Past Vancouver Island

After 5.5 days of mostly wet and cloudy riding, the sun finally broke out this morning into a beautiful sunrise over the bay in Port Hardy, the northern tip of Vancouver Island.  Time to board the ferry for Prince Rupert and mainland Canada through the "inside passage" along the coast of British Columbia.

This meant a very early rise to make a 6:00 AM deadline to check in for a 7:30 departure.  But as my anticipation and interest in this particular voyage has been in place since grad school in 1980, it was certain that sleep would be fitful anyway. And now, with a clear sky and stunning views, it is easy to reflect on the “island.”

Notwithstanding the challenging start due to the accident, Vancouver Island was well worth its service as our starting point.  The city of Victoria is charming, with an English vibe mixed with a cosmopolitan, youngish air.  Enjoyed visiting the Parliament building, and especially the single chamber where the political deliberations take place.  Reflecting on that, it represents, at least physically, not a “house divided” but perhaps, even hopefully, a room where deliberation and consensus can take place.  Might be a dream, but the physical oneness of the ornate chamber inspired that thought.

British Columbia unicameral Parliamentary Chamber

For a bicyclist, riding on the island is generally easy.  Victoria is a very bicycle-friendly town, much to the chagrin of many locals who complain about parking and easy access to downtown being removed.  I get it.  The infrastructure of bike lanes and safe crossings in the urban area, not to mention the many bike trails, is quite significant.  However, there is also a lot of traffic on the island (especially pick-up trucks), all the way to Campbell River and the start of the “north island” region. That was, perhaps, the only downside to the journey (other than the persistent rain), and no doubt a contributor to the accident.

The galloping Goose Waterfront Trail in Victoria;
some splendid infrastructure

As a sort of barrier island from the Pacific tradewinds, Vancouver Island is the most temperate area in Canada, with temperatures that do not vary far from the 50’s to 60’s, at least in the lower coastal areas.  The mountainous spine of the island manages to capture quite a bit of rainfall, resulting in a very lush, verdant landscape.  I was fortunate for timing the peak blooming period of rhododendron, azalea, hawthorn, and other species that gave this old gardener “flower-lust”, especially when visiting the incredible sunken and Japanese gardens at Burchart.

The incredible sunken garden at Burchart - a former quarry.

Some coastal riding in a brief moment of sunshine.
Rain can come quickly

Of course, for a flatlander, crossing this mountainous spine on the northern half is required to get to Port Hardy, and somewhat intimidating.  In spite of the rain, I managed to depart Seyward in the morning during a rainless moment and make the two biggest climbs over nameless passes.  The morning afforded magnificent glimpses of the steep, snow-capped peaks while slowly grinding up or gently coasting down the slopes.   Not high in terms of overall altitude, the mountains are steep-sided and often fall directly into the seas, creating numerous fjord-like inlets with fishing villages tucked at the end of the bay – villages left for exploration some other time but well published as tourist destinations in their own right.

Hwy 19 across the mountainous spine - north island:
the rain stopped in the morning, and continued all afternoon

Perhaps the most important reflection I make is that of the people.  I was fortunate to have three Warm Showers hosts.  I have already spoken of my saviors, the Paxman's, hosting me during my friend's accident recovery.  But I have not mentioned Bob and Dorothy Simpson, Darla Love, and Stephanie Tuck (and her dogs!).   Strangers freely come up to chat, especially a touring cyclist.  Bob did so during the accident and offered his accommodation that I gladly took up in Nanaimo, with Darla escorting me out onto the right path northward the following morning. 

 

Bob, Dorothy and Darla, ready to send me off northward.

Stephanie Tuck hosted me in Courtenay in a waterfront home with her two rescue dogs. A med-tech consultant working from home, she also is a foster for shelter dogs, finding new homes while keeping them from a darker future.  This passion mixed well with our charity link to CanDoCanines.  Her friend Steve joined us for dinner and conversation that was memorable and warm.  

Stephanie's dogs, Kai and Lena, sending me off in the rain.

The most visible aspect that quite impressed me about the people is the ingrained “inclusion” of words and symbols from the many first nations.  What is striking to me is that many of the first nation tribes remain on their original lands, often a cove or inlet and the landscape surrounding it.  An informational banner posted in Woss shows the many tribes just within the north island region. (all the black labeled titles on the image are separate tribes)

Integration of language on signs as well as the unique Pacific Northwest symbolism represented in the art is everywhere.  I cannot say whether some of this might be considered cultural appropriation, as for example, symbolism integrated into a Rotary International sign, or whether the club is populated and embraced by the indigenous.  There is so much more to learn about the first nations here that this trip does not permit. But like many places in North America, there is abundant evidence of their marginalization within the greater society. 

Perhaps it is best exemplified by coming across a random totem pole sitting in the estuary adjacent Port Hardy that I passed this morning.  There is a story there that further study might reveal, but for now, we sail north to Prince Rupert and the point of departure for my continental crossing. 

A totem along the estuary dike in Port Hardy
 I wish I knew its meaning

ARRIVAL!

Arrived in Prince Rupert, last to leave the boat at 12:30 AM, and had to ride to the hotel - IN THE RAIN!

Words cannot adequately describe the pure, raw beauty of this voyage.  Imagine a green rumpled blanket, draped over the dark blue sea, perhaps covering spirits or mythical creatures you may have imagined as a kid.  Cast expanses of snow at the high crumpled peaks, and let imaginary cascades of water flow between the ripples onto the sheet of water. 

That would be the inside passage: