There is no Grizfest this year. Suddenly, something that seemed integral to the town has been removed and the place seems…changed. Different.
This is not the first time this has happened. While the Grizzly Valley Days Society has taken over Grizfest, the fact is Grizzly Valley Days were once their own thing.
While Grizzly Valley Days were still a thing when I moved here in the early 2000s, it was a pale imitation of the past. Old timers tell stories of the activities—of the blue ribbons, the bathtub races, the beer gardens, the ball tournament, the dances….
There was an attempt to get Grizzly Valley Days back up and running in 2013, and elements of the old Blue Ribbon days have found their way into the Fall Fair out at the saddle club, the beer garden at Grizfest, the community activities at Canada Days. Other bits of that early festival, that celebration of life in Tumbler Ridge, for Tumbler Ridge have been recycled into the modern activities, but the original Grizzly Valley Days appears to be a thing of the past.
While I don’t want to see the same thing happen with Grizfest, the fact is, things change. People change. Attitudes change. Did you know we used to have a Miss Tumbler Ridge Beauty Pageant? Probably not something that would happen in this day and age, but you never know. Perhaps that’s an idea that will get tossed into the grist mill, ground up, and recast as something new and exciting.
I don’t really remember Grizzly Valley Days the way, say, my sister does. The way other people who were here back in the late eighties do. But Grizfest? Grizfest is mine.
I was on that original planning committee for the first Grizfest. I helped find the artists that played that year, and—when one of the other people on the organizing committee borrowed some gear from the arts council without mentioning it to anyone on the arts council—I was the one who got yelled at.
I remember it was the worst weekend for a music festival, so cold that the near constant rain that fell in town was actually snow at the top of Happy Face Hill.
I remember the dedicated crew of music lovers who stood in the cold and the wet listening to bands that they had never heard before, because it was a small town music festival. .
I remember Ray Proulx senior bringing out a bunch of portable fire-pits, build by replacing the engine on a lawnmower with the tub from a washing machine. I remember the confusion that the headline act—Luther Wright and the Wrongs—expressed upon seeing the small crowd huddled around flaming lawnmowers.
The next year, I remember the joy of introducing Uzume Taiko—a kume-daiko band from Vancouver—to the crowd.
“You’ll want to get close to the stage,” I told the audience. “Because, if you’re close enough, when they hit that big drum, you don’t just hear it, you feel it.”
But then, things changed. I had a kid. Got a job out of town. Couldn’t help plan the festival anymore, and the people who came along to keep the festival going discovered that classic rock and country—not Japanese Fusion, not Bluegrass musicians covering British Prog Rock—was what seemed to sell.
I can’t say that I’ve attended every Grizfest. But I’ve attended most. I’ve even played it a few times, with a variety of bands. I’ve seen musicians I never thought I’d see play live, here in Tumbler Ridge. Honeymoon Suite. Kim Mitchell. Tom Cochrane. I’ve had the pleasure to hang out with some of these people backstage.
One of my favourite moments was … four, maybe five years ago. One of the members of the hot young bands—for the life of me, I don’t remember which one—and I stood around behind the stage, watching the rest of the band throw around a football with a couple of the kids from town, discussing what type of mountain bike he should get to take on tour with the band, as he really wanted to get out and ride some of the local trails.
Another memory. My sister has, for the last number of years, manned the back gate for the festival for the last few hours every night, allowing the person who might otherwise have to sit back there to make sure nobody tries to jump the gate the chance to watch the show.
Every once in a while, I’ve gone and sat back there with her. She says she loves it, and I can see why. There’s something magical about sitting there in the near dark, hearing the music echo all around you, the sound of the crowd roaring in the distance, wrapped in the sound, the darkness, the warmth of a summer night…
Things change. It’s the only constant in life. But that doesn’t mean we have to like it, or accept it. We can rage against the dying of the light.
The Grizzly Valley Days Society is working on a plan to see Grizfest return in 2020. They had an anti-Valentine’s Dance on February 15 to try and raise money to keep the festival going.
They are not going gentle into that good night.
The festival has always been polarizing. Some people love it. Some people…not so much. Some people come to Tumbler Ridge specifically for the festival. Others use it as an excuse to leave town.
I’m not going to say that it’s the best thing to happen to the town. Or the worst. The truth lies, as it so often does, somewhere in the middle. I will say that—even if it doesn’t go forward—it has provided me with some amazing memories. And for that, I’m thankful.
