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.