20th Post -- Ahousaht First Nation

On my last day in Tofino, I learned of the Ahousaht (Uh-HOW-zit) First Nation people from a tourist flyer’s 1-line mention of their “Walk the Wildside” Trail. Within 24 hours, I was on the trail, experiencing one of the 5 Most Amazing hikes of my life. (See 21st Post.)

But quite unexpectedly I also found myself in the midst of one of the most moving and immediate cultural immersions I’ve ever encountered.

Accessible only by float plane or boat, the Ahousaht First Nation is located on territory encompassing much of Clayoquot Sound along Vancouver Island's west coast. It is one of the world’s largest tracts of primary low-elevation coastal temperate rainforests. It supports many rare species, wild salmon, bear, cougars and wolves. It is home to giant cedar trees more than 1,000 years old. It is an extraordinarily pristine and beautiful place.

The population of the Ahousaht First Nation numbers less than 3,000 yet constitutes the largest membership within the confederated Nuu-chah-nulth Nation. Almost 2,000 live on Flores Island, which is – both logistically and culturally – an island within an island. An hour-long boat trip north of Tofino, it has only fragile economic and administrative links to the outside. And it is decidedly off the beaten-path of most visitors touring Vancouver Island.

I learned upon my arrival that I was the only white man on the island. My status as a municipal oddity was underscored when I took a late-evening stroll around the village and was stopped for friendly conversation by a remarkable cross-section of the village -- first by the principal of the K-16 school, then by several of his young charges, and… yes, finally by the pair of town drunks who bragged of being able to regularly collect enough aluminum cans-for-cash to keep the alcohol flowing.

The Ahousaht people proudly identify their Flores Island village as Ahousaht. The Canadian government, with mind-numbing insensitivity, identifies the village as Marktosis Indian Reserve #15.

The naming of the village is just one example of the disparity between natives’ long heritage of local self-determination and outsiders’ recent focus on regional economic and environmental management. But the greatest example of this disparity may be the conflicting ideas of the village elders and… the United Nations.

Ask the village elders to describe their society, and they’ll explain, “As part of the Nuu-chah-nulth we continue to follow our ancestors' true self-determination and real self-sufficiency when they lived and thrived on the lands and waters on the West Coast of Vancouver Island. Our vision is self-government that promotes strong, healthy communities, which are guided by n'aas, the Creator, and Hawiih, our Hereditary Chiefs.”

Ask the same question of the United Nations, and you’ll be told that the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organizations (UNESCO) in 1999 granted Clayoquot Sound its official Biosphere Reserve Area designation in 1999 to establish a “voluntary, cooperative detachment to protect the biological and cultural diversity of a region while promoting sustainable economic development.”

Fat chance. The collapse in the last decade of the region’s fishing grounds has deprived the Ahousaht people of their traditional means of self-sufficiency. Members now migrate off-island to find jobs. Sadly, the Nation reports that “there is a strong interest among those living ‘away from home’ to return if housing and employment were available on its homeland.” But island housing is scarce and/or sub-standard. And there’s no economic driver to build new housing or to support new jobs on Flores. See Photo Gallery for pictures of the village’s frail buildings, dirt streets and deteriorating waterfront.

My insights into the plight of the Ahousaht First Nation came from conversations with the many village residents I met. But the greatest insights came from Trevor Tittian, a soft-spoken and youthful-looking grandfather who shared with me the history of the island’s “Walk on the Wildside” trail.
See Photo Gallery for his picture(s).

Trevor explained that the trail itself is ancient, a centuries-old route for natives living on the island. But access for outsiders began barely a decade ago. The idea sprang from a group of island women who saw 'Walking the Wildside' as a way to pump a few eco-tourist dollars into Ahousaht’s desperate economy. From the beginning, Trevor has been a tireless champion of the project, and a stalwart member of the trail building team. He was also my guide for a day’s hike I will always remember. See 21st Post.

19th Post -- Middle Beach, Tofino

I am SO glad that my internet search showed all Pacific Coast campgrounds to be ‘FULL’. Because I really enjoyed settling in to my comfortable condo accommodations in Ucluelet. (Posts #17 & 18.)

And I’m really, really enjoying Tofino’s Middle Beach Lodge. I’m there right now. Settled into an overstuffed chair in the wondrous warmth of the wi-fi enabled lounge. See Photo Gallery. Look further in the Photo Gallery to see the spectacular views from the lounge and from the surrounding patios and decks.

The day started off sunny and stayed that way. No fog. And none of the rainforest weather that brings 3+ meters of precipitation to this stretch of coast every year.
The photo above says it all: rain slickers and Wellington boots for unsuspecting Lodge guests.

How could I have been so fortunate to find this place? Well, I didn’t find it. My daughter Olivia and her boyfriend Andy found it. They stayed here in May after flying from London to Tacoma to celebrate Olivia’s brother’s graduation from the University of Puget Sound.

So before I arrived, I knew this to be a special place. But I didn’t know how special until I dined on the Friday Dungeness Crab Feast. Seating is by advance reservation only. And the crab was as good as any I’ve ever had. (Take note, Hal Marchick, if you’re following this blog: YES, it was even better than our annual CrabFest at the University Club.) And I’m sure my pleasure in the evening had NOTHING to do with the fact that Katherine, the charming dining room hostess, took the other chair at my table to save me from solitary crab-cracking and to delight me with her smile and her conversation.

Today is devoted to enjoying the Lodge and its surroundings. I’ve already grinned my way through the buffet breakfast bounty. And I’ve already taken long wanders on Middle Beach (deserted), Sandy Bay (should be called Sunny Bay), and MacKenzie Beach (a vast wholesome playland for families.) A most wondrous spot, this.

The rest of the day will be for resting, relaxing, reading. Middle Beach Lodge is a good place to gather my thoughts and review my plans, as I’m clearly now “on my way back” toward Washington. I expect to be in Tacoma again in a week’s time.

n.b. -- Day's end addendum: I spent more than 3 sunny hours perched on the view deck with book in hand. Watching waves. Monitoring Tofino traffic conditions... one kayack and 4 seaplanes. Well... maybe three seaplanes. I think I saw one both coming and going.

n.b.#2 -- 'Nother addendum: I discovered today that the Ahousaht First Nations people host hikers on their "Walk the Wildside Trail" on Flores Island, a 1-hour water taxi trip from Tofino. So that's where I'll be going tomorrow (Sunday.) I'll be out of internet contact for a coupla days. If you see no further posts, call in the RCMP.

18th Post -- Galicia gourmets

Emilio and Ana are the honeymoon couple from Spain who I’d met at Tweedsmuir Park Lodge in the Bella Coola Valley. We’d discovered that our itineraries for our days ahead were similar, so we’d agreed to rendez-vous for a hearty meal of halibut on the Pacific coast.

The newlyweds make their home in Madrid where Emilio grew up. But Ana grew up in Galicia, the once-kingdom in Spain’s northwest corner, atop Portugal. Galicia is famous for many things. I’ve visited its famous rain-drenched, moss-draped Cathedral of Santiago de Campostella -- a sacred destination for medieval pilgrims. And I’ve feasted on Galicia’s famous seafood. Much of their delicious shellfish – plucked both from the Atlantic and the Bay of Biscay – is available no place else in the world.

A couple of e-mail exchanges made it easy for Emilio and Ana to find their way to my lodgings in Ucluelet. I’d agreed to source some prawns and fresh halibut… from Fishful Thinking, of course. (see 17th Post.) And I happily prepared a bountiful seafood supper that was entirely Galicia-gourmet in intent, if not in execution. Ana and Emilio served up many kind compliments… AND the evening’s supply of chardonnay, a Venedos Raimat… from Spain!

We laughed our way through 2 laptops worth of travel photos. We reveled in the ‘not-at-a-restaurant-tonight’ comfort of a relaxed, home-cooked meal with friends. And we previewed for one another our respective next stages of travel, they to Denali in Alaska, me to Vancouver Island’s Comox Valley.


n.b. Today’s Photo Gallery has an additional photo of Emilio and Ana. And a bunch of photos I snapped on the 2 hikes I’d taken before Gourmet Night. At Schooner Cove, I enjoyed rainforest trails and spectacular sandy beaches all a-swirl with wisps of fog. On the Wild Pacific Trail – at the southern most tip of the Ucluelet peninsula, I was stunned to discover a seascape that seemed to be completely familiar. I could have been at Point Lobos on California’s Monterey County coast just south of Carmel. There were cliffs and coves and islands and kelp beds aplenty. Only difference? It was bigger. Much bigger. See Photo Gallery.

17th Post -- Sockeye & Socked-in

I arrived in Ucluelet at the southwest corner of Vancouver Island to find this little fishing/surfer-tourist town shrouded in Pacific fog. The air was cool and thick; relative humidity was 98%.
We’re not in rain shadow country anymore, Toto.

But wait. Isn’t there a gap in this picture? What about the places and faces between Bella Coola (Post #16) and today’s post? Well, there’s not much to report. After the 12-hour ferry trip from Bella Coola, I hitched a ride with my Dutch friends Andre and Reeni to my Port Hardy motel where I sheltered for the night. I recovered the Volvo in the morning and then spent most of the day driving the long diagonal from one end of Vancouver Island to the other, 300 miles in all. And here I am.

As I approached this ‘Wild Pacific Coast’ on provincial Highway 4, it was easy to tell when I was crossing into First Nations lands. It was the road signs. Lots of signs. Curious signs. Without town names. There were only fish names. “SOCKEYE!” “SALMON!” “FRESH FISH!” These weren’t retail shops. These were the homes of local residents. Seemed like everybody was selling fresh-caught salmon from their doorstep. But the signs disappeared as soon as the roadway left First Nations land. Makes me wonder if the First Nations people have different salmon catch limits than other Canadians. Must be.

At the gateway to the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve, there’s an impressively welcoming Information Centre where staffers told me about the wild animals, the hiking trails, and the all-important tide schedules. I also learned that until unsettled local land-use issues are reconciled, this rainforest wonderland must be designated a ‘Park Reserve’ and not a ‘National Park.’

Best of all? In the absence of any roadside SALMON signs, I was told where locals go to buy fresh-caught fish: Fishful Thinking. Love the name. And I loved the big chunk of fresh Ling Cod I bought there and poached lightly at the first kitchen-equipped accommodation of my trip, the Water’s Edge Resort at Pacific Rim in Ucluelet. (What?! No SALMON?!)

16th Post -- Sex(es) and the un-City

The Alpha Male at Tweedsmuir Park Lodge is owner Peter Mattsson. Nobody calls him Peter. Probably no one has ever called him Mr. Mattsson. He’s ‘Swede’, a moniker he acquired in his rambunctious youth as a ski-hard, party-hard snow cowboy in Whistler, B.C. and other Western ski meccas. At the Lodge I found a copy of a 2002 article in a ski magazine that profiled him as “Rude. Gruff. Loud.” …but steeped in more raw, wild mountain experience and expertise than any other skier in British Columbia.

Now eight years later, Swede is in his rambunctious middle age. And he’s apparently changed little. Still rude. Still gruff. Still loud. And he’s totally unconcerned about his lack of innkeeper’s warmth and genteel hospitality. With good reason. This Alpha Male has others upon whom he can rely for that. And they’re all women.

I confess. I was completely bewitched, bothered and beguiled by the Lodge’s three beautiful women staffers:
- The remarkable Carol, who bewitched me with her inexplicable combination of hyper-competence and earth-core calm. She glows. And she cooks. Extraordinary stuff. As head chef at the Lodge, she delights a handful or a roomful of guests every night with a 3-course dinner of such freshness, quality and creativity that its preparation would seem impossible to conjure in the wilds of Bella Coola by anyone not endowed with a penchant for pure magic.
- The supremely well-grounded and multi-talented Annalee, a Bella Coola local with a sparkling smile, a gift for easy hospitality, and an ever-so-slight but seriously sexy lisp. (Just like Amanda Ziller in Tom Robbins’ first novel!) Bothered me to distraction, she did. But her 60-minute Raynor-method therapeutic massage properly redirected my attention to my own travel-weary body aches. All expertly dispatched by Annalee. Bliss.
- The fair Skye – yes, named after the Scottish Isle – whose delicately reddish-blonde hair I found to be nearly as beguiling as her true green, fall-in-love-with-me-right-now eyes. At dinner, I foolishly ordered a carafe of wine, which brought her to my table just once. I should have ordered wine by the glass. Or the thimble.

It’s a marvel to me that these extreme gender types – Alpha Male, genteel female – are able to coexist and function so smoothly and effectively at Tweedsmuir. Yet they do. There’s not even a hint of tension as these gracious ladies calmly and conscientiously coddle their fortunate guests, while holding Swede suitably at bay.

Sexual politics seem far less successfully reconciled in the actual burg of Bella Coola.
I’d returned there for a final night’s stay with Henry and Margaret (see 13th Post) so that I could be close to the ferry terminal for the next day’s early morning departure. In town I enjoyed a supremely fresh and overly-generous slab of salmon at the inspirationally (!) named Bella Coola Valley Restaurant. And there -- conspicuously displayed on a wall along with mounted heads of trophy animals, a funky hero-worship poster of the Vancouver Canucks and lots of very tired print images of provincial landscapes – I found a photograph of a circular wooden barstool seat into which had been carved a string of sophomoric sentiments likening women to… fishing. The quality of the carving was nearly as crude as the sentiments. Painful evidence that the male of our species may not have evolved much since the Pleistocene era. At least in Bella Coola.
(Attention: If any Bella Cool-ites are reading this blog… please go rip that photo down, fergudnezzakes.)

After dinner, there was still plenty of late evening light for an exploratory stroll around the tiny hamlet. Two young boys on bikes, noticing the curious stranger in town, immediately pedaled over and asked, “What’s your name?” So we exchanged names. Suitably befriended, they proceeded to show me the way to their school, the Big Church, and the First Nations log house and totems. (Photo Gallery)

By 11pm I was comfortably nestled back into Henry and Margaret’s guest room #1. I left an immodestly generous stack of $10 notes on the bedside table in thanks for Margaret’s hospitality and Henry’s “Jump-in-the-truck” heroics. (see 13th Posting) And I was ready for a good night’s sleep before the 6:00am check-in time for the 12-hour ferry trip back to Vancouver Island.

The morning came. Henry called, “Jump in the truck!” As I climbed out at the ferry terminal, Henry gifted me with some native smoked salmon, some pepperoni made from a bear that he'd killed, and 3 enormous breakfast muffins from Margaret. Great stuff.

15th Post -- Drift Day on the River

Sixty-something Ken was my guide for this 4-hour river 'drift' in a motorless rowboat. We began at the Atnarko River’s edge at Tweedsmuir Lodge. With my life vest secured and sack lunch stowed, Ken made one nearly imperceptible pull on the oars, and we slipped into the river’s gentle flow.

I was the sole passenger on the boat, and we saw only a small cluster of fishermen at 2 spots for the entire day's drift. Mostly I perched on the covered bow of the boat, feet stretched backward for support on the front bench. Binoculars and camera at the ready, I settled in for the day.

As we meandered down the river, I was again impressed by the enormity of the Bella Coola Valley. The feeling of size was underscored by the sense of wild isolation. No buildings, roads or vehicles, for kilometer after kilometer.

I can’t imagine an “outdoor adventure” that could be any more peaceful and gentle. The water made a wonderfully soothing sound as it swirled around oars, snags and rocks. The only other sounds came from the birdsong in the shoreline forest and the whisper of wind through the trees and across our faces. The weather was gloriously sunny and warm, with only just a few puffs of pure white clouds sliding across the faces of the surrounding peaks.

The serenity of the day was seldom interrupted by conversation. Ken is very much the silent type, not given to discourse or gratuitous narrative. Almost taciturn, I found him a very curious guide.
It was nearly impossible to establish eye contact. Is he a misanthrope? Can’t say. But he is certifiably eccentric. He’s lived his entire life in the Bella Coola Valley, and he makes no apologies to anybody. (I later learned from others that he’s a mathematician by training, that his parents once owned Tweedsmuir Lodge, and that he reads The Economist each week, cover to cover. Who’da’thunkit?)

At about the halfway point of our drift trip, we reached the confluence of two rivers, the crystal-clear Atnarko and milky Talchako, laden with glacial sediment. The Chinook salmon from the Talchako tend to congregate here to cleanse their gills in the clear flow of the Atnarko, a fact appreciated by a boat of fishermen who seemed to be enjoying great success. From this point onward, the combined flow is known as the Bella Coola River.

The day included sightings of many shorebirds and bald eagles, a fox, one black bear and the fresh tracks of a mother bear and two cubs in the damp sand at one of several riverside rest spots we explored during the day.

As we eventually ended our day’s drift and were unloading the boat, Ken and I were surprised to be enthusiastically greeted at the shore by local girl Priscilla. (See Photo Gallery.) She grinned broadly, quickly dispensed fresh-made brownies and began talking up a storm. The brownies were tasty. But the encounter was surreal. There we were in the middle of NOWHERE... but it just happened to be the nowhere that Priscilla & spouse had chosen for the day's picnic and fishing. She talked rapidly and ceaselessly… about Bella Coola, about local environmental battles, about her 2 husbands -- the first a U.S. draft-dodger from the '70s -- and about her sister in Montana. Whew!

Ken rolled his eyes, rolled a cigarette and made his escape from the effervescent Priscilla. Soon he called to me with urgent relief in his voice when Rebecca, a charming behind-the-scenes Lodge staffer, arrived in a vehicle to take us back to Tweedsmuir.

14th Post -- POW!

I was unprepared for the extraordinary majesty of the Bella Coola Valley.

The area’s tourist website describes the Valley as “an undiscovered natural paradise offering outdoor adventures in a spectacular setting.” Stark understatement, that. See www.bellacoola.ca and Photo Gallery snapshots for further evidence.

Yes, I knew it was supposed to be a nice place. And I knew that Tweedsmuir Provincial Park at the valley’s eastern edge was supposed to be a haven for all things wild including bears, cougars and wolves. But I didn’t expect to find mile after mile of steep, tall granite walls along virtually the entire 80km/50-mile length of the valley. It was positively Yosemite-like, though much longer, much broader… albeit with fewer waterfalls. And the serene valley floor – a bucolic landscape of family farms and fields amidst the forested acres – was nothing like the tourist-choked frenzy that whirls and spins and honks in Yosemite. Even the bears are more authentic in the Bella Coola Valley; both the black bears and the grizzlies are wild as wild can be, and they shy away from human contact.

Moreover, I hadn’t expected to find the stupendous alpine peaks jutting skyward from almost every direction. One of the biggest, most jagged of the peaks is aptly named Stupendous Mountain. Related, I had only one unexpected disappointment. And it was a big one. I couldn’t hike as I’d hoped. Because the “many great hikes and trails in the Valley” were simply too inaccessible for me.

I’d booked into Tweedsmuir Park Lodge – the only accommodations actually inside the park – with the expectation of having easy access to the parks’ trails, especially those in the sub-alpine and alpine elevations. Well, the park itself has a very limited trail network. And those trails along with the several trails elsewhere in the valley tend to be low-elevation hikes – which I didn’t want – and/or drive-for-miles-to-the-trailhead hikes – which I couldn’t do, as I’d left the Volvo in Port Hardy.

In fact, the most spectacular high-country adventures are accessible only by air. In the summer, helicopters fly well-heeled visitors to alpine elevations for hiking and fully supported overnight camping with guides, gourmet cooks, fine wines and Cuban cigars. In the winter, those same helicopters fly extreme skiers to some of the best heli-skiing venues in the world, with “unbelievable depths of stable powder and some of the largest verticals in North America.”

Tweedsmuir Park Lodge specializes in heli-hiking and heli-skiing… starting at $2,600 a day for the helicopter alone. The sack lunch is extra. Having said that, they’ll arrange a partial day-hike with heli-drop and heli-pick-up for under $2,000. Not too outrageous if a helicopter full of 4 hikers were to split the cost. My new friends Andre and Reeni, a Dutch couple I met over dinner at the Lodge, did take such a partial day-hike and proclaimed it ‘worth every penny.’

I opted to stay closer to sea level – and closer to my budget – with something completely different: a 4-hour guided ‘river drift’. (See 15th Post.)

And although I was disappointed by the limited access to good hiking, I was very pleasantly surprised by the high quality of hospitality provided to Lodge guests. This is no rustic outpost. It’s posh. There’s a spa with a full-time massage therapist and an outdoor hot tub with a jaw-droppingly gorgeous view of Stupendous Mountain. That’s where I spent a lot of time, studiously working my jaw back to its normal position.

Accommodations at the Lodge are first class. Guests stay in plush private cabins, most with spectacular views, and all with high thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets and herbal-citrus-eucalyptus shampoos and such. My cabin was ‘the Hillary cabin,’ named after it’s most famous guest: Sir Edmund himself, who’d been mountaineering in the area in the mid-50s shortly after his famous ascent of Everest. A book on his ascent is left at bedside, and his National Geographic cover portrait is framed on the wall. Nice. (See Photo Gallery.) Also on the wall is the photo shown on this blog page – a couple of crusty Bella Coola mountain climbers, circa 1930.

The real quality of the guest experience was most apparent in the dining room where an exceptionally fine, fresh, 3-course supper is served each evening by advance reservation. The $45 cost includes gratuity. But caveat emptor: drinks are extra. Reckless selections from the Lodge’s extraordinary wine list can easily make a heli-hiking adventure look cheap by comparison.

The dining room is casual-mountain-elegant. And the format – assigned seating at shared tables with other guests – makes for fabulous mealtime conversations, especially insofar as the majority of the Lodge’s guests are Europeans. As on the ferry, I met Dutch (Andre & Reeni), English (Mike & Violet), and Spanish (Emilio & Ana) travelers. No Canadians. I liked being in a Euro-centric dining environment again, as I was reminded of many memorable meals – both business and pleasure – that I’d enjoyed in the 4 years I’d lived/worked in Europe.

Ana and Emilio, newlyweds from Madrid, were my dinner companions on my final night at the Lodge. We successfully talked our way through a world of wonderful topics, having wisely agreed to rely on their good English instead of my poor Spanish. We also agreed to share another meal when our itineraries crossed again in the Tofino/Ucluelet region on the West Coast of Vancouver Island. Watch for details in a future Post.

13th Post -- Hello Hello Bella Coola

In 1867, the first white people arrived in Bella Coola to set up a Hudson Bay Company Outpost. The first permanent building wasn’t erected until 1891.

119 years later, at 11:00pm at night, I showed up. And the magic started even before I disembarked from the ferry.

Onboard I’d met solo traveler Sherri, a Bella Coola native who’d been industriously hand-numbering a mountain of $2 tickets for Bella Coola’s upcoming fund raising raffle. We discussed all things Bella Coola. She seems to know everything and everybody. As we talked, Sherri quickly uncovered my awkward traveler’s dilemma – that I had no transportation from the ferry terminal to my night’s lodgings. “Jump in my truck!” she said.

As the cars and RVs drove off the ferry, Sherri and I walked to her pick-up, whereupon she noticed other obviously abandoned souls. A nervous English couple that couldn’t find the rental car they’d been promised. A pair of Spandex-clad senior cyclists (in their 70s) who couldn’t find the big black Suburban that was supposed to transport them to Bella Coola.

Sherri adopted the lot of us. Helped the Brits find their car and the hidden keys in a dark corner of the remote gravel lot uphill from the terminal. Assured the cyclists that she could shoehorn all of us AND the bikes into her pick-up. But the Suburban showed up before we had a chance to test her rescue plan. So she rescued only me, dropping me at the door of Bella Coola’s funky Homestead Accommodations. We grinned, hugged and parted… as I slipped her money enough for 5 raffle tickets which she agreed to donate to a worthy citizen.

Margaret and Henry Bryson are the unbelievably authentic 70-something proprietors of the funky but spotlessly clean 6-room Homestead Accommodation. See Photo Gallery.

Like Sherri, Henry was quick to leap to my protection when he learned I’d not gotten a confirmation for the next day’s up-valley travel on the Bella Coola Community Bus. It’s unscheduled and runs only by request/confirmation. (And at $2.50, it seemed a better bargain than the $70 that Tweedsmuir Lodge would have charged... each way!) Henry took me into his kitchen where he placed a string of telephone messages and assured me that all would be well in the morning.

Morning came, and all was not well. There was still no confirmation from the Community Bus.
And once again I heard the war cry of the Heroic Bella Coola Traveler’s Friend: “Jump in my truck!”

We drove the 2 blocks to the Bella Coola Valley Restaurant, the early-morning Happening Place in town. Apparently everybody there knows everybody else’s business. And someone was sure to know the whereabouts – and maybe even the day’s schedule – of the Community Bus driver. And sure enough, somebody did. It was Frank (?), the bus driver. He acknowledged having received my multiple voice message requests for a ride to Burnt Bridge Creek. Then he gave a good laugh and explained, “The Community Bus doesn’t go to Burnt Bridge Creek. I know the Tourist Board information booklet says otherwise. But we’ve NEVER gone out to Burnt Bridge.”

Henry growls about the deception. Then he quickly gets over it, and commands, “Jump in the truck! I’ll take you.” But that’s an 80-kilometer round trip?! “Jump in the truck, Michael.”

It was the trip of a lifetime. Henry’s lifetime. I learned about his health (not good). I learned about his early working years (a forester, a ship’s hand, a dock-side crane operator) and his later career with Margaret as lodge-proprietors in odd provincial outposts. They’d been in Bella Coola for 5 years. I learned about black bear hunting (he's allowed to kill 2 per year.) I learned about his near-death after being ejected from a snowmobile that went unexpectedly airborne while racing across a frozen lake at full speed in sub-zero temperatures on a weeklong caribou-hunting trip in Nova Scotia. Broke three ribs. But when no helicopter would rescue him… he did what any sensible soul would do in that situation: he kept on hunting caribou.

As we eventually neared the Tweedsmuir Park Lodge at the far end of the Bella Coola Valley, Henry turned down a dirt road toward the river. “I’ve got a fish-counting station you might be interested in.” I expected to find the pride of the upper valley, a Ministry of Fisheries field station bristling with instruments and high technology. What Henry showed me was a tiny wooden shed that had been hammered onto a big cedar tree leaning over the river. Inside, there were two well-worn car seats balanced atop a viewing bench. A wooden flap opened for a stellar view of the river. “Two guys with hand-clickers do all the counting,” Henry explained.

O.K. And hello hello, Bella Coola.

Henry wished me well as he dropped me at the Tweedsmuir Park Lodge. And I bid him farewell until my return to Homestead Accommodation, scheduled for 3 nights later.

12th Post -- Delius Does Dreamscape

“By The River” by Frederic Delius is, IMHO, as evocative of swirling, flowing water as any piece of music ...EVER.
Forget your Smetena. Don’t even think about Handel.

So it was with immense pleasure that I donned the earbuds of my tiny iPod Nano and savored every note of Fred’s Best while enjoying the spectacular view from the top-most excursion deck of the 375-foot long “Queen of Chilliwack” as she sailed through the Inside Passage on her way from Port Hardy to Bella Coola.

Crew of 27. 135 passengers on board, well below the 374 capacity. The music perfectly fit the journey. Soundtrack to a dreamscape.

Only Dan from Manitoba shared the immense, sunny deck with me. That’s because the forward-facing top deck is normally fiercely windblown. And the 133 other passengers were sheltered below in the ‘normal’ safe spots. But Thursday isn’t normal on the Chilliwack. It’s Barbeque Day. So….? The captain actually pulls a 180 and pilots the ship in REVERSE – stern-forward – for more than an hour… for the sole purpose of affording the onboard chef the opportunity to enjoy a wind-buffered environment for grilling perfect salmon steaks on the forward deck closest to her kitchen. I’m not making this up.

And I don’t think it’s fantastic to say that the Norwegians are overstating it a bit when they claim that the venerable (100+ year) Hurtigruten ferry from Bergen to the Arctic Circle is “the world’s most beautiful voyage.” No doubt, it is stunning. I’ve sailed it. But THE most beautiful? Well… my vote goes to the humble upstart (31-year) BC Ferry run. A breathtaking and unexcelled panorama of water, islands, peaks, clouds… and lots of sunshine. Oh. And wildlife. In our 12-hour, 156-mile voyage we saw several orcas, more than a few humpbacks, hundreds of Pacific white dolphins and so many bald eagles that I lost count.

(Ironic n.b. – The Queen of Chilliwack was originally christened the BASTO 1 after it’s 1978 launch from the shipyards… in Norway!)

Further to the Euro-connection, the passenger manifest seemed to be composed mostly of Europeans. Lots of Dutch. At least a few Germans, including my new friend Zigfreid and his competently English-conversant grandson, Brits aplenty, some Spaniards and even some French… unless I got fooled by Quebec accents.

Just like old Europe, the onboard population seemed stratified into well-defined social classes. There were the peasants, mostly Hunters (fisherman) and Gatherers (tenters and backpackers.) Then there was the great bulk of established Townfolk, traveling with their 4-wheeled aluminum cottages. Finally, there was the nobility of the onboard social order: the Tourers, pursuing their Crusade to the best of Canada’s wilderness lodges from behind the wheel of conspicuously high-end SUVs and AWD Volvo wagons.

The Port Hardy to Bella Coola voyage is more beautiful, too, than the voyage of the Alaska Marine Highway’s “Columbia” which twice weekly departs Bellingham, Washington to transit the Inside Passage on its way to Ketchikan, Skagway and Juneau. I took that voyage last September, and while splendid, it did not have the spectacular inlet/fjord finale that the BC ferry delivers as it approaches Bella Coola. Words can’t adequately explain. Check out the Photo Gallery. The pink-hued mountainscape – snapped at 10:00pm -- is one of my favorites.

Next up: look to my 13th Post for details of the amazing sights and insights to be found upon arriving in Bella Coola, on the B.C. mainland.

11th Post -- "Can you...?"

“Can you name British Columbia’s five different species of salmon?”
You can after you visit the Quatse Salmon Sanctuary Centre in Port Hardy. Chinnok, Chum, Pink, Coho, Sockeye.

“Can you tell the difference between the oldest bone fishing hooks and stitching needles used by this area’s native people (8,000+ years ago) and those fragments used when Christ was alive? And those used a mere 500-600 year ago?”
After you visit the Port Hardy Museum you’ll likely remain as clueless as me. I’m just a ‘seen-one-bone-fragment-ya-seen-em-all’ kinda guy.

Is there really much more to say about Port Hardy?

Maybe reiterate the eye-opening fact that until 1979 this town had no road and no ferry terminal connecting it to the rest of Vancouver Island.

Maybe ponder the geographic perspective from here: if Victoria to Campbell River is RURAL; and if Campbell River to Port Hardy is REMOTE; then Port Hardy to Bella Coola is WILD.

10th Post -- How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Did you ever have to give a grammar school report on the painful details of “How I spent my summer vacation” ? Admit it. You did. And it made you squirm. Worse, it made your classmates wonder if they’d ever again let you play with them at recess.

And after you grew to adulthood, you certainly remember insisting that your friends endure a photo album or slide show of all the great Kodak Moments you captured on your oh-so-grown-up summer vacation. Right?
(Didn’t learn anything in grammar school, did you?)

Well, at the risk of jeopardizing my playground future and losing whatever adults who may yet count me among their friends… I’m gonna tell you how I spent my summer vacation. With a string of photos, no less.

I’m resorting to this story-telling approach, because today’s BCingYou trek was mostly road trip and snapshots. I made a leisurely departure from Heriot Bay after spending the morning at the marina with a good book. I drove; I hiked; I poked around. And I spoke to almost nobody, apart from the solo Brit who’d settled into the same Sayward, B.C. tenter's campground as me. Our 2 silver Volvos were the conversation starter. (His being a hire car.) But true to his national character, the conversation died quickly.

We could have talked about the remarkable history of Sayward. As late as 1979 this was the end of the road for Vancouver Island. Literally. The only way to reach the communities further north was by boat or by air. In 1966 the BC Ferries' "Queen of Prince Rupert" was put into service as the only scheduled connection between Vancouver Island and Prince Rupert on the northwest coast of mainland B.C. But in 1979, the Island Highway finally pushed north to Port Hardy. The "Queen of Prince Rupert" made her last Sayward run that same year. The local logging industry fell upon hard times. And Sayward virtually disappeared from the map. Even the local H'Kusam First Nations people left. Today a conveniently located campground and a spectacular footpath around the Salmon River Estuary are all that attract visitors.

That said... you're now left with nothing more interesting than my TOP 20 travel photos du jour. I ask you to click onto the Photo Gallery link to the RIGHT. And read below for the annotations, which match the NUMBERED captions in the Photo Gallery. (Or quit now and wait for my next Post. Unlike grammar school, you can cut this class.)

ONE – Brian and Rob sailing away from Heriot Bay. (See 9th Post for introductions.)
TWO – Famous Kwawaka'wakw master carver Sam Henderson made these totems just before he died. Totems are typically raised at important community sites, as here, at a native people's cemetery.
THREE – The place along the Campbell River where Tyee Club rules prevail (see 4th Post.)
FOUR – Tyee guides and rowboats, circa 1930. This is my snapshot of a photo hanging in the historic Tyee Club Room at Painter's Lodge. The original historic Lodge burnt down and today's lodge is an uninspired, upscale destination spot for boaters, holiday makers and business retreats. But the history and the on site artifacts are charming. Lots of fisher-photos of royalty and Hollywood celebrities from the 30s, 40s and 50s.
FIVE – A splendid seaplane.
SIX – Sayward's Visitors' Center. Looks like a set piece in 'Northern Exposure.' But it's for real.
SEVEN – Sayward's one-lane wooden bridge over the Salmon River.
EIGHT – Iconic 240 Volvo striking a Nordic pose in Sayward.
NINE – Sayward's Salmon River Estuary
TEN – Sayward's Salmon River Estuary
ELEVEN - Sayward's Salmon River Estuary; I watched from this spot as a duck (?) captured and swallowed a broad, flat fish that I would have thought impossible to get down its throat.
TWELVE - Sayward's Salmon River Estuary
THIRTEEN - My Sayward campsite, with a moonless night filled with stars, I opted to leave the rainfly off the tent for night sky viewing.
FOURTEEN - My recipe for campsite dessert.
FIFTEEN - You can't belive how delicious this dessert tasted at the end of the day.
SIXTEEN - 65 kilometers of Elks
SEVENTEEN - Hundreds of kilometers of logging roads; the signs showed more bullet holes the further north I drove.
EIGHTEEN - A Canada rock with 'Canada Rocks.'
NINETEEN - Morning highway scene.
TWENTY - Afternoon highway scene. The northern island is very wild and undeveloped.

O.K. You’ve endured bravely. I promise I’ll return to more narrative Postings after I reach Port Hardy to begin my long ferry trek to Bella Coola.

9th Post -- Brian sez...

The pub at Heriot Bay Inn was filled with characters last night. A family foursome from Sweden. Some flannel-clad locals. And plenty of Frustrated Fishermen who'd been forced off the water by the day's high winds. Brian and Rob fit into the FF category.

Brian is a great talker and a great story-teller. I was all ears as he served up a boat-load of information, advice and local lore. "We're South African, you know. But I've lived in Campbell River for 25 years. The wife and I kept a place here on Quadra Island for a while, but she felt it was too quiet, too remote. So every summer I come back to Quadra and the surrounding islands for the best sailing in the world. You can sail these waters for decades and never pass the same coastline twice. Rob's keeping me company this year."

Brian's boating heaven is known as the Discovery Islands group. It's made up of about a dozen major islands including Quadra, and countless smaller islets. The less populated islands -- Read, Stuart, Maurelle and the Redonda Islands are collectively known as the 'Outer Islands.'

Brian told me a bit about the next island over -- Cortes -- bigger, more remote, and even quirkier than Quadra. A segment of the population there is comprised of aging peace-niks who moved to Canada in their draft-age youth to avoid going to Viet Nam. Like other islands, Brian says, Cortes' arts community is very prolific. Everything from painting and sculpture to resin-cast trophy fish. But unlike other islands, Cortes has a nude beach at Hague lake near the center of the main town. The year-round population of 1,000 plays host to a growing and devoted legion of summer-trippers who like the relaxed atmosphere and good weather. "Worth a visit," says Brian. Maybe I will.

The music in the Heriot Bay Inn pub was unexpectedly 'vintage', but very much to my liking. A nicely mixed track of Van Morrison, the Beatles... and -- yikes -- even some Emerson Lake and Palmer. Good background as we talked about boats, about fishing and about island history. Well, I know nothing of those topics, so it was Brian who talked... with great energy and enthusiasm. Rob smiled and grinned. Me too. I listened to every word while I nursed a pint of hand-crafted lager and finshed off a full pound of local mussels.

Brian, Rob -- you're the best. I wish you safe sailing and good fishing. And I'll follow your advice after I leave Heriot Bay on Tuesday and will explore either Cortes or the Painter's Lodge... or maybe both.

8th Post -- Island Hopping

The BC Ferry system is driving my itinerary. Not a bad thing. On Thusday, I'll be a walk-on passenger for the 11-hour ferry from Port Hardy to Bella Coola on the B.C. mainland.

Because my days prior to that voyage are no longer dedicated to mountain hiking (see 7th Post), I've decided to rely on the BC ferries to explore the close-in islands and waterways.

So here I am on Quadra Island. It's just a 10 minute ferry from Campbell River. But it's another world. It's quiet, island-slow, and beautiful. First Nations people still own much of the island.

The Heriot Bay Inn on the eastern shore is an eclectic mix of everything for BCing You travelers.
Yes, there are lodge rooms. A couple of cabins. RV hook-ups. And tent-camping -- that would be me -- on the waterfront overlooking a small marina. Campsite neighbors Dave and Helen have been coming here -- to the same site -- for 25 years of R&R, fishing, and playtime with family and friends.

The Inn also has a pub and a dining room with -- whoa -- live music and patio dining. I skipped the pub, opted for patio dining, and enjoyed a same-day fresh sockeye salmon that was prepared nicely undercooked, my preference. Two bald eagles soared over the patio as the sun sank lower towards the horizon. Heaven. Also heavenly is the wi-fi access, the hot showers and... the on-site laundry room. I'm due.

Today was an unusually windy day according to local weather-watchers. So I drove the 3kms to Rebecca Spit Provincial Park, looking for sheltered shore. Bingo. I found a postcard-perfect bit of wind-free beach where I swam and soaked up the sun -- temperatures there still in the upper-20s'-C. And I watched the tide creep in as I ventured deeper into the darkness of Stieg Larsson's 'Girl With the Green Dragon Tattoo.'

Total surprise: a seaplane landed not 200 meters from my beachfront perch to off-load some Very Important People who transferred by motorboat to a very large (70ft?) vintage motor yacht which then promptly departed in the direction of Cortes Island to the east. A remarkable day in which I did next to NOTHING but stroll, sit, swim and soak it all in. Bliss.

I'll spend one more night on Quadra, then back to Vancouver Island tomorrow, heading north, ever north.

7th Post -- Snowy Strahcona to the Sea

"Ohh, it's uh-boot eight ta 10 clicks, an' very nice sights, eh?"

That's what Don Munroe told me to expect from Sunday's guided hike starting from the Paradise Valley trailhead atop Mount Washington in Strathcona Provincial Park. Don's an earnest member of the Comox District Mountaineering Club. And his wife Pam, on the left in the photo here, led the hike. All 8-10 clicks of it. Translation for foreigners like me: "8-10 kilometers."

And I am a foreigner. 'Though many Americans here mindlessly imagine that they're visiting the 51st state, I'm savouring (sic) the differences. And there are many. I'm trying to stay atuned to the subtle. And I'm charmed by the obvious. To be sure, Canadians speak differently. The intonation and conventions of conversation can make me feel like I'm chatting with Frances McDermott's 'Fargo' character.

For the duration of our splendid Sunday hike, I reveled in the charming Canadian authenticity of Pam and friend Krysta, at right in the picture, a staffer with the Strathcona Wilderness Institute. Pam has moved to Vancouver Island from Alberta. Krysta is local as local can be.

I was the only hiker to show up for Pam's hike. Krysta decided to join us after Don volunteered to tend to Krysta's duties at the Paradise Valley information hut so that he wouldn't aggravate his recently injured knee. (Following our hike, he confessed he'd not sold a single map or wildflower book.)

We had perfect weather for hiking. Clear, sunny skies, turning to light cloud cover by mid-day. But this was VERY much an early season hike. Paradise Meadows was glorious... but not yet festooned with mid-summer green and wildflowers, because it was buried under a blanket of snow until just a week ago. An amazing amount of new snow-melt was flowing and cascading everywhere on Sunday. And as we covered our hike's 800-meter elevation change, we encountered so much snow that there were no visible vestiges of trail for much of the hike... apart from the footsteps of earlier, more intrepid hikers... who we hoped had chosen the right path through the snowy wonderland. In fact, we were well-served not only by the footprints but by the trail-wise advice of one group of Earlier Intrepids -- all young, hearty and 6-7 feet tall -- who had just succeeded in making the season's first ascent of Mount Albert Edward (Strathcona's great snow-covered 'ledge' of a peak shown in my Photo Gallery.)

It was good luck that let me enjoy this early season mountainscape... and to learn from local experts that any more extensive hiking wouldn't likely be accessible 'til August.

So. It was time for me to re-jigger my interary once again. I headed back down the mountain to sea level where I was able to drive the Volvo onto a late afternoon ferry leaving Campbell River for Quadra Island. I'd learned that there was a spectacular day-use Provincial Park there -- Rebecca Spit (see Photo Gallery) -- and also some attractive choices for campsites nearby. Details will be forthcoming on my 8th Post.

6th Post -- "Never Buy a Red Canoe"

"Never buy a red canoe."

This is the sage advice I overheard on the beach at Buttle Lake today. The comment was prompted by the boat pictured on this page. It’s pink. Now, at least. The seasons and the elements have long since faded its original cherry-red.

The lesson? “You don’t always get what you think you’re going to get.” I’m reminded of that lesson as I sit tapping on my MacBook at my Buttle Lake campsite in Strathcona Park.

I’ve enjoyed a good afternoon of warm weather. A bald eagle flew overhead as I swam in the lake. The Crest Mountain Trail and the Wild Ginger Trail are literally steps away.

BUT... I’m not a happy camper/hiker. Why not? Because I've visited the nearby (and tiny) Park Headquarters. (see pic in Photo Gallery) And I learned that these lakeside trailheads are low elevation, ‘valley floor’ starting points that meander through forests and only occasionally climb to an exposed view points. These are NOT the Stathcona alpine/sub-alpine hikes that I’ve so much been hoping to enjoy here.

I was told that the park’s most glorious alpine/sub-alpine hiking is in fact very near, just a few miles from here… BUT that’s as the eagle flies. In a region called Forbidden Plateau. And steep, steep mountains separate Buttle Lake and the Plateau. Unsurprisingly, none of the Buttle Lake trails span this daunting divide. The only way I can get to my high country trailheads is to drive around the mountains, and approach them from the other (east) side.
Bummer.

But wait. There’s more. Remarkably, there are no campgrounds anywhere near Forbidden Plateau, i.e., no base camp where I can stay a few days to explore the high country trails.
Bummer #2.

So. What to do? Well, I’m resolved that I will NOT stick to my original plan of spending 4 nights here at Buttle Lake. Instead, I’ll break camp early tomorrow, drive back through Campbell River where I’ll visit the wi-fi enabled Starbucks to send this post and to cancel the remainder of my Buttle Lake campsite reservation. Then I’ll drive up to the Mount Washington alpine ski area. I’ll easily be at the Paradise Meadows trailhead by 10:00am for a guided hike there, led by Strathcona volunteers. I'm promised a splendid day hiking along the high country trails with nice people. And the weather continues to be warm -- locals say 'hot' -- and skies are clear, clear blue.

At day’s end tomorrow, I’ll head back down the mountain and take a ferry over to Quadra Island where I’m told I’ll be able to choose from several very nice coastal campgrounds. At least one of the campgrounds has wi-fi access. So you may see a Post #7 within 24 hours that will let you know if my back-up plan proves anymore successful than my original plan!

5th Post -- Vancouver Island MusicFest

What a treat. 75 concerts on 6 stages over 3 days in the funky rural fairgrounds alongside the Tsolum River outside the town of Courtney.

Love was in the air, almost Woodstock-like (but with polite, well-scrubbed and modestly-tattooed Canadians instead of New York hippies.)

There were happy, wholesome, music-loving people everywhere. Stylish women on motorbikes. A tide of tied-dyed dancing. And children. Lots of 'em. With parents effortlessly 'teaching their children well.'

MusicFest features a ton of 'folk/roots' music throughout the weekend. But I could attend only on Friday when the performers were few and limited just to one stage. That didn't stop me from noting my favorite program offerings for the weekend, including:
- Pacific Curls - "unprecedented combination of fiddle, ukulele, Maori traditional instruments, cajons, guitar, stomp peddles, percussion and vocals with lyrics in Maori, Rotuman and English." Wow.
- The Gertrudes - "sound like an ol' time saloon party in deep space... experimental noise beds with down home folk passengers, frolicking through original material, played by a veritable orchestra of instruments. Nerdgrass? Maybe..." Maybe, indeed.
- Mythmaker - "a mytho-theatrical sacred circus whose mission is to create, integrate and perform a new cultural mythology and to live a new dream which inspires the individual, community and culture to co-create a sustainable future for all life on the planet." So there.

(n.b. -- I heard days after the Fest that California guitar virtuoso David Lindley was the raucous & rolling sensation of the Fest.)

Kindness and positive vibes were the order of the day... and even the one 'Zoo York' T-shirt I spotted seemed more a proud validation of the local vibe than a rude rap on the Big Apple.
See the 'Greenman' and other MusicFest pics via the Photo Gallery page to the RIGHT.

I shamelessly indulged in the proffered Fest fare: a gourmet Mediterranean Burger and a lamb sausage pita. It was my ‘pre-ward’ in anticipation of the uncooked camp food I’ll eat in Strathcona Provincial Park over the next 4 days.

4th Post -- Miracle Beach

Miracle Beach -- 250 kilometers (Canada is sensibly metric) north of Victoria – is where ‘North Island’ enticements begin in earnest. The north offers visitors serious outdoor adventure – hiking, fishing, kayaking, eco-touring – whereas the 'South Island' attracts its summer visitors with culinary & agri-tourism and culture – farms, wineries, and music & theater festivals.

Although the north is extraordinarily rugged and wild, Miracle Beach is invitingly gentle and benign. My campground here actually has a shower and potable water (unlike my Cowichan River camp.) But the real miracle here is not the amenities. It’s the setting. Right on the eastern edge of the island, with views to the Smith Mountains across the 40-km wide Straits of Georgia. For anyone looking outward from the beach, those mountains occupy the entire field of view with a vast ‘sawblade’ collection of 900m peaks (from sea-level, remember, so they look very steep and majestic.) The 1500m peak of Mt. Addenbroke is also visible in the further distance. These Straits are the ‘parade route’ of the Alaska Marine Ferry I sailed last summer, and also the medium-sized Alaska cruise ships. (The big Alaska cruise ships go 'round the western shore of the island, because they can’t navigate the skinny & shallow Discovery Passage which begins in Campbell River, just north of here.

Campbell River is the self-proclaimed ‘salmon capital of the world.’ I’m no fisherman, but I was amused to learn than Campbell River is home to one of the most exclusive fishing clubs in the world. The Tyee Club was formed in the 1920s so that “our brave Tyee (BIG Chinook salmon -- 30lbs or more) may have a fair fight.” Club rules are simple: you have to catch a Tyee from a rowboat using an artificial lure with a single hook within a specified area on the Campbell River waterfront. A guide is permitted to row the boat, but the rest is up to you. Haul 'em in or 'catch-and-release'... IF they're 30+ pounds, membership in the Tyee Club is rightly bestowed.

The view from Miracle Beach is so broad that I can’t capture it with my little digital camera. But I’ve tossed a few ‘partials’ into the Photo Gallery nonetheless. Breathtaking. Note the one picture captioned '10pm.' At these northerly latitudes the sun is still visible after 9pm and there is easily enough light at 10pm to read a newspaper (a what?!) with the lingering light.
I'm reminded of my 1972 student summer in Finland; the late evening light conveys a palpable and seemingly contagious sense of unhurried calm.

The weather continues to be unbelievably good. Temperatures in the upper 20s (degrees C).
And – miraculously – the water at Miracle Beach is wonderfully warm, as it arrives and disappears with the tide… only 4ft deep when the tide is in. So I enjoyed some splendid swimming here. A nice relaxing venue prior to my upcoming 4 days in the high mountains of Strathcona Provincial Park.

Tomorrow, also prior to Strathcona, I’ll attend the first day of the 3-day Vancouver Island MusicFest (www.islandmusicfest.com) in the nearby town of Courtenay. See my 5th Post for details.

3rd Post -- Cowichan River Provincial Park

Cowichan River Provincial Park.
Pristine campsites.
Picturesque privies.
Profusion of tiger swallowtail butterflies, and...
P-E-R-F-E-C-T weather.

Cowichan's local boast is: "The Warm Land." 155 frost-free days/year, on average. (warm?)

This campsite is on a broad peninsula that's wrapped by the river. Campers with inner-tubes start at the upriver edge of the peninsula, and take the long, leisurely float 'round to the downriver edge.

A very pleasant trail circles this 750-hectacre park, through lush and virgin woodland. Adjacent to the park is the Trans Canada Trail, which I walked briefly. Decided not to take it all the way to Toronto.

A comfortable and comforting couple of days of "settling in" here at Cowichan. Heading north on Thursday to Miracle Beach.

2nd Post -- Ferry to Vancouver Island

Today I fired up the BMW 2002 and left Tacoma in the early morning light, heading north over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. And just before noon, I motored carefully onto the "Coho" (see www.cohoferry.com) for the 90 minute sailing across the Strait of Juan de Fuca from Port Angeles, WA to Victoria, British Columbia.

But surprise, surprise: the car I drove onto the ferry was NOT the '02. What???

'Tis true. Long story shortened: 15 miles north of Tacoma, the engine temperature on the '02 began to creep unexpectedly to the 'red' zone... so I doubled back to retrieve another ancient Euro-sedan, my '92 Volvo 240 -- the quintessential Swedish "brick". I managed to arrive at the Port Angeles ferry docks in time to drive aboard, itinerary intact... 'tho with fewer automotive adventures ahead. Probably a good thing.

It was a glorious day to depart Washington by ferry. Northwest writer Ivan Doig talks about this coastal stretch, this "national extremity, the coastal sill where the land mass has wrested itself from the sea. Out here is the American shore at its most remote, dangling like a coarse fringe from the huge cape where the Strait of Juan de Fucca angles into the continent." And on the other side: Canada, and my Monday night destination, a campsite at Cowichan River Provincial Park, about 40 miles northwest of Victoria.

This message was posted at Hillary's Fine Cheeses, a charming deli in the little waterfront hamlet of Cowichan Bay (see photo.) Owner Hillary (1st male I've met with this name) provided bread, cheese, and a blogging spot. And now on to Cowichan River Provincial Park for the next 2 days, 2 nights.

1st Post -- Fourth of July

It's SUMMER.

It's the Fourth of July.

And you're reading the 1st Post on my "BCing You" blog.

For details, click on "About This Blog" from the 'pages' to the RIGHT.

If you want to follow some or all of this month's blog posts, just click on "Follow" at the left of the blue menu bar at the TOP of this page.


BCing You,
Michael