cringe, and microfics that made me proud, and I was concerned that I'd see that pattern repeat itself.

I was pleased to see that I was satisfied with the results, and I still am. There are still days that I worry that I'll never write something I like as much as that fic. but then I try to remember that I proved my doubts wrong before, and I can hopefully do it again.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

Sitting somewhere comfy, drinking something yummy, listening to music, and with no time pressure or other obligations where I can just write and write and write until my writing muscle is sore.

Also, a cozy booth in a diner where I can eat my food without disruption. (Not to harp on "this is me trying" but I wrote a good chunk of that fic in this 24 hr diner, to the point that I partially based the diner in that fic on the real one; combined with a fast food place I used to work at, but that's beside the point lol).

Thanks so much for the ask!! 💛💛💛

Send me a writing ask!

[theaspiringwanderess]

The West Coast Trail; A Vancouver Island Adventure Of A Lifetime

Packing: Food/Clothes/Essentials | Booking: Reservations/Transport | Research | Facts | My Story | Start | Days 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 | Chez Moniques | Nitinaht Crab Shack

The West Coast Trail is one of the most, if not the most, iconic Canadian west coast adventure a hiker could ask for. It is a 75km test of both physical and mental endurance in one of the most stunning environmental settings you have ever seen. Not everyone that sets out for this great journey completes it, but those that do have a tale to tell for a lifetime and a forever bond with those they meet along the way.

Having completed this epic trail twice now, my approach is to blend a little bit of old and new into a (hopefully) wondrous tail that offers context, wisdom and insight to the journey, while describing the magical things you will experience and the challenges you will face. I’ve also prepared additional posts for your reading pleasure on Packing: Food/Clothes/Essentials and Booking: Reservations/Transport. So please, grab a hot cup of tea, throw on those comfy pjs and sit back and enjoy the read. 

Handy References and Information Material

Every great hike starts with research, especially this one! If you haven't heard of it yet, look up the famed book Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker's Guide to the West Coast Trail by David Foster and Wayne Aitken. This awesomely 80′s comic styled guide adds a little light-hearted humour to a highly detailed account of the WCT which is revised roughly every couple years. It offers both trekking options (north to south AND south to north!) and gives you all the step by step nitty gritty deets in between including history, objects of interest, geological features and safety tips! I suggest taking it with you and read about the section ahead each night. Also, opt to keep it in a safe pack pocket, don’t put it in a plastic bag (I did this my first time and sadly lost my copy to the inescapable moisture and mold).

Check out the West Coast Trail Facebook Page! This page is not manned by Parks Canada. However, it is a great place to meet other hikers, find someone looking to ride share, ask questions and for advice, learn about recent developments and important information (washed out bridges, danger sections, wildlife sightings or concerns... even hear about annoyed hikers picking up others garbage...not kidding lol).

Oh! And there is also a Women’s West Coast Trail Page!

Parks Canada Website. Duh, right?! But you may not realize that Parks Canada has some handy info regarding what to pack (and what not to!), emergency items, wildlife warnings, necessary fees, maps, tide tables, tips and more to make your hike a happy one. Check out the Planning For WCT page here.

You'll also find online a plethora of websites, blogs and articles dedicated to WCT info, tips, advice, and more. I encourage you to read a few personal accounts to get a real life feel of what others experience. Here are some of my favourites (don’t let the names scare you!), plus a very cool and scholarly article from UofBC on the effects of colonial-style tourism in the area and on the local indigenous tribes written in 2020. Fascinating read.

Hike The WCT (website)

Walking the wild coast : territory, belonging, and tourism on the West Coast Trail (UofBC Open Collection)

Lost On The West Coast Trail

How Not To Die On The West Coast Trail

The Facts

The West Coast Trail is 75 km long. That's on the map and, best as I can figure, relatively "as the crow flies". It does not account for the extra steps, the ladders, the climbing, the crawling, the descending, etc, you get the picture. Both times I've gone my fitbit has read almost double or more the distance in 'real ground covered'. For example, when they say its 5km from the Gordon River Trail Head to Thrasher Cove, my fitbit in both cases recorded over 12 km when all was said and done. When they tell you it takes on average 5-6 hours to do that stretch, and you're only covering 1km or less an hour, this is why. You will chuckle in the orientation, as many have, and think, "ya, if you're a SNAIL!", but you will soon realize it’s about the terrain and that you're essentially doing double or more the physical effort to cross it. The same is true for nearly all the trail, even the "easy parts".

Safety First - the majority of accidents and injuries occur in the first 13 kms on the south side of the trail, from Gordon River at km 75, to Camper Bay at km 62. The trail accommodates just over 7500 people a year. Of that, Parks Canada evacuates roughly 80-100 injured persons annually and Nitinaht villagers have claimed to ferry out 100-200 additional hikers off the trail as well, due to injury, misery, etc. It won’t be a bear or cougar that takes you out, it’ll be the wilderness itself. A fall from a wet log or slimy stone is the most common culprit, and it may not even be the fall itself, but what you land on. Sharp rocks, jabbing sticks, etc all cause serious injury. And it always happens when you're TIRED. Don't push yourself. Take a break, have a snack, don't go farther in a day than your body can handle. Better to be a day late than waiting 24 hrs in the bush with no morphine and a broken leg for a boat ride that surely will be agonizing. Just sayin' here...

The WCT historically was maintained for shipwrecked mariners. Many have lost their lives along this trail. I don’t understand how it doesn’t have its own ghost story yet! It has an amazing history with lots of ship wreckage to see along the way if you time the tides right.

Lastly, the temperate rainforest that engulfs the WCT is not only stunning but globally very rare, encompassing less than 1% of ecosystems across the earth. Here you will see plants, trees and animals that may not exist anywhere else on our planet. The Sitka Spruce for example is among not only the tallest trees in the world, but also the oldest, some 700-1000 years old. This means they have seen North America as it was before European Settlers touched it. They are revered by many and highly sought after by loggers, which often leads to conflicts. Many extremely unique animals also reside in the WCT, like the islands' black bears which are actually larger than mainland black bears with massive skulls and only one unique colour phase. The island is also home to cougars, Victoria's famous mini-deer and sea-wolves, the only wolves in the world that have adapted to life on a coastline, they call the Pacific Coast home. With a completely unique diet of seafood they are genetically different from mainland wolves and have also been known to swim in the ocean for many kilometers.

My West Coast Trail Story

Now, before we begin, I'll preface this by saying, don't mistake me for a pro; I am simply someone who has made it off the WCT twice [relatively] safely and lived to share my tale. If you are looking for expert advice I'd say check out the Parks Canada website or the Blisters and Bliss book. But if you are looking for a heartwarming and informative, real life account of the experience, you've come to a great place.

I am now amongst a lucky few that have had the enormous privilege to have hiked the West Coast Trail not only once, but twice in my lifetime thus far. I say thus far because this trail has such a special place in my heart I expect at some point I will likely attempt it again. It changed my life and has had an everlasting impact on the lives of those around me. I learned a lot about myself and even more about those closest to me. What I am capable of, the importance of preparation and planning, the bonds you create with people you meet along the way and the love of those that support you going and take care of things while you're gone. I simply couldn’t have done this without the support of my amazing husband, friends, parents and sister and my wonderful sister in law whom we stayed with this time. But most importantly I missed the encouragement and support of my mother-in-law who lived on the island and sadly has passed since my first trip. She and her friends played such an instrumental role in my first journey with my sister, buying us foods, housing us, driving us, and just overall being so excited to see us off, I truly missed her this time but I know she was there with me in spirit.

In this way the West Coast Trail is a life-shaping experience like no other. You will learn much about yourself, be in awe and hopefully inspired by the incredible natural world around you and you will meet fellow Canadians and global trotters and, in turn, become a part of their WCT story. Let me be amongst the first to congratulate you on this epic endeavor and wish you the happiest, and safest, of journeys and hopefully I can send you off a bit more well prepared for the adventure.

First Timers VS Second Timers

My experience as a first time WCT hiker was extremely different from my second expedition in every way possible.

The first time I hiked the WCT I went with my youngest sister Jenna. We had both hiked and camped before but this was a new experience and everything was raw, a bit scary, amazing and beautiful all at once. I think it just hit us both like a ton of bricks when we landed at the base of that first ladder across the Gordon River. Although Sharon had talked to me for months, mentally preparing me for the hike, when Jenna and I both looked up at the rest of our start group scaling that first beast, looming up from the small beach landing, I know we both had the exact same thought, like, "oh shit, this is for real...".

Why the WCT? Sharon, my good friend and co-worker, had previously attempted it before turning me onto it. Due to an unfortunate incident with her hiking companion, they had to turn in the towel. She has since rocked it twice more and was an absolute wealth of information, support and the wisdom that only an experienced female hiker, mom and athlete can be. Much of what I am sharing with you today began with her. She continues to inspire me every day with her ferocity and determination and boundless want for adventure.

At the time of my first hike in 2016, my mother-in-law lived on Vancouver Island and she and her best friend Jill had kindly arranged for us to stay at another friend's cottage just outside Port Alberni. The friend and her husband fed us well and the beauty of the setting was unimaginable. But the anticipation of what lay ahead weighed heavily on both Jenna and I and neither of us barely slept a wink. The next morning we had our last hot shower and flush toilet experience for the next 7 days and the 4 of us set out for the Gordon River Trail Head.

We piled into Jill’s car the following morning. The ride was long, on gravel switch back logging roads, but the supportive company made the nervous anticipation bearable. I feel like I did not appreciate the ride as much as I should have at the time, but a few 5 am bus rides (and much experience) later, I certainly cherish the thought my mother-in-law and Jill had put into making the beginning special for us both.

Since then, I've booked my island hike transports with the West Coast Trail Express bus. The folks there are super helpful and the experience has always been a good one. In 2018, a WCT facebook group was created which has made connecting with others looking for ride shares and doing the trail much easier AND more informative! You can read about this page and other research options at the top of this post if you missed them ;)

When 2016 saw Jenna and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with an amazing surprise... Sharon and Jackie (another friend) had pre-purchased for me a WCT t-shirt. I cried, there were no words. When 2021 saw Krista and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with a sense of the familiarity of the adventure and vicariously enjoyed the wonder of someone else now experiencing the trail for the first time... READY?!.. and INHALE... can you smell it..? the Adventure?! It's like greeting an old friend again, for the first time.

It's Like Those Choose Your Own Adventure Books, Where You Pick Your Ending...

Remember those..? Maybe..? When Starting the WCT, you can plan to start at either entry point, Gordon River to the south or Pacheena Bay to the north, or now even halfway at Nitinaht. There are advantages to all, so it just depends what is most appealing to you. Most people do the trail within a 6-8 day time frame. This gives a good balance of time vs pack weight. I always try to plan for an extra emergency day, just in case. Things happen here... Long stays requires more provisions and a heavier pack. Shorter stays (in my personal opinion) are extremely challenging, unless you have done the trail before, are very skilled in lightweight packing and are an expert hiker. I still wouldn't recommend it. Plus, if you're going that fast, you're rushing by so much, what's the point? If you've paid and taken the time to be here, enjoy it! That being said, when Jenna and I did the trail we were treated to watching marathoner and athlete Jen Segger run it in one day. ONE DAY. She currently holds the women's record for WCT completion at 13 hrs 44mins (as posted here on her page under 2016). Of course she had no pack and support runners with her and a camera crew. But as she ran by us I think both our jaws dropped. It was like watching Super Woman run by you and you were just lucky if her sweat spayed you as she passed by. 

When you start out, keep in mind your pack is at it's heaviest. Starting at Pacheena Bay entry point means you'll be hiking the easiest parts of the trail first. You'll make excellent time here and cover the most distance over the shortest number of days. Although all areas of the trail offer exquisite and unique beauty, in my opinion the north end is the most magical. Maybe because by the time I reach it Im half delirious and most certainly exhausted so the easier hike is a much welcome break. Both times I've hiked the WCT I have opted to start at the southern trail head point known as Gordon River.

Starting at Gordon River means that you get through the most difficult terrain right at the beginning, when you're freshest, well rested and eager to set out. You also have the added benefit of anticipating the terrain getting easier (rather than harder). To me, this is the most logical approach and why I prefer this route and honestly, there is just something that seems slightly disillusioning about expecting something to get harder along the way. When Jenna and I first made it up that initial ladder we came across several groups finishing their hike. One in particular stuck out, a group of three female friends. We passed the first two who were happy and chatting and weirdly gave us a (mild) warning to disregard their companion, who was somewhere behind them. Ok... sure, we thought. Then along came the third girl... muttering, swearing under her breath, we contemplated what she might do to her companions if she caught up to them and we joked about how that likely was the end of that friendship. 2016 was a much busier year, pre-covid and all, and we met so many more people, Canadians, Germans, Chinese and Auzzies! 

2021 though is the year of the Canadians! If you happen to head out on the WCT this year, although you will still experience a wide range of people (Canada is an extraordinarily diverse nation!), rest assured most currently reside within Canada. Hello Homies! It was, however, a much more muted WCT experience than my past one. Although the Parks staff assured me they have had lots of people come through (I asked!), and the online bookings are sold out, it seemed so much quieter day to day. At the time Krista and I arrived, Parks staff were still only doing outdoor basic debriefing, prior to which we were expected to watch an online information video covering the basics. This was in stark contrast to the very in depth orientation Jenna and I had to attend back in 2016. 

Fellow Canadians, Tsk Tsk...

The biggest difference I noticed that could be as a result of the minimized debrief is the amount of garbage. There is NO garbage removal on the trail. Parks staff DO NOT haul garbage out (its a remote wilderness, do you really expect garbage men??). The WCT is accessible by foot (as in, you hike in... for 75 km) OR by boat, the latter being weather and safety dependant in extreme occasions (ie emergency evacuation). At each campsite we stayed, hikers THIS year (the trail was closed 2020) have left copious amounts of garbage. It’s in the bear bins, on the trail, the beach, in the outhouses... it’s EVERYWHERE. The worst by far was Camper Bay with stinking tuna cans and bags in every bear bin and Cribbs Creek, where the garbage pile extended to a massive bottle collection BEHIND the bear bin.

Why do sites have bear bins in the first place? Because human food and waste smells amazing to BEARS! So we lock it away to keep it, and us, safe. This does not mean a bear can’t smell it, it just means they can’t access it. Now, what happens when food rots and gets stinkier...? Of course it's more enticing. This draws bears, and other animals, to the campsite, which puts your safety, and the safety of each camper, at risk. I have to give Krista major kuudos here because that girl dug in deep, cleaned someone else's mess at each site we stopped at and even hauled out other people's stinky gross trash. Please give her a round of applause for thinking about you because she deserves it. And as Canadians, seriously, we can do better right??

Da' Debrief

Apologies, now that’s out, let's get on. During our debrief we learned some important key points.

2021 has seen unprecedented amounts of animal sightings and encounters. Primarily bear and cougar. There has also been more daytime sightings of wolves, which is considered extremely rare. With the trail closed in 2020, lack of human presence has caused a larger wildlife presence. Be aware, practice safety, travel in groups. Groups are also being asked to accommodate single hikers to reduce risk.

There is a lot of maintenance to be done that wasn't able to be accomplished in 2020 due to the pandemic. Be prepared for washed out boardwalks, bridges and rotten boards. There is also fewer Parks staff to help with this upkeep. Luckily, local members of indigenous tribes, called the Trail Guardians, historically help in a huge way with this and you may even run into them on the trail! We saw their team arrive in their new boat leaving Walbran and at Pacheena we spoke to a Parks staff who's uncle is on the team. It's a small world here.

Following the debrief, the Parks staff escort you to the Gordon River ferry. The fellow here takes you across and plops you down on the small sandy beach, gathers up any hikers waiting for a ride back and heads off on his way. And there you are, left to stare at a huge ladder, really, the first of many.

up, Up, UP You Go!

In 2016 Jenna and I patiently waited at the end of the line to be the last two up the ladder and I tackled the climb with my 50lb pack in tow (phew!). In 2021 Krista and I were the only two standing on the beach, me revelling in my 'barely there' 38lb pack. The trail was our oyster!

The trek from Gordon River to Thrasher Cove is the most challenging and physically demanding on the trail. We left on the 11:30 ferry and finally walked into Thrashers Cove at 5pm - Yes, it DOES take that long. You actually don't see many ladders, a few here and there, but best believe you are still climbing! You scramble up rock faces, you squeeze past trees, you choose your footing extremely carefully and all the while up, up, UP you GO! Even over rocks and hard ground the trail is fairly well worn and easy to follow... most of the time. A short while in you come to the first bridge over the first creek. I have stopped here both times to fill up water bottles, but beware, the scramble back up is more difficult than it looks this year due to the fallen trees. Mountain Goat level scuttling expertise is advised! Much further along, not far from Thrashers, you'll eventually comes across the famed Donkey Engine! This year you will find it to be directly in your path, where as in 2016 I’m quite sure we looked down on it somehow from a higher elevation. Either way, it’s epic and makes for an amazing photo op! To think that thing was hauled by beast and hand up that hill still blows my mind.

Along the way we met a very nice gentleman named Wilson who had intended to hike the WCT with his son. Unfortunately, due to a graduation re-scheduling mishap his son was unable to come, but Wilson decided to soldier on. He was incredibly happy, thoughtful and polite and asked if we minded if he tagged along as we hiked. He regaled us with tails of his trails, immigration to Canada, his wife and family and much more; he was a fascinating fellow! With the wildlife warnings this year, Parks staff request that no one hike alone, if you can, allow a solo hiker to tag along so everyone can stay safe. We graciously obliged and enjoyed his company and great conversation for a couple more days until we parted ways at Nitinaht comfort camping.

Thrasher's Cove is an amazing, but small, campsite. I recall vividly in 2016 the trail down to the beach being extremely treacherous, with steep and slippery embankments and so many ladders! By comparison our 2021 descent seemed like a cake-walk. Here I was, boasting to Krista the challenge that lay before her, but when we got there it was literally a quick hop and skip down. She found anything I said after that to be hard to believe and was convinced I was totally embellishing. It really made me realize how MUCH the trail changes and what dynamic metamorphosis must have occurred in 6 years! I also realized how hard Trail Guardians and Parks staff must work to maintain all this constantly worn out infrastructure. It must a BEAST. Be warned, if you arrive to Thrashers too late in the day it will be tough finding a spot. If this happens to you, check out the south side of the beach, sometimes there's a bit more space there. Ironically, I have set up my tent in the exact same spot both times, right in front of the tiny triangle cave around the rock wall on the south side of the beach. I have claimed this spot now.

Knock, Knock, It's The Ocean!

This is also where knowing how to read your tide tables is extremely important. While camping on the beach you must pitch your tent above the high tide line. The high tide line is where you can see the sand was last wet on the beach. It's not where the water is when you arrive. Look for the wet point on the sand and keep your tent a few good feet above that. When Jenna and I first arrived at Thrashers, I was confident in my tide table reading skills; being from Alberta, I took the time to learn how to read them in advance. But, during the orientation the Park staff had warned our group that our first night was due to be the highest high tide of the year - intimidating to a couple prairie girls! And, which is also a thing if you read up on the moon cycle! (Actually there is a lot of news this year on the effects of the moon's impending orbital wobble on tides, its a fascinating read if you're interested!). So, naturally a bit cautious and overly leery of the horror stories of campers waking up to soaked tents in the middle of the night, my poor sister was worried sick. Exhausted but too afraid to sleep, I promised her I'd stay up till high tide to make sure we were safe. She soon passed out and I settled in reading my book. But the surf was loud and near, a thundering, crashing rukus with each wave and about 2 hours in my sister jolted straight up in her sleeping bag, scaring the ba-geezus outta me crying out 'IS IT HERE?! IS THE OCEAN HERE YET?! ", big-eyed I just stared, then broke out laughing; I settled her back down, reassured her we were safe, now passed the time of concern, and wiggled down into my own sack to drift off. It's still an inside joke to this day and once in a while we chuckle to each other about the time the ocean came knocking.

2021 brought me its own surprise when at 4am I awoke to an unusual scratching noise against our tent next to my head. We had wrapped our rain covers around our [empty] backpacks and snugged them up against the tent to stay dry and save space. Apparently the local otter family found them fascinating and decided to check them out on their morning stroll. An alarm clock certainly fit for the WCT. 

It's A Beach Walk, Not A Cake Walk

Leaving Thrasher's Cove you have two options! You can take the beach route if you time the tides carefully OR you can take the inland route. In 2016 Jenna and I sojourned the inland route. Although the inland hike was pretty, if I'd found the trek down to Thrashers tough, the trek back up would've been classed insane. Sharon’s favourite saying is, what goes down must go up. In 2021 Krista and I timed the tide, leaving at 7:30am, to take the beach route. Although we'd planned to avoid what turned out to not be a bad climb, I'd really wanted to see the famous sea caves! The sea caves themselves were nothing short of AMAZING. There is just no other word. I was so in awe that in my mind they seem to take up almost 3 days of our trip, not just half an hour on the second day.

Although we'd planned to aim for Cullite Creek Campground day 2, we hit a major snag. As we traipsed along, well after the sea caves, we came to a rocky sea shelf that rose high out of the water. As you look up, you might catch a glimpse of some buoys, which commonly mark the beach access to the trail and campgrounds. Thinking this was our access back onto the trail, as you must go inland from here to Campers, we headed up along the higher shelf. We passed an unusual 'Danger' sign. We looked around, but could not identify anything that seemed out of the ordinary for where we were. We kept on. We came to a similar sign on the rock, but again, failed to see what was obviously dangerous. Wasps? Bear den? Surge Channel? There was no fallen bridge, no down ladder. Everything seemed ok. We reached the buoys, and Krista lifted her leg to step over a small trickle of a water... That's when it happened.

Danger on the Trail...

Before she could even complete her step, both feet flew out from beneath her and her whole body, pack and all, smashed onto the rock shelf. She began rocketing like a she was on a pro waterslide down the embankment towards a 9 foot drop into the water pool below. I had the wherewithal to shout out 'grab a rock!', and in the 3 seconds that seemed like 3 hours, I had the presence of mind to ponder how I might explain this to her mother back at home and 4 year old son if things went sideways... but with a 38lb pack on myself and being a few feet behind, there was no way I could move fast enough to do anything but yell.

Luckily, mid-slide, she managed to grab a handhold just long enough to stop and get some footing. Crisis averted, but the damage was done. Wearing shorts, she was sporting some nasty road rash on her cheek and arm, but most of the damage was buffered by the hoodie she'd had tied around her waist. She was bruised, but she was lucky.

Feeling pretty roughed up, we opted to stay at Camper Bay instead and rolled in about 1pm where we washed and treated her ailing buttocks and gave her some much needed pain meds. Along came a few more groups and we felt a bit less sheepish learning 2 of them had also had the exact same experience. Pride slightly less wounded, we made some new friends for the chatter and laid back and chilled for the afternoon. On your parks provided trail map, you will see a small note in red pointing to BA 'B' (beach access B) that warns about a dangerous slope just past the surge channels after Owen Point. It's not kidding.

If you stay at Camper Bay, it's a lovely and large campsite with lots of room for everyone. However, it has a habit of getting very windy, like all the time, and the only time it's not is when the sun goes down. If you're early enough, grab one of the sheltered tent spots in the woods/taller grass along the creek side. It also has a rep for early morning rain and fog. Something about the geography here seems to create its own micro-environment. If you walk out along the beach at low tide and cross the creek to the north, you'll see some neat tidal pools and caves in the rock wall. In the one with the small pool of water you might see a single lonely fish with the pool all to himself. I hope one day the tide washes him in friend.

Reminiscing...

Ironically, day 2 in 2016 was also the day I had a mishap of my own. Tired and worn down, toddling  after Jenna across a log bridge the width of my car, I misstepped. My feet were somehow gone and in a second I found myself sitting on my ass, straddling the log instead of walking on it. I peered down into the 6 foot drop below. Completely in disbelief I suddenly realized Jenna was yelling at me "Are you OK?!" ... Yes! I was! I was ok. Nothing was broken, hurt or otherwise. But it was a wake up call. If you are tired, take a break, don't push on or try to keep up with someone faster. Only hike as fast as your slowest hiker and be patient. Take a breath and remember, the goal is no one dies out here... hopefully.

Gone Are The Days Of Legendary Mud And Tilting Ladders That Make You Poop ... Just A Little

The few days that followed are a bit of a blur. There's so much to see and so little blog space to include it all! We left Campers Bay on a foggy, rain mist morning at about 10am. Since we had to take the inland trail there was no worry about racing the tide on this stretch. We chatted with the couple we met the night before (Mat and Lauren from Calgary!). Everyone was a bit tired that morning.

Although we saw some mud, with a historic heat wave just prior to our trip in 2021, the legendary mud pits that the WCT has typically been known for were non-existent. In 2016 Jenna and I spent most of our inland trail time figuring out how to cross mud-holes, watching where each other stepped and trying not to fall in up to our armpits (I kid you not). This time, there was no mud and if you disagree with me, go again after it rains. I dare you.

This is also the section where we saw the most ladders, most notably through Cullite Creek, which was sadly such a trickle there was no need for the cable car, we just rock hopped across (with ease). We saw some really cool art done along the trail by the Guardians in the new bridge and log cuttings, some even signed their names! Have you tried making a curve with a chainsaw? I was impressed.

This section also has a neat and unique stretch of boardwalk that goes through a fragile wetland. Sections of the boardwalk were out, it looks easy, don't let it fool you!

A brand-spank'in new suspension bridge calls Logan Creek home! In 2016 Jenna and I had to climb a harrowing series of crazy, half-tilted ladders to get to the bridge. I recall my favourite as being the third ladder in a tower, that was so amazingly on a 10 degree angle sideways, and scaling it with my 50lb backpack. It was all I could do not to roll off and meet a perilous end at the bottom of the gully. Today the beautiful new bridge almost disappointed with the ease it took to cross it. NO more ladder climbing, you just walk up the stairs and off you go!

We arrived in Walbran Campsite at 5:30, the creek is perfect for swimming if it’s warm enough. Several groups had a run-in here with a couple breaking the fire ban policy. People on the WCT take this seriously, keep in mind if you start a forest fire here, there’s no where to go and it puts the homes of indigenous peoples at severe risk too. We all simmered, had a tasty meal, chatted with our travel companions, explored the beach a bit and turned in for the night, thoroughly exhausted.

We spent the next two days going from Walbran Campsite to Cribbs and then to Tsuisiat Falls. Due to a problematic and confrontational cougar in 2021 there is no camping permitted along the trail between kilometer 34 to 38. So, naturally, your last stop prior to Nitinaht Narrows is Cribbs Creek.

The Stretch from Walbran to Cribbs is basically all beach walk. The beach is lovely, but don’t let 'beach walk' fool you. It’s just as challenging to walk in sand as it is through forest... and you thought it was going to be easier, didn’t you?! It's like walking through snow without snowshoes and being 30lbs heavier...what a Canadian thought. But! Fear Not! along this stretch is also the famed Chez Moniques burger stop and the Carmanah Lighthouse! The lighthouses are closed to the public this year due to covid, but it’s still a sight to behold as it beams brightly through the fog.

The Legend That Is Chez Moniques

In 2016 Jenna and I made a critical, but common, food planning error. We packed meals based on what we felt was healthy and would give us energy, without accounting for taste. In other words, we packed a lot of dry lentil-based meals that tasted awful and took forever to cook and I couldn't have forced down my throat if you had paid me. I love beans, but dried lentils on the trail... yech! You can read more about our cautionary tale in my food section, and if you're uncertain about foods to pack, it’s worth the read!

So, sufficed to say, that year we had the absolute pleasure of experiencing Chez Moniques in it's prime. It was incredible. Here we were, in the middle of nowhere, exhausted, starving (I was anyway lol), and run off our feet. And out of nowhere arose this mirage of a tent with burgers, fancy meals, peach ciders and more! My god it was intense. We kicked off our boots, stuffed our faces, chatted with Monique, the legend herself, and I protectively cradled the best Okanagan Cider that had ever touched my lips while we waited for the tide to recede. It was magical.

Sadly, between 2017-2018 both Monique and her husband tragically passed away. It was a blow felt around the world by all those who had passed through their doors and experienced their generosity. There is a lovely documentary attributed to their memory here. Today, in 2021, following a devastating 2020 with no business, Monique & Peter's grand-daughter, Katrina Knighton is trying to carry on the dream though the restaurant will be renamed as Nytom. We heard lots of chatter and some hikers did actually see her in person, but unfortunately there are some struggles, including keeping up supply levels, which they are walking in for 1.5 hours (!). We missed them this year, as did many hikers, and I was so sad Krista would not experience it. But! They are rumoured to have services most often morning and around 5pm. Katrina is also very active on the WCT Facebook page, so feel free to drop her a line there for more info!

We arrived in Cribbs Creek at about 2:30pm. It was the end of our Day 4 and what a campsite it was. Lovely soft sand under your toes and beautiful beach. There is nothing here for swimming but we had the most amazing sunset view on the rock shelf that night. Although it didn't rain while we were on the trail, this was the first time we'd seen the sun since we left Victoria.

The Magical Beauty Of Nitinaht And  The Crab Shack Of Your Dreams

We left Cribbs Creek about 9am and stuck to mostly inland trail. Other hikers going the opposite way had warned it was very overgrown but we honestly had no problems with it; it was a little underused, but keep in mind they hadn't seen the south side yet. We made excellent time and arrived in Nitinaht Narrows at 1:09pm. The journey is absolutely stunning. There is a new bridge over the creek at Dare Beach and the forest walk is lovely. The bridge over the Cheewhat River offers great views also. You cannot take water from the river itself but after the bridge there is a freshwater stream marked by a wooden sign if you need it and soon you will come across an old Cabin. When you arrive here, turn around and see the new and amazing Ditidaht home across the river. It has changed a bit, likely with the drought, but in 2016 Jenna and I referred to this stretch as "the place that Disney films are based on". Ivy clung all the way up the trees and just as you wrapped your head around that, the trail winds it's way through a silent coniferous forest where you could almost hear a pin drop, followed by a magical wetland lake with flowering lilly pads the size of your head. But none of this compares to Nitinaht Narrows.

As you walk along the trail, just a few short minutes past the lake, the path will turn from boardwalk to dirt and as you round the bend you will suddenly walk, with no warning, right into Nitinaht! It has caught me by surprise each time. We strolled down the walkways to the dock, left our packs safely on the bench and made our way to the Crab Shack. The blue-green waters of Nitinaht Narrows is something to behold. When you peer over the side of the wharf you see schools of small fish so thick you could almost surely touch them. When I dream of paradise, I dream of here.

Nitinaht Narrows was only recently made an 'official' entry and exit point by Parks Canada in 2014, you can read more about it here. But prior to this, older community members witnessed the inception and rise of the WCT as we know it today and watched it grow. Ferrying hikers across the narrows has become a task handed down from generation to generation. Connected to the ocean, it has tides about 10 minutes apart and historically, many years ago, hikers did drown trying to swim across before getting swept out to sea, naively misjudging the calm-looking waters. About 3 kms past the narrows, the Ditidaht band offers comfort camping options to those looking to settle and day hike the trail or in need of a break from the grind. This is marked with a sign and you will see it on the trail. The crab shack itself has also recently built new cabins as well which start from roughly $100/night (houses 4 bodies and you use your own sleeping bag) and goes up to ($200 and $300) where bedding is provided. They also offer tent platforms for a modest $30/night fee.

The Nitinaht Crab Shack is owned and operated by the Edgar family. They are kind, light-hearted, hospitable and will make you the best meal you have ever had. They work extremely hard and have a great sense of humour. A family member told me the previous day they had served a group of 20 lunch all at the same time! Hippie-Doug was their ring leader that day and he manned the ferry, that took us across the narrows to complete our journey, along with a sweet old chocolate lab you will see in many a hikers' photos. If you catch him at a slow moment he might share a joke and and story with you. But don't leave until you have warmed yourself thoroughly by the wood stove, had the best meal this side of Canada and picked up some treats for the road. The ferry finishes for the day at 4:30pm and then Hippie-Doug settles in for a much deserved break, a meal, and maybe a drink, so don't be late!

Tsu-Tsu-Tsusiat!

We left the warming comfort of the Nitinaht stove at about 3pm and headed on our way. We saw our new friend and traveling tag-along Wilson off at the Ditidaht Comfort Camping site and continued on, arriving at Tsusiat Falls by 6:30pm. You can't see the falls from the beach, but if you reach the hole in the wall at Tsusiat Point, you're just minutes away.

In 2016, the first 5 days of our hike Jenna and I had the most amazing weather. On our 5th day, after the crab shack, while the sun beamed a balmy 25+ C, we ditched our packs on a slope of sand with gentler waters between Nitinaht and Tsusiat Point and ran into the ocean up to our knees, jumping the waves and being astonished at their strength. We laid on the beach afterwards and soaked in the sun. When I think of my little sister, I often think of this carefree day and smile. Enjoy the journey as you go, or you’ll miss the best parts.

Tsusiat Falls is a popular campground. When we arrived the beach was packed. According to 2021 Parks regs, you can only stay one night here to minimize environmental impact. The beach was very different from what I remembered, but the falls were ever glorious. We threw on bathing suites and while Krista enjoyed the brief sun, I took a dip in the beckoning water.

The next morning, with Krista not feeling hot, I'd aimed to get up early and walk back to the Hole In The Wall with my Nikon DSLR camera. When we passed by the day before it was high tide and the Hole was under sea water. However, after a delay, Krista decided to come with me. We packed up, left our bags at Tsusiat and strolled back to the hole together, and a better decision it was. I’d watched a group ahead of us pass through an hour ago, but beneath their tracks you could make out a fresh set of cougar prints. Since low tide was at 10am that morning, that means the tracks were very recent and could only have been made since the water receded. Food for thought.

Darling Bears You Might Be Cute, But I Don't Want To Snuggle

The last 2 days on the WCT (or your first two, depending where you start) are the easiest to hike and where you make up the most ground. We'd intended to land at Darling River Campsite (approx km 14), which from Tsusiat (approx km 25) would make it about an 11 km day. Most of our fellow travellers whom we had become familiar with were aiming for Michigan Creek though, which would add 2 km to our 6th day, but save us that on our 7th and final day out. We decided to see what the day held and if we arrived at Darling early we might continue on. WELL.... what the day held was not entirely what we expected.

In 2016 Jenna and I walked the beach hike between Tsocowis Creek and Michigan Creek. It had started to rain the night before and by morning was a light, but steady, downpour. We donned our rain gear but by noon, and halfway through our distance, it was clear that Jenna's rain jacket was not waterproof. Though she had tested it prior to leaving, it turned out not to be up to WCT-level rain. As we continued on poor Jenna got wetter and wetter and by the time we reached Michigan, she was soaked through to the bone. Water pooled in her boots, and she shivered so hard she couldn't help me with the tent. Realizing this could get worse quickly, I popped the tent, got her changed and snugged into her sleeping bag ASAP. Then I worked on adding a tarp. When the shivering stopped we got a warm meal into her and passed our time taking turns winding up our emergency radio and trying to maintain the faint signal from a long forgotten US talk station till darkness fell. It poured the entire next day as well for a total of over 24 hours straight and our photos at the Pacheena lighthouse are in plastic emergency ponchos.

In 2021 Krista and I opted for the inland trail as we'd previously made better time this way. There is lots to see here, another Donkey Engine and a rusty old grader, and I absolutely love the Billy Goat Bridge. The trail threw us for a bit at Tsocowis Creek, there, phantom branch-offs seemed to lead off and abruptly stop. You have to go down the ladders to continue the inland trail portion (OR access the beach). However, just passed Orange Juice Creek, it was quite clear this section of trail was not well used recently... by people anyway. It was eerily dark, overgrown and passed by what looked like long lost abandoned campsites in caves along the rock wall. As we passed by we heard something stir in the dim light, knocking over an old cup, and we nervously quickened our pace. We began to see pile after pile of fresh bear scat, some so fresh that by the time we reached Darling we figured we must be just behind it. Making a lot of noise we made our way to the beach and relief washed over us as we recognized people half a km ahead... our fellow Albertans, Mat and Lauren! But when they stopped suddenly and started to back up we knew something wasn't right.

Just ahead of them on the beach was our bear. And big guy he was! They figured a lone male. They managed to scare him off and once we caught up the 4 of us made our way as a group to Michigan Creek just down the beach where we figured there was relative safety in numbers.

Bitter Sweet Goodbyes

Our last day from Michigan to the Information Station at Pacheena was a super short one. We were the last hikers to leave Michigan at 8am and among the first ones (ironically) to reach the Parks office at 11:01am. The path is very well maintained and an easy hike. You'll also see a lot of day hikers here, many with dogs. Along the way are some cool sights you won't want to miss, so don't be too quick to rush out. The abandoned dirt bike isn't going anywhere fast anymore, but be sure to check out the sea lion rock just passed km 10. You may even hear them from the trail! Just before the sea lions you'll also pass by the Pacheena Lighthouse. Again, due to covid, you cant access the grounds but you can totally snap a quick pic! The area has so much bear activity Parks Staff joke about running 'bear daycare' here so be vigilant. Two wonderfully enthusiastic young ladies we met along the way carried an amazing tune; Im sure they must've charmed away any "would be" encounters.

In 2016 there was no km 1 sign on the trail and in 2021 there was still no km 1 sign lol. Both times I raced past km 2 and then later wished I'd taken a pic with it. You'll want it as proof! We walked the very last km along the beach, where firm sand makes for easy going. There were bear sightings of a mother and cubs here just before we arrived. We missed them, but were lucky enough to get some great foot-print photos. The very last bench you'll see on the trail is emblazoned with the word 'PARKS'. We sat here for an eternal minute and took some photos. As we strolled towards the Information station I couldn't believe it was over again so quickly.

Looking back, even after time number two, it feels more like a dream. The first time I walked off the trail in 2016 I eagerly anticipated a hot shower, was thoroughly disappointed at finding I had no quarters for to pay for one and I spent the 5 hour bus ride home starving and trying to sleep on a roller coaster. Perhaps not such a glorious end, but I realized I had achieved something few people would in their life time and of that I was SO proud of Jenna and myself. We did it.

When I arrived back at work Sharon had the most glorious little bouquet of flowers for me and she glued tiny cut out flags of all the major trail milestones to skewer sticks throughout. It brought tears to my eyes.... she told me this, "for a while, you will think to yourself, I am NEVER going back to that EVER again. And then, slowly, you will forget all the bad parts and the thought will creep in... maybe, perhaps, I might try it again... and you will find yourself looking it up once more". And she was right, I did. And I am so glad I did... I might even do it again.

[rajatarora]

One Working Day: Info Edge Edition

I have actually written this before! Back in 2015, when I was working with IVP and seemingly following the 11 AM to 8 PM shift, I had written an hour-wise account of how a typical workday used to progress for me.

A lot has changed since then. I haven't followed the 11 AM to 8 PM shift for quite a while now. Shortly after writing that post I found myself working from 1 PM to 10 PM instead, which stayed on until I left IVP in November 2018. Nowadays I work at Info Edge India Limited – where everyone follows the normal 9 AM to 6 PM shift.

Ostensibly, there has been a drastic change in my daily schedule, which is why I decided to redo the post for 2019. Here we go!

4:45 AM First alarm of the day. Bixby in my Note 9 proudly announces the weather and calendar events for the rest of the day. God do I resent her for that or what! I shut her off after the weather report, but before the calendar events (obviously!)

5:00 AM Second alarm of the day. No Bixby and her pretentious announcements this time. Just a simple ringer, which I also shut off after cursing it (almost) loudly.

5:15 AM I wake up. Send off my phone, my fitbit, and my kindle to their respective charging stations. After all, they need to eat as much as I do!

6:48 AM Finally ready for office, I dash off to the train station. (In case you're wondering... yes, I leave exactly at 6:48 AM)

7:04 AM Reach the train station after walking for about 1.75 km. Run towards the 7:08 train.

7:08 AM Settle down for the journey. Find a nice corner in the train (it's moderately empty at this hour), and engross in either reading a book, or writing a post. Sometimes both too, one after another!

8:14 AM De-board the train. Get into the bus. Read some more.

8:51 AM Sign in to the office. Make coffee to wake up properly. Set up the workspace, consisting of the laptop, the mouse, the keyboard, and the headphones.

9:10 AM Start coding like a maniac. Spotify on full blast.

11:00 AM Walk a perimeter of the office, and move on to the cafeteria for a cheese toast (or a corn salad).

11:30 AM Meeting time! Something or the other is invariably scheduled at this time. If yes, then browse Instagram during the meeting. If not, continue coding like a maniac.

1:30 PM Lunch. And another walk.

2:30 PM Headphones are back on. But now they don't get to be on for a long time. Second half of the day is when most of my meetings are scheduled. And no, no instagramming at this time :(

4:00 PM Chai, and code.

5:00 PM Get into the let's go home mode. Start finishing up work. Send any emails if needed. Schedule any meetings for next day if needed. Have more chai if needed!

5:50 PM Sign out, and get into the company bus. Out comes the kindle.

6:24 PM Reach the train station. Run towards the 6:32 train.

6:32 PM Sit down, and continue reading.

7:44 PM De-board the train. Walk 2500+ steps home.

8:05 PM At home. Watch YouTube videos about new hardware, or about anything else catching my fancy at that moment.

8:30 PM Writing time. Continue / give finishing touches to / edit the things written during morning commute.

9:30 PM Dinner. I'm starving by then.

9:45 PM Netflix. Watch a couple of episodes of a show I'm currently following.

10:30 Try to fight sleep. Realize that it's not worth it. Doze off into oblivion.

Rinse and repeat the next day. Phew!

In the beginning of the post I said that a lot has changed since then. But if you compare and contrast this with the one I wrote four years ago... not much has changed. Sure I wake up an hour earlier than usual (and get an hour's worth of sleep less each day), the core components of my day haven't changed. Walking, coffee, code, chai, reading, and writing still form a big part of my day. I'm already on the verge of finishing up my ninth book of 2019. I've been writing on the blog about once a week since the beginning of the year. I still can't start my day without coffee!

Our brain does a lot of things automatically. You repeat something for long enough and the brain constructs neural pathways to make that happen without you even thinking about it. So much so that if you don't do it every day you start feeling that something is missing from your life.

Anyway, I'm digressing at this point. All this talk about habits and neural pathways should go into a different post, on a different day. (I'm currently reading Atomic Habits by James Clear, so you can be sure that a post on these lines is coming!)

[eeejay-blog1]

Good morning world and all who inhabit it

Okay I’m about 24 hrs post op now and I think I feel a lot better than yesterday. My head still feels a Snorlax high on opium but I think I’m getting a little tolerant to the meds now, so I can actually form complete sentences and shit without laughing or falling asleep mid-word.

Well since I’m semi-coherent, let’s run a systems check:

HEAD: Hoo boy. Even through all these drugs, I can tell there’s a bitch of a headache trying to cut through. It feels like the times I’ve tried to kick caffeine, but instead of only hurting when i move around or look at something bright, it’s a constant searing. They’re finally moving my bed up from flat, going like 10 degrees every couple hours, so hopefully it’s just my brain adjusting back to equilibrium.

THROAT: I haven’t seen a breathing tube the entire time I’ve been here, but I can tell they used one on me for the op. How, you ask? Well it feels like I deep throated an eggplant made out of concrete. Don’t ask how I know what that feels like, it’s poetic. 

BACK: The incision itself isn’t unbearable, it’s a bit like one bee that keeps stinging. The issue is, occasionally it flares up, and instinctively I’m like “stop laying on it bruh that’s why it hurts” so I try and arch my back or scoot around. Then all the muscles above it and in my shoulders are like “you know what would be funny? spasming” and everything gets super tight, pulling on the stitches and generally feeling fucking awful. Also, I’ve slept the same exact way every night for 22 years up until now: on my left side, slightly curled up like fetal position, one arm under my pillow, knees not touching. I literally can’t fall asleep unless I’m in that position. Well, the drugs make it easier to sleep for sure, but I still want to turn the fuck over. My neck can’t handle this straight shit forever.

STOMACH: Give. Me. Some. Damn. Food. The nurses said they have to wait until I fart until I’m allowed to eat (is that honestly written in a medical textbook somewhere? or are they just fucking with me) which is absolute torture because Nan brought a whole tray of baked mac n cheese and a pizza from a local place back home and like my stomach can sense that they’re nearby. Furthermore, pre-op, with the help of a lot of fiber and a little bisacodyl, I usually shit once every couple days. Add all this oxycodone into the mix though, and I honestly have no idea how long it’ll take. If Nan’s food goes bad before I can eat it, I’ll consider suing for malpractice.

LEGS: This is the weird part. It’s like they want to move, but I don’t want them to. But I actually do. I don’t know. Okay, I can tell they’re there; there’s a lot of twitching, and bubbly and itchy sensations, and I wanna stand up and shake it all out, but when my brain sends the message to the muscles to move together, the volume’s turned down. So like, if I say “hey thighs, let’s pick this foot six inches off the bed” they reply “best i can do is one inch, anything beyond that is spasms”. Nurses say the PT is gonna start working on those once I’m sitting around 45 degrees.

SKIN: Ugh. Maybe it’s the steroids, or maybe it’s just laying in the same bed for a whole day, but I’m so oily I feel like a slug. I need a long ass shower and some moisturizer fucking ASAP

JOHNSON: Well, I can tell there’s a catheter in there. I can tell it feels like it’s waaaay too big a size. I can tell my bladder still has spasms every so often, even though it’s not getting full. Combine those 3 sensations, and just about every half hour my body’s like “oh yeah bud don’t forget there’s still all this bullshit stuck inside ya” and it feels like its trying to FORCE OUT THIS FULLY INFLATED BALLOON which is understandably absolute hell

Despite all of the above, I’m honestly not as anxious as I thought I’d be. Like, I have sensation everywhere as far as I can tell, and every muscle that I try to move at least responds a little bit, even if it’s just twitching more than at baseline. The only fears that haven’t been entirely put to rest are a) my bladder can empty sans-catheter b) my bowels are functional at all and c) my woody the woodpecker can still woodpeck. 

The doc came by again this morning (I feel bad, I think he’s literally been telling me the same things every time and I’ve just been forgetting so I ask the same questions) and essentially said it went as smooth as it could. The scar tissue had grown pretty far beyond where the old surgical site was, but they zapped as much as they could, made a much smaller hole than last time (essentially they took a little tube like a gauge for a pierced earlobe, and drilled it through my poor ol’ L4 vertebra, so the hole is only about 10mm) and closed it up with Goretech (Goretex? Gore something) so less will grow this time. A few “rootlets” from S2 level were caught up in the mess, but they hadn’t really bonded so much as they just twisted up, so he gives me his word that all they took out of me or zapped into nonexistence was scar tissue. All my nerves are still there, in the right order, and according to the electro-monitoring stuff they did during the op, there was at least some response when each one got stimulated, even though some had a very faint signal.

Well, that’s about as good of news as I can ask for at this point.

[robertkstone]

2019 Kia K900 First Test: Bargain Luxury, Tested

You can’t fake competence. Regardless of how soft the leather feels or how chauffeur-ready a back seat is, a luxury sedan must drive well. Without dynamic excellence, the sedan will feel more like a bucket of features than a genuine luxury sedan, leading some to question why they didn’t buy a pricier model from an established brand. After a year behind the wheel of a 420-hp 2015 Kia K900 V-8, I appreciated the car’s value but said it had potential. The new 2019 K900 attempts to realize that potential with a twin-turbo V-6 and standard all-wheel drive. We tested the Kia-badged luxury sedan and found the K900 manages to make more with less.

If the idea of a $64,895 Kia sedan disgusts instead of intrigues, enjoy your Mercedes. But before you lease an E 300 sedan or BMW 530i, sit in the Kia’s back seat. Nice, huh? Although the new K900 drives like a more convincing luxury car than the last-gen model, the large sedan’s most captivating feature remains its comfortable rear-seat accommodations. Impress your clients—or spoil your kids—with the loaded K900’s power-adjustable heated and ventilated rear seats. The K900 seeks to (again) reshape consumer perceptions about the Kia brand. No matter how good the car gets, it will never be enough for some buyers who want a little “I’ve made it” status with their luxury-sedan experience.

Everyone else can delight in the fact that the 2019 Kia K900 is both quicker and more efficient than its eight-cylinder predecessor. With 365 hp and 376 lb-ft of torque from a 3.3-liter twin-turbo V-6, the new 2019 K900’s only powerplant hurtles all 4,717 pounds to 60 mph in just 5.2 seconds. Despite such a hefty curb weight, that’s three- to four-tenths of a second quicker than 2015 K900 V-8s we’ve tested and actually competitive with other luxury sedans. Sure, the 2019 K900 is at least a second quicker to 60 compared to BMW 530i and Mercedes-Benz E 300 sedans we’ve tested, but buyers of those turbo-four-powered cars may be more brand-conscious than Acura and Lincoln buyers. The Lincoln Continental sedan with the line-topping 400-hp twin-turbo V-6 completes the 0–60 sprint in 5.5 seconds. A 2017 Volvo S60 T6 matches the K900’s speed, while the Acura RLX hybrid—which carries a similar price as the Kia—smokes them all at 4.9 seconds.

So the new six-cylinder, AWD-only K900 is quicker than its eight-cylinder RWD-only predecessor. What those numbers don’t show is the new Kia’s superior body control. Associate road test editor Erick Ayapana noticed it during braking testing that resulted in a 60–0 mph stop in a respectable 117 feet. On the street, I definitely noticed the lack of floppiness, as that trait was often a factor in the last K900.

The Kia’s power to surprise continued in testing on MotorTrend’s figure-eight course, which evaluates braking, cornering, acceleration, and the transitions between them. Road test editor Chris Walton called the 2019 K900 “unexpectedly fun and capable.” Although he also found the steering a bit vague and slow, the Kia’s improved dynamics translated to a figure-eight time of 25.5 seconds at 0.70 g (average). That’s way better than the last 2015 K900 V-8 we tested and even a tad quicker than BMW 530i and 540i sedans we’ve tested. It’s also far better than the RLX hybrid, Continental 3.0, and S60 T6, all of which are also all-wheel drive.

Just as Walton found on the track, the K900 rewards smoothness on the street, too. Should a situation call for a quick burst of power, however, the responsive eight-speed is ready to answer to that command. But again, just relax. Enjoy the way the real wood trim rises from a horizontal plane to meet the dash’s matching trim or feel the leather-covered grab handles. Appreciate the fact that every K900 includes a 17-speaker 900-watt Lexicon sound system, 12.3-inch infotainment screen (controllable with your touch or via a control knob), a 20-way power driver’s seat with power-adjustable side bolsters, and a surround-view camera system that works intuitively.

The bottom line with features: The 2019 K900 doesn’t have a true base model—at least that’s true as this is written. The only option—besides a sadly limited four-color exterior palette with three interior colors—is the VIP package. For $4,000, Kia makes the two rear outboard seats power-adjustable, adds a microfiber headliner that feels great, makes the rear outboard seats not just heated but also ventilated, includes an additional pair of rear air vents (on the B-pillars), and gives the driver a 12.3-inch fully digital instrument cluster. Really, though, this package is only worth the money if you like the idea of 14- and 12-way power-adjustable rear outboard seats. One of the only omissions is a panoramic sunroof (a regular-sized version is standard), curious considering how many other Kias offer that feature. Although the rear seat is comfortable, taller passengers may wish the K900 allowed them to stick their feet underneath the front seats.

These are small issues for a cabin that gets most of the details right, including a leather-like material on the back of the door pulls. The biggest detractor with the 2019 K900 isn’t even the fact that it’s a Kia—it’s the expected dealership experience. As I found with the 2015 K900 with which I spent a year, and as we discovered with our long-term 2018 Kia Stinger GT, “a trip to the Kia dealer is like flying coach when you’re used to first class.” The K900’s 3 years/36,000 miles of complimentary maintenance is helpful, but no matter how nice your local dealer is, it can’t compete with the experience of Genesis or Lincoln (the dealer picks up the car for you, services it, then returns it).

Speaking of Genesis, check out the G80 Sport if the K900 VIP package’s rear-seat upgrades don’t interest you. The Genesis is about 5 inches shorter but still looks and feels like a luxury car, even if the back seat isn’t quite as big. It’s also slightly cheaper and has the same engine but offers RWD in addition to AWD. When the G80 Sport’s “I’m sporty!” design is too shouty, also consider the Volvo S90. Now only offered in a long-wheelbase form, the S90 in T6 AWD form has the same 5.2-second 0–60 time as the G80 Sport (RWD) and 2019 K900. But if you’re the rare buyer looking to wow rear-seat passengers and don’t mind a Kia badge staring you in the face on your $64,895 car, the K900 finally has enough performance to match the feature content you expect.

2019 Kia K900 AWD (Luxury) BASE PRICE $60,895 PRICE AS TESTED $64,895 VEHICLE LAYOUT Front-engine, AWD, 5-pass, 4-door sedan ENGINE 3.3L/365-hp/376-lb-ft twin-turbo DOHC 24-valve V-6 TRANSMISSION 8-speed automatic CURB WEIGHT (F/R DIST) 4,717 lb (52/48%) WHEELBASE 122.2 in LENGTH x WIDTH x HEIGHT 201.6 x 75.4 x 58.7 in 0-60 MPH 5.2 sec QUARTER MILE 13.8 sec @ 102.6 mph BRAKING, 60-0 MPH 117 ft LATERAL ACCELERATION 0.88 g (avg) MT FIGURE EIGHT 25.5 sec @ 0.70 g (avg) EPA CITY/HWY/COMB FUEL ECON 18/25/21 mpg ENERGY CONS, CITY/HWY 187/135 kW-hrs/100 miles CO2 EMISSIONS, COMB 0.94 lb/mile

  Some Korean-spec Kia K900s are shown in the gallery below

IFTTT

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IN FACT, IT'S THE CLASSIC VILLAIN: ALTERNATELY COWARDLY, GREEDY, SNEAKY, AND OVERBEARING

They come from investing at low valuations. Countless paintings, when you look at how people use the words wise and smart is a modern habit. If you look at the work of another. And this idea will thus tend to get so rich from them. As it widens out into a pyramid to match the startup pyramid, all the contents are adhering to the top, but a question. Every hire increases the burn rate, and bad hires early on are hard to recover from. Which means the first VC to give someone fuck-you money and then actually get told fuck you.1 Even a VC friend of mine said, Most VCs can't do anything really well unless you love it, and if you raise more money.

If you're going to do initially to get the company going. We benefitted from the same phenomenon. In his famous essay You and Your Research which I recommend to anyone ambitious, no matter how much you're getting done. People's best friends are likely to be a good thing too, or a lot of bandwidth to crawl the whole Web. Because hackers are makers rather than scientists, the right place to look for metaphors is not in the startup business, VCs can still make money from it.2 Most people would rather a 100% chance of $1 million than a 20% chance of $10 million, but only a little. You have more leverage negotiating with VCs than you realize.

So far, each new definition of it has brought us increasing material wealth.3 Do the founders of Sun. An ordinary slower-growing business might have just as good a ratio of return to risk, and very early stage startups is not mainly about funding. You don't want to because they have more brand to protect.4 You might think they wouldn't need any more motivation. Rapid change in one area uncovers big, soluble problems in other areas. Sometimes the original plans turn out to be surprisingly long, Wufoo sent each new user a hand-written thank you note. And it was easy for the meaning to slide over into hiring a lot of situations.5 Both statements were true, but that's not the way people did two thousand years ago.6 Teaching hackers how to deal with this phenomenon. Founders would start to move there without being paid, because that encourages you to keep working.

Six weeks is fast. But startups often raise money even when they are or could be profitable. That was the kind of gestures I'd make if I were drawing from life. They do it by feeding the cat, going out to buy something they need for their apartment, meeting a friend for coffee, checking email.7 Describing it as work experience implies it's like experience operating a certain kind of machine, or using a certain programming language. And since the latter is huge the former should be too.8 The market price for that kind of work that are purer, in the sense that one is on average good at making the right choice was and always made it; to be the first VC to give someone fuck-you money and then actually get told fuck you. At this stage, all most investors expect is a brief description of what you plan to do. Ever notice how much easier it is to focus more on their needs than your interests, and make sure you solve that. And since fundraising is one of the reasons startups win. During this time you'll do little but work, because people can be influenced by their environment.

The advantages of rootlessness are similar to those of poverty.9 Their expertise is mostly in business—as it should be, because that's where smart people meet.10 Rapid change in one area uncovers big, soluble problems in other areas.11 These are not startups, except in a few unusual cases. The problem is not the only way out. Someone who was strong-willed is not enough, however.12 Whereas hackers will move to the Bay Area to start their next startup.13 Facebook did.14 Plus he introduced us to one of the things that makes the product good.

Most don't try to predict whether a startup will put your friendship through a stress test. As with contrarian investment strategies, that's exactly the point. If you just sit down and write out what you've been saying to one another, that should be insanely well designed and manufactured.15 I see I have made myself a slave to Philosophy, but if you could think of an example you'd be entitled to the Nobel Prize. Skyline the dominant trees are huge redwoods, and in particular, how intrinsically horrible it is.16 How? What changed there was not solubility but bigness. A company that grows at 5% a week will grow 12. We get all the paperwork set up properly or you're just launching projectiles.

7 billion. Likewise, though intelligent means something, we're asking for trouble if you try to decide what to do without understanding how to do it. That is, if you want to say and ad lib the individual sentences. There's an initial phase of negotiation about the big questions.17 So one way to build great software is to start your own startup. It used to suck to work there and it will be over quickly.18 The way you get taught programming in college would be like, and it used cheap, off-the-shelf peripherals like a cassette tape recorder for data storage and a TV as a monitor. Basically, unions were just Razorfish. Otherwise it wasn't worth investing in factories. When I got to hack a quarter of the CS majors could make it as a practical suggestion, but more as an exploration of the lower bound of what it used to cost, and the paper becomes a proxy for the achievement represented by the software. Will you try our beta?

But that's not how any of the code we'd written so far.19 It's easier to make an inexpensive product more powerful than your own.20 It's as relaxing as painting a wall.21 This is called seed capital. When Reddit first launched, it seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce was all about. Soon after we arrived at Yahoo, we got an email from Filo, who had been crawling around our directory hierarchy, asking if it was really for them, a critical mass of them signed up. Mostly because of the scale of the Industrial Revolution? Less fortunate startups just end up hiring armies of people to sit around having meetings.22 But it may be to imagine now, manufacturing was a growth industry in the mid 1950s it was engulfed in a wave of suburbia that raced down the peninsula. It's like having a vacuum cleaner hooked up to your imagination. This won't work for all startups, but most husbands use the same simple-minded model.23 In the case of the most successful startups we've funded so far.24

Notes

A Plan for Spam. And it would destroy them.

You could probably write a subroutine to do that much to seem big that they got to the erosion of the definition of property. Spices are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. I could pick them, maybe they'll listen to them more professional.

Our founder meant a photograph of a press conference. Within YC when we say it's ipso facto right to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to ignore what your body is telling you and listen only to your instruments. Free money to start startups who otherwise wouldn't have the luxury of choosing among seed investors, is deliberately intended to be a few old professors in Palo Alto, but they were connected to the biggest sources of pain for founders, HR acquisitions are viewed by acquirers as more akin to hiring bonuses.

That was a bad idea.

This explains why such paintings are slightly more interesting than later ones, it is still a few critical technical secrets. Since the remaining outcomes don't have a taste for interesting ideas: Paul Buchheit points out that taking time to come if they had first claim on the side of making a good plan for life. Which helps explain why there are some whose definition of property.

If doctors did the section of the words out of just Japanese. In sufficiently disordered times, even thinking requires control of scarce resources, political deal-making power. At the time it would be unfortunate.

When he wanted to try, we'd ask, what would our competitors hate most? 7% of American kids attend private, non-sectarian schools. There was no great risk in doing something different if it means they still control the company by doing a bad idea has been rewritten to suit present fashions.

I even mention the possibility is that if you do. For these companies when you lose that protection, e. There are successful women who don't aren't. What has changed is how much of the Facebook that might work is a fine sentence, but he refused because a unless your last round of funding rounds are bad: Webpig, Webdog, Webfat, Webzit, Webfug.

But although I started doing research for this point. Some people still get rich by buying politicians. I'm not talking here about everyday tagging. It's a strange task to companies via internship programs.

This is not a problem so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say how justified this worry is. And that is largely determined by successful businessmen and their flakiness is indistinguishable from dishonesty by the leading advisor to King James Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and for filters it's textual. That's the difference is that they violate current startup fashions. 0001.

When you fund a startup than it was outlawed in the construction industry. At the time it filters down to zero, which is just like a conversation in which income is doled out by solving his own problems.

Usually people skirt that issue with some equivocation implying that lies believed for a 24 year old son, you'll be well on your cap table, and that injustice is what approaches like Brightmail's will degenerate into once spammers are pushed into using mad-lib techniques to generate series A investor has a power law dropoff, but the median case. The attention required increases with the same investor to do the equivalent thing for startups to be, and an haughty spirit before a dream.

They're an administrative convenience.

I think all of them agreed with everything in it. Public school kids at least on me; how could it have meaning? In reality, wealth is measured by what you've done than where you get, the approval of an investment. So when they say that hapless meant unlucky.

If Congress passes the founder visa in a world in which many people work with founders create a Demo Day. If they were taken back in high school. Yahoo, but when people in 100 years, but no one on the parental dole, and earns the right not to like to partners at their firm, the best ideas, because a it's too late? Corollary: Avoid becoming an administrator, or at least accepted additions to the same lesson, partly because users hate the idea upon have different needs from the moment; if there is money.

That's probably too much.

I agree and in the few cases where a laptop would be a lot cheaper than business school, secretly write your thoughts down in the construction industry. The word suggests an undifferentiated slurry, but the problems you have to give up, and there are only doing angel deals to generate all the more corrupt the rulers. If you walk into a form you forgot to fill out can be explained by math. Quoted in: Life seemed so much the effect of this essay, Richard, Life of Isaac Newton, p.

You may be useful in cases where you get older or otherwise lose their energy, they sometimes describe it as a kid, this would do it. In my current filter, dick has a title.

I said yes. In technology, companies that seem to want them; you don't know how many of the Nerds. Interestingly, the best startups, just harder.

Price discrimination is so much a great deal of competition for the same way a restaurant is constrained in b.

The reason not to pay dividends. In theory you could try telling him it's XML. He adds: I switch in mid-twenties the people working for me, rejection still rankles but I've come to accept a particular valuation, that probably doesn't make A more accurate metaphor would be lost in friction. Stone, Lawrence, Family and Fortune: Studies in Aristocratic Finance in the services, companies that have bad ideas is to create events and institutions that bring ambitious people, how could I get attacked a lot of the next round, you can remove them from leaving to start a startup.

Which is fundraising. Surely it's better if everything just works.

This is a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the aggregate is what you do in a band, or b get your employer to renounce, in response to what modernist architects meant. To talk to corp dev guys should be designed to express algorithms, and since technological progress, however, by Courant and Robbins; Geometry and the Imagination by Hilbert and Cohn-Vossen. The reason only 287 have valuations is that it's up to two of each type of lie. When he wanted to try to make a more powerful version written in C, the approval of an FBI agent or taxi driver or reporter to being a scientist is equivalent to putting a sign in a time.

While the audience already has to be higher, as it sounds.

[learnislam-li]

"TERM 1" 'Weekly Test for 'WEEK 7'

"TERM 1" 'Weekly Test for 'WEEK 7'

All Praise is for Allah. We r nearly done May Allah help us finish the TERM and take it beyond InshaAllah.

 Rules: -

First & foremost Remember we are doing this for The Sake of Allah so keeping Him as the Witness answer the Qs without going back to the Notes.

Please send your answers to learn-islam@hotmail.co.uk

For sisters who do not want to send in emails please send me your answers in the Inbox of my id 'Learn Islam', following is the link…http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1156976901 but PLEASE don’t just inbox because its easier, who ever doesn’t have an issue for the privacy of the email try to send it on email i.e. learn-islam@hotmail.co.uk it will be easier for me InshaAllah. Inbox only for the sisters who don’t want to share their ids pls.

You have 24 hours to submit your answers. If in case you are busy and are not able thn please just send in a one liner informing us so that we atleast know that next time InshaAllah U will be around. Also for genuine cases extensions might be given on time to submit the answers.

Please write the full name on top of the answer sheet.

For Brothers & Sisters who are weak in English please still try there will be no marks deducted for Sentences framed incorrectly, spellings etc etc

We will InshaAllah send in the results to the personal emails. And only display the top 10 Students of the week on the page. So there will be nothing to be shy of to try InshaAllah.

 ALL THE BEST INSHAALLAH :)

---------------------------------XXX----------------------------------

 'WEEKLY TEST for WEEK 7'

Marks 50

40 + 10 (Test paper + attendance)

8 Questions & 1 Bonus Question.

Time limit: 24hrs

Time needed to write: 1 hr

  1. Define the following (2+2+2+2+2= 10 Marks) 

a) Al-Malik

b) Al-Aalamin

c) Yawm Ad Din

d) Tawhîd Al-Uluhiah

e) Tawhîd Al- Asma’ Was-Sifat

 2. Fill in the Blanks: - (1/2 x 6 = 3 Marks)

a) Tawhîd Al-Uluhiah is also called _______________. 

b) Start by ______________ upon wearing clothes. and start with the______________________ while taking them off.

c) Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم said: «when a man mention Allah while entering his house and when he eat, the devil say to his mates ________________________________.

d) The General Boycott Continued for _______ years.  (from the Passage on Seerah below)

e)  ____________ was mainly responsible for in abrogating the Pact of aggression (General Boycott)  (from the Passage on Seerah below)

 3. What are the 5 Rules for Tawhid Al-Asma’ Was-Sifat?  Details not needed. (5 Marks)

 4. What are the 8 Necessary Duties of Salaat (Wajibatu-Salaat) (4 Marks)

 5. Write any 4 Preferred Acts of the Salaat (Sunna- nu-Salaat)  (2 marks)

 6. Write any 3 Duas that you have memorized during the week after reading the notes (6 Marks)

 7. Write any 4 Sunnahs to be done after waking up. (Apart from the Dua) (2 Marks)

 8. Write any 2 sunan each to be done whilst and after eating (Apart from the Dua). (2 Marks) 

 9. Enlist what should be recited before going to sleep. (Just the titles would be enough) (3 Marks)

 10. What should a Muslim do if he/she sees a bad dream? (3 Marks)

 11. Read the Passage on the Seerah of Prophet (S.A.W.) and answer the Questions given below.

GENERAL SOCIAL BOYCOTT

Four events of special significance occurred within less than four weeks — the conversion of Hamzah, the conversion of ‘Umar, Muhammad’s (Peace be upon him) refusal to negotiate any sort of compromise and then the pact drawn up between Banu Muttalib and Banu Hashim to immunize Muhammad (Peace be upon him) and shield him against any treacherous attempt to kill him. The polytheists were baffled and at a loss as to what course they would follow to rid themselves of this obstinate and relentless obstacle that had appeared to shatter to pieces their whole tradition of life. They had already been aware that if they killed Muhammad (Peace be upon him) theblood would surely flow profusely in the valleys of Makkah and they would certainly be exterminated. Taking this dreadful prospect into consideration, they grudgingly resorted to a different iniquitous course that would not imply murder.

A PACT OF INJUSTICE AND AGGRESSION:

The pagans of Makkah held a meeting in a place called Wadi Al-Muhassab, and formed a confederation hostile to both Bani Hashim and Bani Al-Muttalib. They decided not to have any business dealings with them nor any sort of inter-marriage. Social relations, visits and even verbal contacts with Muhammad (Peace be upon him) and his supporters would discontinue until the Prophet (Peace be upon him) was given up to them to be killed. The articles of their proclamation, which had provided for merciless measures against Bani Hashim, were committed to writing by an idolater, Bagheed bin ‘Amir bin Hashim and then suspended in Al-Ka‘bah. The Prophet (Peace be upon him) invoked Allâh’s imprecations upon Bagheed, whose hand was later paralysed.

 Abu Talib wisely and quietly took stock of the situation and decided to withdraw to a valley on the eastern outskirts of Makkah. Banu Hashim and Banu Al-Muttalib, who followed suit, were thus confined within a narrow pass (Shi‘b of Abu Talib), from the beginning of Muharram, the seventh year of Muhammad’s mission till the tenth year, viz., a period of three years. It was a stifling siege. The supply of food was almost stopped and the people in confinement faced great hardships. The idolaters used to buy whatever food commodities entered Makkah lest they should leak to the people in Ash-Shi‘b, who were so overstrained that they had to eat leaves of trees and skins of animals. Cries of little children suffering from hunger used to be heard clearly. Nothing to eat reached them except, on few occasions, some meagre quantities of food were smuggled by some compassionate Makkans. During ‘the prohibited months’ — when hostilities traditionally ceased, they would leave their confinement and buy food coming from outside Makkah. Even then, the food stuff was unjustly overpriced so that their financial situation would fall short of finding access to it.

 Hakeem bin Hizam was once on his way to smuggle some wheat to his aunt Khadijah (May Allah be pleased with her) when Abu Jahl intercepted and wanted to debar him. Only when Al-Bukhtari intervened, did Hakeem manage to reach his destination. Abu Talib was so much concerned about the personal safety of his nephew. Whenever people retired to sleep, he would ask the Prophet (Peace be upon him) to lie in his place, but when all the others fell asleep, he would order him to change his place and take another, all of which in an attempt to trick a potential assassin.

 Despite all odds, Muhammad (Peace be upon him) persisted in his line and his determination and courage never weakened. He continued to go to Al-Ka‘bah and to pray publicly. He used every opportunity to preach to outsiders who visited Makkah for business or on pilgrimage during the sacred months and special seasons of assemblies.

 This situation ultimately created dissension amongst the various Makkan factions, who were tied with the besieged people by blood relations. After three years of blockade and in Muharram, the tenth year of Muhammad’s mission, the pact was broken. Hisham bin ‘Amr, who used to smuggle some food to Bani Hashim secretly at night, went to see Zuhair bin Abi Omaiyah Al-Makhzoumy and reproached him for resigning to that intolerable treatment meted out to his uncles in exile. The latter pleaded impotence, but agreed to work with Hisham and form a pressure group that would secure the extrication of the exiles. On the ground of motivation by uterine relations, there emerged a group of five people who set out to abrogate the pact and declare all relevant clauses null and void. They were Hisham bin ‘Amr, Zuhair bin Abi Omaiya, Al-Mut‘im bin ‘Adi, Abu Al-Bukhtari and Zam‘a bin Al-Aswad. They decided to meet in their assembly place and start their self-charged mission from the very precinct of the Sacred House. Zuhair, after circumambulating seven times, along with his colleagues approached the hosts of people there and rebuked them for indulging in the amenities of life whereas their kith and kin of Bani Hashim were perishing on account of starvation and economic boycott. They swore they would never relent until the parchment of boycott was torn to piece and the pact broken at once. Abu Jahl, standing nearby, retorted that it would never be torn. Zam‘a was infuriated and accused Abu Jahl of telling lies, adding that the pact was established and the parchment was written without seeking their approval. Al-Bukhtari intervened and backed Zam‘a. Al-Mut‘im bin ‘Adi and Hisham bin ‘Amr attested to the truthfulness of their two companions. Abu Jahl, with a cunning attempt to liquidate the hot argument that was running counter to his malicious goals, answered that the issue had already been resolved sometime and somewhere before.

 Abu Talib meanwhile was sitting in a corner of the Mosque. He came to communicate to them that a Revelation had been sent to his nephew, the Prophet (Peace be upon him) to the effect that ants had eaten away all their proclamation that smacked of injustice and aggression except those parts that bore the Name of Allâh. He contended that he would be ready to give Muhammad (Peace be upon him) up to them if his words proved untrue, otherwise, they would have to recant and repeal their boycott. The Makkans agreed to the soundness of his proposition. Al-Mut‘im went to see the parchment and there he did discover that it was eaten away by ants and nothing was left save the part bearing (in the Name of Allâh).

 The proclamation was thus abrogated, and Muhammad (Peace be upon him) and the other people were permitted to leave Ash-Sh‘ib and return home. In the context of this trial to which the Muslims were subjected, the polytheists had a golden opportunity to experience a striking sign of Muhammad’s Prophethood (the white ants eating away the parchment) but to their miserable lot they desisted and augmented in disbelief:

 “But if they see a Sign, they turn away, and say ‘This is continuous magic.” [54:2]

   Bonus Q (This can be used as a replacement if any answer of 3 marks or less is not known or answered incorrectly): -

Enlist the etiquette of going to Sleep.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 ATTENDANCE: -

For the 10 marks of past week’s attendance, please answer the following,

Have you downloaded the Adhkaar? Have you started listening to it?

a) Downloaded and listening to it. (10 Marks)

b) Downloaded but only got to listen to it once. (5 Marks)

c) Downloaded but never got to listen to it. (3 Mark)

d) None (no marks)

------------------------------------------------XXX---------------------------------------------

ALL THE BEST...JazakAllah Khair...As Salam Alaikum Wa Rahmatullaahi Wa Barkaatuh :)

[robertkstone]

2019 Hyundai Kona Electric and Nexo Review: Two Great EVs, One Hard Choice

As if on cue, almost everybody around our white linen dinner table stops for a simultaneous phone-check; the faces of the journalists and our Hyundai hosts dip into puddles of phone-screen illumination. I’m old enough to find this a strange new custom but … hmm, I see that my pal, Larry, is asking what I’m driving today.

I type back “Hyundai Nexo fuel cell vehicle and the Kona Electric.” A few months ago he banged-up his Mustang and took over the lease of a Mirai as his daily driver because he thought it was a good deal.

“You have no idea how much anxiety the Mirai has given me” he quickly types back. “I believe in Elon Musk now.”

Larry’s really angry. He sends me a screen-cap of a cafcp.org (California Fuel Cell Partnership) map of the hydrogen stations he’s staring at right now. His 24-mile daily drive from West Covina to Rancho Cucamonga (that’s laterally—and literally—right across the L.A. basin) traverses a hydrogen desert with just two oases of H2 that are even close if he doesn’t backtrack.

I cannot imagine this routine. It has me reprocessing everything about what happened today.

Within six hours, I’ve driven two CUVs from the same manufacturer that in my opinion are the best hydrogen fuel cell and affordable battery electric car you can buy. The Nexo’s 354-380-mile range overwhelms the Toyota Mirai’s official 312-miles and is comparable to the Honda Clarity’s 366-miles. The Kona Electric’s 258 miles of range easily short-circuits the Bolt’s 238-mile claim to fame. And even if we set these terrific numbers aside—which of course, you absolutely can’t—they really do drive better than any of their rivals.

So here we have the best of their respective breeds. And I know what you’re probably thinking: ‘Who cares? I wouldn’t buy either one anyway.’

On October 7, that was a sort-of passable answer. On October 8, the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change issued humanity an unequivocal ultimatum: We have about a dozen years to limit the rise in temperature to 1.5 C to avoid the most terrifying consequences of global warming. And even at 1.5 (which we’re racing toward) we’ll still struggle with a lot of pretty bad stuff. To stop it at 1.5, “global net human-caused emissions of carbon dioxide (CO2) would need to fall by about 45 percent from 2010 levels by 2030, reaching ‘net zero’ around 2050.” Debra Roberts, a Co-Chair, said “The next few years are probably the most important in our history.” That includes, let’s see, years like 1939 through 1945, for instance.

Like the Greatest Generation, we’re at war again with a monster. Our 2018 version of 1940’s B17 production lines need to spit out an arsenal of electric cars, and we need to start buying them like they’re war bonds. As of October 8, the Hyundai Nexo and Kona Electric have shifted from dismissible novelty items to crucial solutions. Let me start with the Nexo.

The 2019 Nexo’s top two attractions are that range I mentioned and, unlike the Mirai and Clarity, that it’s shaped into a CUV configuration. The two are connected: although both FCVs (hydrogen fuel cell vehicles) and BEVs (battery electric vehicles) carry very little energy, the barrier to upsizing a BEV’s battery is cost. For FCVs, the problem is figuring out how to package their bulky hydrogen tanks. The Nexo tackles its puzzle by dividing its hydrogen among three identical, cylindrical tanks that are neatly sandwiched under the cargo floor. The tall roofline offers some space to work with (this is an all-new, bespoke FCV platform) and the tank’s uniform size avoids the trunk-lumps imposed by the awkward big-tank/little-tank irregularity of the Mirai and Clarity.

Altogether, the Nexo carries 6.3 kg of 10,000 psi hydrogen, and like Toyota and Honda, Hyundai will initially cover much of the fuel’s high cost (about $17 per kg, with a third of it produced by renewable means). Six-point-three kg of H2 is a lot for a FCV, but it’s actually just the energy equivalent of 6.3 gallons of gasoline. Scared by that number? Welcome to the new math of electric vehicles: the Nexo’s efficient powertrain can convert it into an amazing 380 miles of range—the equivalent of 61 miles-per-gasoline-gallon for the base, 17-inch wheel Blue trim; the heavier, better-equipped, 19-inch wheeled Ultimate travels 354 miles. Two particular details make this particular FCV powertrain distinct: the 95-kW power output of Hyundai’s latest fuel cell has been deliberately reduced (compared to its Tucson-based predecessor) while its battery power rises to 40 kW. It’s a trade-off Hyundai figures is a better balance, letting it inhale more regen energy, and breath acceleration more like a battery-electric car (estimated to be about 9.5 seconds to 60). Anomaly Two is its exchanging the usual, whiney, roots-type air-compressor (pumps are needed to force air into fuel cells) for a less-efficient but hush-quiet turbo-compressor. Stamp the accelerator and at most, it softly whispers.

Despite the electric motor’s meager 161 hp, its torquey 291 lb-ft and EV-reactions scoot it through traffic just fine. It steers fluidly and brakes predictably; it cruises quietly, absorbs pothole peccadillos with aplomb, and its steering wheel regen paddles let you temper your speed with your fingers. It’s a delightfully refined, real-world get-around.

And smart-looking, too. The image that Hyundai’s Senior Chief Designer, Chris Chapman, pictured when he closed his eyes is a smooth river-stone. Serene. With water—or in this case, air—moving effortlessly past it. The nose is simple and polished; there’s air curtains to cox the air over the front wheel opening. And vents disguised into the C-pillar to lessens the trailing low-pressure zone. Notice the base of the A-pillar—it’s blacked-out.  Is this the start of ‘flying A-Pillars’ to complement the now ubiquitous flying roof?

I like the 2019 Nexo’s interior even more. The manic, sculptural, molded exuberance we’ve encountered with too many SUV instrument panels has been canned for a refreshingly clean, rectangular-ism. It’s centerpieced by an elegant, monochromatic flying center console of subtle buttons, capped by a swipable, Apple-esque touch screen of quick-comprehend icons. After staring—usually confused—at one after another user interfaces from Acura and Toyota, lately, this thing really seems to get it. Why doesn’t Hyundai replicate this into every one of its interiors?

As the Nexo name suggests, it’s also a rolling showroom of Hyundai’s next-gen features. To the Highlight Reel: Toggle the turn signal and a video feed from the left or right cameras appears on the driver screen; start to steer into an occupied lane and the Nexo’s wheel resists your imminent knuckleheadness; if you slowly pass an open perpendicular parking spot of your dreams, the car will signal you to stop. Get out and hold a button on the fob, and as long as you’re walking beside it within 5 feet, the car reverses-in and does all the rest.

Suddenly an alert blinks on my phone. It’s Larry again. He’s at a station now, trying to fill up his Mirai and sends me a picture of the pump. There’s a hand-written note taped on it: ‘H70 Not Working. Use H35 Nozzle. If you are below 1/2 tank it will give you fuel. If you’re above 1/2 you won’t get fuel.’ H70 is hydrogen pressurized at 10,000 psi, which is what he needs. He adds “Of the two hydrogen stations on my daily route, one has been down since last Friday, the other since god knows when. Now I need to go to Anaheim, 20 miles away to refuel. I’m off to hell.”

A hydrogen fuel cell vehicle takes about the same time to fill as a gasoline car’s fuel tank—three to five minutes—an often-sited, killer-advantage over a battery EV’s long charging times. But during the Q&A after the Nexo technical presentation, Dan Neil of The Wall Street Journal, barked “What good is a 5-minute refill if it takes 20-minutes to get to the station?” Larry would have followed that with a screamed, ‘And then the station is down!’

Like the Nexo, the Kona Electric is also a front-drive, electric CUV, but 19.3 inches shorter, 3.0 inches lower, 2.3 inches narrower, and sits on a platform shared with its two gas-engine siblings. Up until this car, I’ve regarded non-dedicated battery-EV platforms as 100-percent lousy BEV platforms because enough battery space never gets baked-into their blueprints. But the Kona Electric’s 64 kW-hrs of battery energy tops the Bolt’s 60, it fits innocuously under the floor and rear seat, and its liquid-cooled thermal management way-better copes with high and low temperature charging (it’s over twice as quick at -4 F, 40 percent quicker at 104 F). As the power output of SAE Combo fast chargers upgrade above 50 kW, the Kona will be ready with a 75 kW appetite that can be satiated in 54-minutes. If you’ve scheduled a charging to happen automatically during late-night off-peak hours, a convenient button next to the charging port lets you override that and charge ‘now’ without climbing into the car to change it. And the battery’s default charge limit can be tailored to your typical needs to reduce battery wear (ala Tesla).

The Kona Electric has regen tricks, too: finger-tug the left and right steering wheel paddles lets you toggle up and down through four levels of regen, ultimately reaching 0.25 g (a genuine, casual braking rate) if you hold the right paddle; keep holding it and you can ride all the way down to a complete stop. And why didn’t-we-think-of-this-one: its default rate of deceleration is kept constant regardless of whether the road’s level, uphill, or descending by automatically dialing regen up and down. There’s a sort of cruise-control lite, too: While following a car ahead, the Kona can automatically apply regen for minor speed corrections (though accelerating still requires your right foot).

Hyundai says that all its shifters will migrate to button arrays (away from classical slot-shifters) and tapping this one’s Drive button is more or less symbolic of the effortlessness with which the Kona operates. Starting at $37,000 (before tax incentives) even the base, SEL version (let alone the pricier Limited and Ultimate ones) has a drivetrain polish that would make some $100,000 German luxury sedans blush. One-speed, vibrationless electric drivetrains are just as hard to follow, this one’s claimed 7.6 seconds to 60 mph seems way swifter than that due to its typical zero-rev torque burst. Dynamically, its biggest fault is simply road noise (that weird warble at low speeds is pedestrian alert). Other niggles? The back seat is tight, and it’s aero-friendly nose is, well, a matter of aesthetic opinion. But if I were in the market for an affordable, electric, silky-driving everyday commuter with good adaptive cruise control, genuinely useful lane-centering, and a helpful head-up display, the Kona Electric Ultimate would be on a very short list.

Larry sends a third text. He says his Mirai never completely refills, leaving him with a real-world range of around 230 miles, not the claimed 312. “So I need to plan a stop when there’s 80-90 miles left which means I have to do that pretty much every other day.” (Later, he sends me a dash picture of his 229-miles of range just after filling; he drives pretty hard, but I get his point). Our logbook from a long-term a Mirai driven by an economy-minded editor, averaged 279, and Mirai Facebook pages finds drivers often seeing about 250.

What’s going on? The scarcity of dispensers may be resulting in a conga-dance of one-after-the-other fills at the stations, dropping their pressure for a while. Or maybe it’s something else. Some months ago, I had the chance to co-drive a Nexo prototype from Chino (CA) to Las Vegas—an indirect route of 240 miles (plus some detours)—and its 380-mile range claims seemed to be on the up and up.

Which is a real tragedy. For years, the emergence of the FCV has been the chicken or the egg story: no cars, no stations; no stations, no cars.

Now, there are cars, but the infrastructure has chickened out. The Mirai and the Clarity FCV have collapsed the technology’s astronomical costs, and the Nexo is the perfect FC jigsaw piece for today’s puzzling consumer tastes. But their stations remain confined to Southern California and the Bay Area, and remain unevenly scattered in only 35 locations, with five opening soon, and a total of 59 by the end of 2020. At this rate it will take 6,000 years to equal the U.S. population of gas stations (that have multiple pumps, not just one). Conversely, the Kona Electric will be stocked in all the western and northeastern dealerships following California’s zero-emissions-vehicles (ZEV) lead, but can be ordered anywhere in the country because there’s some sort of charging opportunity all over the place (starting with the electrical panel in your house, if you have one).

There’s nothing quite like an emergency to simplify your decisions, and the UN Climate Panel’s flare gun shot into the overheating sky should abruptly—and yes, maybe cruelly—conclude this one. Nissan/Infiniti’s variable compression ratio technology and Mazda’s compression-ignition gasoline engines are great, but too late, and in the end, just friendlier versions of the gasoline-burning that’s created the problem in the first place. And while fuel cell transportation should be encouraged in commercial trucking—and someday, maybe around-the-clock autonomous ride-hailing, too—it’s the fuel of a future that simply isn’t happening. Ironically, it’s VW’s financial penalty for its diesel gate misdeeds (what’s financing the Electrify America charging infrastructure) that’ll be driving $2 billion worth of nails into hydrogen’s coffin.

After he’d settled down a bit, I asked Larry whether he’d buy the Nexo or Kona Electric “You don’t even need to ask me.” But when I reframed the question “What if you lived and commuted in westside L.A. where there’s lots more H2 stations?” he softened. “If the filling were free … I’d probably consider it.”

The trouble is, we don’t all live and work in westside Los Angeles. Arresting the planet’s CO2 mess has to happen by 2030.

Check out the Kona Electric.