SU: We were not popular with security at Banff. There was no smoking in the studio and of course Ahasiw and I were walking chimneys. So a guard barged in late one night, and Ahasiw starts into righteous indignation mode because we were (ahem) burning sweet grass for cleansing.

He could talk the balls off a brass monkey and the guard was going for it. But I needed to breathe, and exhaled a massive lungful of DuMaurier.

Silence for a beat, then Ahasiw starts in on the sacred role of tobacco in native culture. At which point the security guard throws up his hands and leaves. And I fell off my chair laughing.

This poem, by the way, is by Greg Daniels.

AP: And of course there was the time he passed out in a stairwell at the Banff Centre. A security guard found him and thought he was dead, ran to call 911. When the guard returned Ahasiw was gone…
That may or may not have been a few minutes before the time someone found him crawling across the parking lot.