Lightyear Labs Blog

Apple once shipped a server a 12 year old could run.

A stolen glacier, a plum going soft, and a day in Dawson City that would not hold still.

Climbing the ghost of a glacier in the Ogilvies, and coming back down faster than the mountain would like.

An answer to why I am here, why any of it matters, and why I intend to stick around, arrived at without the benefit of a supercomputer the size of a small planet.

Twelve weeks out from the vote, and the words on the masthead matter less than the person on the ballot.

Trains, now planes, soon enough my blog may even write about automobiles.

Every argument against AI I hear today is one I heard against the cloud fifteen years ago, and the outcome of that earlier argument is not a hopeful precedent.

A poem for the gossamer-winged butterflies of northern BC, and what such a small thing has to offer such a hard country.

A day on the Northern Sea Wolf, up the fjords to Bella Coola, reading the deep past in the rock.

On Peter Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, and what it teaches about beauty, possession, fidelity, and the cost of becoming real.

There was no clean map of Vancouver Island’s mountain ranges, so I drew one.

The Narwhal’s reporting on the Kettle Valley Rail Trail decommissioning is solid climate journalism.

A ranked, opinionated, spreadsheet-haunted attempt to understand who holds power in Canada, and what kind of power they hold.

Restoring Vancouver Island’s rail corridor is not a regional ask.

One bluff here above a marsh, one there in the Ogilvies.

Not remembered.

A bluff above a marsh in Nanaimo, and a question that is already a kind of taking.

The island as a body, read for its contents.

On why the sharpest, safest-seeming stance toward the world is also the one most likely to hollow it out.

Whose bluff, whose marsh, whose watershed.

Welcome to Lightyear Labs.

Written somewhere between frozen landscapes, rocked to sleep by the rhythm of rails.

For the dreamers and the wanderers.

Vancouver Island isn’t just where I live, it’s where I belong.

Sometimes the best way to find yourself is to get thoroughly lost.

Inspired by Camus and countless kilometers of trail.