by Bill Arnott

A small plane hauled me north, toward Haida Gwaii – prehistoric land, old growth rainforest and Haida First Nations. It was a departure from the Viking trek I’d been on for four years, in the wake of Scandinavian voyagers. I’d just finished a Norse-Britain excursion, from the Hebrides to Lindisfarne and my dad’s dad’s hometown of Dunfermline, Scotland. Like research, my travel was following hunches and side-streets, a voyage as pointedly vague as every explorer.

I exited the little plane with a handful of locals and wanderers, gathering packs and duffels. A bald eagle circled, low, directly overhead. At a sculpture park near my home it states, “When you see an eagle you know this is a special place.” And I realized I didn’t want to find my accommodation. Not yet. There was too much to see.

From Masset I drove south to Port Clements, home of The Golden Spruce. The Spruce is an anomaly, a genetic oddity that makes albinos seem common – a three-hundred-year-old tree with needles entirely gold in colour, in a forest on Graham Island. If you’ve read The Golden Spruce, you know the story. It was cut down by a protester for reasons too complex, convoluted, to comprehend. Killing makes sense to killers. It was felled with precision, into the Yakoun River.

From the car I walked a footpath through towering evergreens – sentient sentinels, until I saw The Spruce, now on its side, spindly and bare, the colour of bones – a corpse lying in the river. This was a sacred tree. To everyone. Even the man who brought it down.

With a blessing a piece of the trunk, still living, was cut by a native, Elders and Chiefs presiding. And this modest slab of spruce, this part of the land, was passed to a luthier, a gifted Canadian artisan who fashioned the wood into a guitar, an instrument known as Voyageur. The Voyageur guitar crossed the country, the ambitious project of CBC’s Jowi Taylor. It encapsulates Canada – a guitar of and for the people. Six String Nation is its story. Imagine a small piece of furniture constructed of generations of heirlooms from every family. Now imagine you pass that around and play it, sing to it – add your stamp to the whole. When Jowi passed Voyageur to me to play on a little theatre stage on Vancouver Island, I felt pride and privilege beyond measure. One of those things bigger than any or all of us.

I took a picture of the Spruce and a glow appeared in the photo I didn’t or couldn’t see in person, and I recalled the notion of pictures capturing souls. Leaving the forest I noticed a small sign I hadn’t previously seen. “Do not look back,” it reads, “There is much more to see, feel and love.” Leave everything behind. Your life lies ahead. I read this again, slowly. Truth is, under the guise of research, I’d fled here in an attempt to process my father’s passing, which had just happened, rather tragically. And here, in the forest, ensconced in spirituality, this oddly comforting sign held me. I felt lightened, burdens dissolving – the result of letting go. It was a feeling, ironically, I longed to hold on to.

I drove a short distance on active logging road, then from gravel to winding asphalt with a centre-line – the Yellowhead Highway that leaps from the BC mainland to these islands. CBC radio – the only station – came and went as I drove. In Port Clements, I stopped at Millennium Park and the Golden Spruce Trail at Saint Mark’s church. The Golden Spruce offspring lives here. A sapling, seeded from the original, grows in a small fenced enclosure. It’s squat and scrawny, and a large feather had fallen beside it – black with downy white – a dreamy vignette, heavy with optimism. A glimpse of healing.

Driving south I stopped at Balance Rock – a gravity-defying hunk of basalt shaped like a monstrous rugby ball on its side, sitting improbably on a small and natural Precambrian plinth. I hiked through bushes and grazed on wild strawberries and huckleberries. Blacktail deer crossed the road, indifferent to the occasional vehicle, and ravens flew by with a whoosh of wings. I carried on through Tlell to Skidegate, where the MV Kwuna ferried me to Alliford Bay on Moresby Island, and I drove to Sandspit with two new passengers – hitchhikers from the ferry. Dropping a bag in a hostel-lodge I strolled to the pub where everyone ate halibut and chips and drank Lucky lager. Back in my room, with open window I drifted off to the warbling chirp of bald eagles, a soft patter of rain and the aroma of sea.

I woke eleven hours later, breakfast smells wafting in my room – bacon and strong coffee. I stumbled down to where a friendly hippy-in-waiting proffered warm and generous portions of potatoes, eggs and staphylococcus. Remarkably, she managed to sneeze in a hundred-and-eighty-degree arc. The result, a feeling of eating al fresco in a squall – misting with a soupçon of mucous. I toweled off, ate, then jumped in a van going south, to Moresby Camp at the head of a fjord-like inlet where a Zodiac-rhib motored our little group to open water.

This stretch of sea is the Hecate Strait. North is the Dixon Entrance, deep ocean binding Alaska and Canada to the North Pacific. It’s a place of explorers – La Perouse, Perez, Cook and Drake – France, Spain and Britain seeking the Northwest Passage to the Orient. All came, courageous, determined, and failed, forced to sail back around the world.

Veering from land we found Steller sea lions barking and flopping on rocks, then we followed the coast, passing petrels in flight, auklets and murrelets on the water. Deer grazed near the beach in thickets of alder and hemlock. Eagles perched in trees where a massive, multi-generational aerie sat in the highest branches of a seaside spruce. The shoreline was textbook Pacific Northwest – red cedar, lilting hemlock, spindly alder, stodgy spruce, rocky shoreline with outsized bivalves, bull kelp, driftwood, jetsam from timber barges and the occasional treasure from Japan – fish floats of coloured glass and bulbs from ships and lighthouses, fragments worn smooth by surf and time.

In her autobiographical Klee Wyck, Emily Carr wrote of her arrival to this shore, “Skedans Beach was wide. Sea-drift was scattered over it. Behind the logs the ground sloped up a little to the old village site. It was smothered now under a green tangle, just one grey roof still squatted there among the bushes, and a battered row of totem poles circled the bay.” Our boat slowed as we entered the same bay, here at Louise Island. Our destination, the ancient Haida village of Skedans – K’uuna Llnagaay – century-old bleached totems, palpable spirits, and silence.

Two Haida Watchmen greeted us, tasked with protecting this site. Beaching the rhib we unloaded onto pea-gravel. Our small group was hushed, the awe of entering a cathedral. I knew this place from Carr’s art. She was here eighty-plus years ago, painting this environment. I recognized a cliff face, young alders now grown – a sense of returning to a place I’d never been. We crunched across rocky beach to a grassy rise where leaning totems guard the bay like wraiths, memories entwined with the land.

The Watchmen were a brilliant young woman – the first female Watchman, and a serious man wearing a flat-top flared hat of woven cedar. I’ve seen these hats in galleries with four-figure price tags, the workmanship millennia of expertise – practical, wearable art. We were led to their cabin and shared lunch outside, seated on logs. After, we followed a trail loosely bordered with huge clam and oyster shells, like a velvet rope around an exhibit. And we walked and gawked and soaked up the space, privileged to witness it all. History here is long, proud and tragic. What physically remains are longhouse foundations, corner posts and carved totems – house and frontal poles, mortuary and memorial poles – falling or fallen, melting back to the land.

From the remains of Skedans we marched through forest – a towering canopy of cedar over thick mossy ground the colour of young clover with a blanket of salal. A woodpecker feather lay near the path, an orangey-red quill, and one of the other tourist-guests, a local naturalist, showed me licorice root, which we plucked from where it grew, high up the trunk of a four-hundred-year-old spruce. It came away like a tiny white radish, the taste of black licorice and dirt.

We endured a long and jarring ride back in the RHIB (rigid hull inflatable boat), then waited in rain while our trailer was replaced. And then our vehicle. Snacks and outerwear were shared. We’d become an impromptu team, surviving elements and shared experience. Eventually we had a bumpy van-ride back to Sandspit where I fell into bed for another long sleep, wondering when the nasal squawk of ravens had become so soothing, and somehow reassuring.

If You Go:

You can fly from YVR on a number of airlines into Sandspit or Masset, both on Haida Gwaii’s largest island where most amenities are located. You can also ferry from Prince Rupert. There are shuttles but a rental vehicle will give you the most flexibility to explore. Expect mileage to be added to your rental cost, unlike most destinations where unlimited miles are the norm. Accommodation is uncomplicated – predominantly lodges and hostels with breakfasts included. Pack for maritime weather – all conditions in a day – wind, rain, sun and cold. The Haida Heritage Centre in Skidegate is a must – history, performances and interactive learning. Check to see what’s going on and allow at least a half day here. There are high end fishing lodges in the area (salmon and halibut being the stars) with gourmet meals and prices to match. Camping, however, can provide equally memorable experiences in this special, spiritual locale.

Vancouver Island Whale and Wildlife Tour

About the author:

Author, poet, songwriter Bill Arnott is the bestselling author of Gone Viking: A Travel Saga and Dromomania: A Wonderful Magical Journey. His articles and columns are published in Canada, the US, UK, Europe and Asia. When not trekking the globe with a small pack, weatherproof journal and horribly outdated camera phone, Bill can be found on Canada’s west coast, making friends and more or less misbehaving. www.amazon.com/author/billarnott_aps

Photo credit: Murray Foubister / CC BY-SA

Our photo club group reaches Summerland, British Columbia, for some destination photography. We corkscrew up a rural road to reach our accommodations at Wildhorse Mountain Ranch B and B where a welcome party of three enthusiastic canines greets us. Unloaded and settled into our rooms, our itinerary unfolds.

On day one we head to Summerland’s Ornamental Gardens followed in the afternoon by a scheduled steam train ride. While at the gardens we are teased by a glimpse of the seventy-three-metre high Trout Creek Trestle Railway Bridge. Touted as an engineering triumph when it was built in 1913, it’s B.C.’s highest railway trestle and the third highest in North America.

Regrettably, the steam train no longer crosses that trestle. But thanks to an active heritage society and to multi-level government funding, it chugs along a preserved ten-kilometre track from the Prairie Valley Railway Station through to Canyon View Siding. And we learned later that the train does back onto the bridge for viewing and photography.

After lunch we press on towards the Kettle Valley Steam Railway to make our 1:30 reservation.

Departure time will be slightly delayed we’re told. But the reason for the delay–a movie crew filming a period piece with actors dressed in early 20th century attire, delivers photo ops. That, and the chronicled history and features inside and out the train station, keep us reading and keep our cameras clicking.

Uncovering the raison-d’etre for this little railway south of the CPR mainline, becomes a pursuit. Why was Andrew McCulloch, chief engineer for the Canadian Pacific Railway, (CPR) tasked with building the Coast-to-Kootenay Railway? Canada’s most westerly province, British Columbia, had already been enticed to join Canadian Confederation in 1871 by Prime Minister John A. MacDonald’s promise to build a railway from Montreal to the west. However, the CPR mainline completed in 1885, was too far north to transport the Okanagan’s fruit and the Southwest’s newly discovered silver. Canada’s western ports of New Westminster and Vancouver were being left out of the ‘silver’ loop. No cross border protections existed at that time, so Americans were seizing the mineral wealth and transporting it south to connect with the United States’ Great Northern Railway. All this factored in to the CPR directors’ sanctioning the construction of this new line.

“All aboard!” Our reading is interrupted by a robust-voiced conductor. The movie crew concluded their shoot and we now eagerly line up to board. Authentic period-costumed folks––conductor, engineer, and Felix, a charismatic banjo player, along with a team of friendly volunteers, welcome you as you set foot onto the train. For photo enthusiasts, it’s an easy choice between two seating options–open-sided wagons or 1950’s vintage closed coaches. Our eager group scurries to the last open car. After achieving the best viewing spots, we agree to switch sides for the return ride. Once settled in, our journey powered by 2-8-0 steam locomotive 3716, ‘The Spirit of Summerland’ commences.

Built in 1912, the N2 B Class locomotive was said to be “under boilered” as its two engines could consume steam faster than the fireman could make it! The two engines designation came about as each set of cylinders and rods in this cleverly designed locomotive could work independently should there be a malfunction. Locomotive 3716 has a back-up diesel engine–the 1956 S6, 115-ton, 6 cylinder 2S1B Prime Mover. While our group chose the more modern open air coach, the enclosed, restored 1940’s vintage coaches, would be a better choice for cooler, inclement weather, especially the seasonal Christmas Train Ride.

Dressed to match the times, Felix, a delightful banjo-playing songster, kicks off in our section with some classic favourites, ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’ and ‘You are my Sunshine’. Requests are welcomed as he wanders through the cars. And he can pretty much play any tune asked for. Conductor Ron, provides educational and humourous commentary as we snake along the route.

We weave around pine forests opening onto the fertile Prairie Valley. There unfold views of vineyards, wineries, and orchards. The proximity of carved slabs of colossal rock remind us of the challenges faced by McCulloch’s crew. A repetitive metal on metal cadence of the wheels on tracks blend with the engine’s din. Billowing smoke from the stack emits an acrid odour, completing the retro sensory experience.

Shrill whistle sequences signal the stop at Trout Creek Canyon. Here we disembark for the grand view, a leg stretch and more photos, of course. Accommodating, patient crew pose with passengers while other folks dart around the train snapping images of the locomotive and valley from different angles. Again, the whistle signals, this time for us to board for the return trip. We change sides, relax as veteran passengers now, and take in the landscape.

Having served a timely purpose, the little rail line that could, five hundred kilometres traversing three mountain ranges, came to an end due to air and vehicle transportation advancements and to unforgiving winters taking their toll.

The Kettle Valley Steam Railway experience not only has regular trips, but also offers the ‘Great Train Robbery and BBQ’, an Easter and Mother’s Day train. Regular season starts the third week of May.

Leaving Prairie Valley Station at the journeys end, we feel thankful that the folks in the heritage society took on the initiative to preserve this gem of Canadian railway history.

If You Go:

To plan your trip and book your tickets, visit the comprehensive Kettle Valley Railway website.

Beat the Bottleneck: Summerland Full-Day Wine Tour

About the author:
Karen is an award-winning photographer, CAPA (Canadian Association for Photographic Art) District Representative, and past president of the Delta Photo Club. When her thirty-year career as an educator ended, she was able to focus more time on her passions of photography, travel and writing.

All photos by Karen Pacheco

British Columbia, Canada

by Glen Cowley 

We crested the knoll and were rewarded. Below us ran drift-wood artistry crafted along the tanned body of a broad beach welcoming the incoming tide. And this on a hot, clear September day with the Coast Mountains, blue hued in jagged array, gazing down. Not a soul in sight.

Welcome to Savary Island; originally named “Ayhus” by the Sliammon (Tla’amin) First Nation people, meaning double-headed serpent.

This was the picture I had in mind from all the glowing descriptions I heard regarding this unique isle; famed for waters claimed the warmest north of Mexico. And this was a time to come; when the press of summer tourism is fading; when land, sea and sky reclaim their timeless ownership.

Our journey to the isle, first recorded as Savary’s Island by Capt. George Vancouver in 1792, began at the ferry dock in Comox, Vancouver Island. An hour twenty later we were rolling off the Queen of Burnaby into Powell River back dropped by the serrated teeth of the majestic coastal mountain range. A half hour north landed us in Lund, a village dating from the 1880s when the two Thulin brothers from Sweden set up shop and named the community after one back home. Free parking is at a premium here but paid parking is available for daily fee of $7.00 at Dave’s parking lot. Savary emerged, a rich green line across the horizon, as we strolled the village boardwalk. Then we were off to our evening abode; a bed and breakfast south of Powell River.

The following morning found us at the Lund water taxi ready and waiting for the 9 am service to Savary. During the summer months service is hourly but otherwise it is irregular, dependent upon demand. We clambered aboard the sturdy little craft along with luggage, dogs and 8 others, expecting a casual chug across the channel. We cleared the marina lazily then the engines exploded into life, the bow rose and the waters fell swiftly away as we blasted into the clear. In ten minutes we were scrambling out upon the government dock gazing at the long sandy arm of a forever beach. A cluster of boats floated near the shoreline.

Stretched along the south shore, where we came ashore, were a line of substantial homes bordering the dirt road which we learned ran the length of the island, about 7.5 kilometres (.8 to 1.5 kilometres wide). Vehicles crowded a haphazard parking lot though few were to be found trundling along the low maintenance dirt roadways with the waning of summer. Admiring homes we walked as far south as the road allowed, drinking in views of beach and mountain. Perhaps appearing a tad bemused as we poured over a brochure we were rescued by a local resident who filled us in on the what’s and wherefore’s of Savary. She and her husband were just closing up their home for the season as were many of the locals; however there are a solid few who call Savary home full time and garner the fruits of civilized solitude in this stunning setting.

The island, though long known, did not feel the feet of many until it was subdivided into lots in 1910. Despite its small size there are 1750 lots giving it the highest lot density of any island in the Salish Sea. An early settler, Jack Green, built a cabin and store here in 1886, only to be murdered along with his business partner in 1893. The culprit was tracked down in a long distance, international chase and ended his days at the bad end of a rope.

Sunny Sandy Savary: A History of Savary Island 1792-1992

She told us of the Savary Island B & B; a single floor sprawling log building we had just passed and admired. There had been a couple hotels on the island – The Savary, built in 1914 survived until it burned down in 1932 and the Royal Savary Hotel at Indian Point which was demolished in 1982. Now B & Bs, cabin rentals and a lodge offer accommodation options. The listed permanent population of 100 balloons to a couple thousand in the summer.

Steam ships serviced the island until the 1950s when water taxi from Lund took over. Now most arrive via the taxi, personal craft or float planes.

I hadn’t realized, given my Google image and the many words about sandy beaches, how hilly Savary is. We crossed the width of the island, climbing significantly in the process, and were rewarded with a magnificent vista as we crested above south beach. Below us ran a long lonely strand strewn with driftwood; broad still even with a slow incoming tide. The sun pounded down as we began the challenging, but not overly so, switch back down the hill until our feet found level ground. High above houses peeked through the trees but the shoreline was all ours.

Off came the shoes and we padded the beach enjoying the cool seawash over feet. In a dead standing tree a turkey vulture coolly watched us; I checked my pulse and took a sip of water.

A black dot on the water proved a large curious seal. Masked Killdeer complained as they wheeled about behind us and, usually solitary, Loons swam about in a group. We wore no watches. Time took on its own rhythm. Afterwards we sat on a log gazing towards the sea and enjoyed a snack. Never ceases to amaze me how food tastes better in such settings.

We had all day to explore but the Sun was ensuring it was not to be ignored and compelled us to occasionally seek the shady arms of the forest.

Striking out for the north beach and Mermaid Rock we returned to the dirt road, gloriously titled Vancouver Boulevard, running the spine of the island, and climbed to the height of land which was to take us through a protected and treed sand dunes section, devoid of development due to its fragility. Few cars and people frequented the roadway which felt much like a shady park walk.The takity takity tack of a noisy Piliated woodpecker echoed through the still forest; proving so intent on attacking his tree he took no notice of us. The protected zone is home to 10,000 year old sand dunes. The island is eroding steadily at both the north and south ends.

Before reaching the protected zone we came across Rigger’s Pub/Bistro which was partially open; that is the manager was out back, the door was open and the coffee was on. We learned the bistro was the central gathering place for the island and serves alcohol, though it is not formally considered a pub. Of atmosphere it had plenty to share. Among the eclectic adornments of the walls was an old newspaper account of the aforementioned murder of Jack Green. Not far from the bistro stood a multi-denominational chapel peaceful and secluded amid the trees, open to one and all.

Reaching the north island zone homes once again emerged from the forest. The road opened to intermittent vistas of sea and mountain until we found a sign denoting the trail to east facing Mermaid Rock and North Beach.

At the trail head we encountered a panting ascending trio winded, but encouraging us to venture to the beach below. It proved worth the effort and much easier than our earlier experience at South Beach. Once again we had a beach to ourselves. We found ourselves a comfortable log and sat to absorb place and ambiance. Mermaid Rock offshore was adorned with two figures; both stoic in their pose but much differing in their essence. It appeared an oddly-stanced Great Blue Heron was doing his best to impress the green hued statue of a mermaid despite her consistent indifference. Ah, the pain of unrequited love.

Afar we could see the final arch of the north end of the island but bone weary and cooked by the Sun we chose to forego the final leg and saunter back to await the water taxi We had already determined Savary a place of return in order to experience its charms more fully.

As we sped back across the channel in the water taxi, aptly named Comintagetcha, I anticipated a cool brew at the Lund Hotel, which has been standing in one form or another since 1895. Its many years having brought with them tales of hauntings and the paranormal it fit with the timelessness of the place and the lingering view of Savary; emerald upon the horizon.

If You Go:

There are no public campsites, washrooms or garbage facilities on Savary so you must come prepared. There is also no public source of drinking water and come the end of summer all services effectively shut down. The best way to see the entirety of the island in a day is by bicycle of which there are summer rentals and the prospect of availability in early September (best to check).

Water taxi – lundwatertaxi.com It is best to call ahead to confirm the schedule and reserve a seat. There are Savary Island maps/brochures available at the office.

Information on Savary re: accommodations and more: savaryca.bravehost.com

2-Day Tofino Tour from Vancouver

About the author:
Since 1994 Glen Cowley has parlayed his interest in sports, travel and history into both books and articles. The author of two books on hockey and over sixty published articles (including sports, travel, features and biographies) he continues to explore perspectives in time and place wherever travels and circumstances take him. From the varied landscapes of British Columbia to Eastern Canada and the USA, the British Isles, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Greece and France he has found ample fodder for features. His present endeavours see him working on a book on unique pubs on Vancouver Island; a sober experience. Contact: windandice@shaw.ca

All photos by Glen Cowley:
Water taxi at Lund
South Beach
Jelly fish on South Beach
Chapel
North Beach – Mermaid and Heron
Piliated Woodpecker
Riggers pub/bistro

by Glen Cowley 

It has been called the most beautiful drive in the World.

And it is but a small part of the God’s carven world of the seven Canadian National and B. C. Provincial Parks hugging the Rocky Mountains’ Great Divide. So stunning the national parks; Kootenay, Banff, Yoho and Jasper along with the B.C. Provincial Parks Assiniboine, Hamber and Mount Robson were declared a UNESCO world heritage site in 1984.

It had been years since we last visited the parks but our connection with them ran deep from distant days of cross Canada hitch hiking to four years living in Golden B.C.; where the parks rose within our backyard.

Those days truly were golden and we would merrily hazard, year round, the nail biting ten miles of the Kicking Horse Canyon, grown familiar from use, to enjoy vistas, hikes, skiing or soaking in hot springs.

The parks are as large as they are breath taking and, it bears remembering, are the wild. There are too many sorry remembrances of those who failed to heed warnings only to perish over a waterfall or succumb to hypothermia trapped in a glacial crevice. This is not Disneyland though its natural artistry can make it seem other worldly.

Our now grown children with children of their own were but pre-teens when we last drove the parkway between Lake Louise and Jasper and we were stunned to see how far the Athabasca Glacier, that long intrusive tongue of the massive Columbia Icefield, had retreated. Already in natural retreat there are signs acknowledging the decline that have been hastened by global warming. They spoke of the advancing flora chasing the fleeing glaciers and of the inherent change so bespoken for wildlife. Where once the icy tongue licked the opposite side of the valley, at its greatest extent in 1844, the long flight saw it now crawling into the very folds of the great icefield itself. Here, atop the World, the ice achieves depths of 100 to 365 metres; enough to engulf cities, skyline and all.

We hiked to the valley floor, lapping at the glacier’s tongue, appreciative of our jackets; the temperature noticeably dropping as we neared the deceiving dirt covered glacial lip. High above a line of hikers plodded dutifully behind their guide across the ivory face of the glacier and crawling snow-cat coaches took folk to a cleared parking area on the ivory expanse. Even late in August the site was abuzz with tourists from the world over. Above a sky with a teasing Sun tossed looming mountain faces into erratic moods. The glacial edge was awash with rushing waters spilling their way to one of the three oceans fed by the icefield. As if to draw attention to its raw beauty a section of the tongue had fallen away to reveal the deep turquoise inner body of the ice, old beyond recollection.

If the Columbia Icefields are a singularly outstanding experience on the 170 kilometre parkway they are not the only easily accessible works of wonder.

Turquoise hued Peyto Lake is a short uphill jaunt from the highway parking lot. Oft photographed and resident on many a calendar the lake is laid out resplendent, guarded by its mountains and replenished by thin cascades streaking across their faces. Named after historic early trader and guide, Bill Peyto, the lake is safely viewed from a guard-railed viewpoint.

Short distances from the highway are stunning examples of the power of water as Sunwapta Falls and Mistaya Falls continue their wild white-water thrashing through rock with relentless authority creating art in the process.

Jasper’s southern cousin, Banff, is well renowned for its picturesque namesake huddled in post card perfection beneath Mount Rundle. Our journey this time took us to two favoured haunts.

The Johnston Canyon waters ran cold and clear through the narrow chasm carved over the millennia, spilling white fury in misty display as they pass. It is claimed almost one million people annually trod its tended pathways, bridges and ramparts which swing over the very turbulence itself. Despite crowds politeness prevailed as people quietly stopped to let others pass. Cameras, hung at the ready – necessarily so as you would just take one picture only to find another waiting around the corner. At the lower falls (30 minutes in) rock walls appeared to almost close and the waters pounded into a pool hidden within a a hollow accessible through a carved tunnel at the end of a bridge crossing the chasm. Spectacular in the extreme, people lined up to experience the pounding, misty cavern.

As the ascent steepened so the crowds dwindled and far fewer achieved the upper falls (a further 30 minutes) pounding and roaring in the open welcome of the Sun. The viewing platform hung near the precipice offering glorious views of the tumbling cascade.

The further two hour journey to the paint pots it is a worthy destination though warranting making Johnston Canyon a full day venture.

Our second site sat, a hidden Shangri-La, high above the opulence of Lake Louise with its glacial backdrop and turquoise waters. To reach Lake Agnes takes a bit of effort; wending the switch back trail to the rock outcrop upon which a log tea house sits and a thin cascade tumbles free to Mirror Lake far below.

The remaining steps from the pool, though steep, are short and reward you with a view of mountain girded Lake Agnes, the welcome of tea and a sandwich or sweet. It is worth the wait for a seat if crowds abound. In the mean time you can delight in the entertainment of chubby little chipmunks scampering about and rubbing their paws in anticipation of tidbits. A further clamber to the Little Beehive will reward you with a National Geographic view of Lake Louise lying jewel-like far below.

Adjacent to Banff the allure of Yoho National Park gives pause for a lengthy holiday in a seemingly endless world of the spectacular. A favourite journey was to the towering thunder of Takkakaw Falls, the second highest waterfall in Canada. It is a steep drive, switch backing the heights, to the eventual applause of the falls. The roar of the falls is matched by the hordes of viewers oohing and awing below. A little effort and rock clambering can draw you within the aura of sound, sight and mist and immersion in the experience.

A short distance west from Takkakaw is the turnoff for Emerald Lake and the Natural Bridge. If it lacks the power of Takkakaw the Natural Bridge makes up for it in methodical carving of rock into forms as unique as a Henry Moore art piece. Where once a full natural bridge hung over the rage-whitened face of water but a vestige remains, itself a passing entity. Emerald Lake lies at the foot of the mountains, red canoes dotting its surface, even as the lodge recalls images of romance. At the parking lot a little ground squirrel community has entertained visitors for years. In the midst of wild beauty sits peace.

It takes a special trip from these parks to the southern most of the National Parks; Kootenay.

During those family days in Golden we would take the winter drive to Radium Hot Springs and the Sinclair Canyon jaunt into the park under the red-eyed gaze of the canyon cliffs to immerse ourselves in the inviting hot spring pools. The bracing cold did not encourage lingering in the hallway leading to the protected pool access but once within its warming confines soothing sensation embraced the entire body. In my bearded days both beard and hair would freeze in Santa Claus fullness to be melted away with a luxurious dip underwater. Mists covered the pool surface in eerie fullness parting occasionally to bear witness to mountain sheep cavorting on the rocks above. Lounging in the warmth of the pool, an experience even more appreciated with the aches of age, and gazing up to the surrounding mountains, is meditative and renewing.

So what is the point of waxing eloquent upon but a few of the many attributes of the Rocky Mountain National Parks? The World knows of them and clambers to their doors, perhaps, making visits during the high season a challenge. For Canadians they are a gift of natural majesty all should experience at least once in the full recognition there is more than can possibly be seen in one trip. With seasons and the moods of weather they are an ever changing canvas upon which majestic beauty never ceases to find new expression. They serve to humble us but also engender appreciation for nature and that which we risk losing when we fail to appreciate and care for it.

From coast to coast to coast our national parks are national treasures; the rewards of national unity.

Athabasca Glacier Snow Trip from Banff

If You Go:

• UNESCO World Heritage Sites: Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks
• Parks Canada – Find a National Park

Icefields Parkway Discovery to Jasper from Calgary

About the author:
Since 1994 Glen Cowley has parlayed his interest in sports, travel and history into both books and articles. The author of two books on hockey and over fifty published article ( including sports, biographies and travel) he continues to explore perspectives in time and place wherever his travels take him. From the varied landscapes of British Columbia to Eastern Canada and the USA, the British Isles, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Greece and France he has found ample fodder for features.

All photos by Glen Cowley.

by Glen Cowley

July 30, 1792. This day the long finger of Columbus reached Quadra Island. Be the legacy fair or foul it changed the island forever.

The summer of 1792 saw Captain George Vancouver of the Royal Navy exploring about the waters of the now titled Discovery Islands in his two ships the Discovery and the Chatham; setting his eyes on Quadra Island for the first time. By the time the Europeans returned the Coast Salish peoples they had initially met had been chased out by the We Wai Kai peoples whose descendants still call the island home and there guard their rich legacy. Unfortunately the return of the Europeans brought with it disease and vice which were to decimate the First Nations peoples.

We gazed across the short sea gap from the ferry dock at Campbell River to emerald cloaked Quadra; steaming with ragged wisps of clouds clinging in tatters to an endless army of trees. The day was to prove temperamental but the island proved no less endearing for its moods. At 35 kilometres long and 9 wide it is far from small island.

The Island eventually took on the name Quadra in honour of Captain Vancouver’s Spanish friend and fellow explorer Juan Francisco De La Bodega y Quadra (beats me why they don’t use his whole name?). The largest of the Discovery Islands Group Quadra is home to about 3500 individuals, most of whom reside in the southern portion of the island, and who represent a wide array of occupations. Three community cores exist at Quathiaski Cove (the ferry dock), Heriot Bay (from whence the ferry to Cortes Island sails) and the First Nations’ community.

Quadra may have a more sedate atmosphere now but it was a thriving economic site in its earlier years. Beginning in the 1880’s came logging, then a fish cannery in the early 1900’s, which employed anywhere from 200 to 300 people, and the Lucky Jim Mine (gold and copper) which opened in 1903 and operated until it was burned out in 1925. The cannery went up in flames in 1941 and was not rebuilt. Word is the island experienced three devastating fires which depressed the economy until well after the end of the Great Depression.

The 10 minute ferry ride from Campbell River, which has been running since 1960, deposited us at the tail end of an armada of vehicles unloading at our destination; which proved ideal as it allowed us a leisurely drive and opportunity to gawk. That in turn gave us the opportunity to pull in for a coffee at the Cafe Aroma and drink in a little island atmosphere, replete with eclectic decor, local folks chatting, laid back pace and friendly servers. We garnered a coffee and discussed our touring route.

That route took us first to Heriot Bay where we got to see the ferry to Cortes pull away and begin its 45 minute cruise into the misty overlay of islands and mountains populating the horizon. After exploring the shoreline on foot we wound our way back to the Heriot Bay Inn seeking sustenance at the pub housed therein.

The hotel has been serving the island in one form or another since 1895 when Hosea Arminis Bull built the first incarnation. It lasted until a 1912 fire wiped the slate clean and it was rebuilt. Bull sold the place in 1926, two years after his wife had passed away and it remained in private hands until 2008 when it was purchased by the Community Custodial Concept Group with the stated desire of maintaining the edifice and service for the residents of Quadra and visitors. The stately lodge contains much of the old 1912 building but has been modified and expanded over the years. It gazes out over the bay and to the distant coast mountains beyond; enfolded in its gardens and lawn complete with a giant sized and manned chess board.

Our server at the pub suggested a trip to Rebecca Spit Provincial Park for a great look-back perspective. So informed we found and took the gravel roadway onto the thin two kilometre spit of land and found ourselves the chance to explore beach and trail; offering panoramas on either side of the spit. Driftwood and sea-lost logs were strewn about the seaward shoreline, like pick-up sticks, whilst the opposite shore hid the protected inner anchorage of Drew Harbour. A defined trail led through the trees running the spine of the spit and chanced us an opportunity to meet and chat with a local dog and his valet. None of us hurried in such a setting we chatted for a considerable while before returning to our respective treks.

Friends of ours had visited the Nuyumbalees Cultural Centre (meaning “The Beginning”) and urged us not to miss this unique treasury of First Nations artifacts and their setting. After first stopping at the band office to get directions to the centre, apparently not an uncommon experience for first time visitors, we found our way to the centre. Emerging from the car we were reprimanded by a lone bald eagle surveying the scene from high atop his tree perch. Then, as if co-ordinated, two other eagles swooped low over a field, starkly outlined against the deep green of the forest back drop, their banter echoing in the island silence.

Putting aside our camera, as no photos are allowed in the building, we paid our admission of $10 per adult and began the experience. Cultural artifacts seemingly incorporating every conceivable aspect of the surrounding natural environment filled glass enclosures with captions telling of their story, purpose and people associated with them. Stories of the great potlatches, their purpose, nature and persecution by non Natives and eventual rebirth spelled out. We learned how the ceremonial treasures and regalia had been repatriated from museums and galleries throughout North America and a new home built for them overlooking the waters of their home, opening in February 1979. The present day centre was re-opened in May 2007. It is recommended you allow at least 45 minutes to make your way through this stunning collection and display of First Nations’ culture and artistic skill.

The modern day explorer ideally comes to this island to observe, learn and respect people, culture and environment knowing from history what can transpire when we fail to do so. It is not a place to hurry.

Open Boat Nanaimo Whale Watching

If You Go:

Heriot Bay Inn provides detailed information on the Inn and on things to see and do on Quadra

B.C. Ferries – for ferry schedule from Campbell River to Quadra Island

About the author:
Since 1994 Glen Cowley has parlayed his interest in sports, travel and history into both books and articles. The author of two books on hockey, a booklet on French Canadian influence in British Columbia’s history and over sixty published articles (including sports, biographies and travel) he continues to explore perspectives in time and place wherever travels take him. From the varied landscapes of British Columbia to Eastern Canada and the USA, the British Isles, Germany, France, Switzerland, the Netherlands and Greece he has found ample fodder for features. A return to Europe in 2014 is guaranteed to reveal new tales to tell.

All photos by are Glen Cowley.

Hazelton, British Columbia

by Glen Cowley

The hills are alive with music in North Central British Columbia. Wending through forests, echoing off mountains and flowing with river and stream; music and song find perfect harmony in a setting inspiring even in its silence.

The Kispiox Valley Music Festival was celebrating its 18th annual birthday but for us it was experience number one. As frequenters of larger weekend music festivals in British Columbia’s more southerly climes we were awakened to the pleasures of a truly laid back experience free from the press of crowds but no less alive in the hum of music and the thrum of audience participation.

Every summer British Columbia comes alive with music festivals. Quite literally you could spend every weekend so entertained. My wife and I regularly favour well known and popular ones such as the Roots and Blues Festival in Salmon Arm and Music Fest at Courtenay on Vancouver Island. Multiple venues, big names, the press of thousands of happy people vying for seating and lineups for food and drink, great music and sense of being part of a vibrant throng will keep us returning year after year.

But there are the smaller festivals which offer something very unique. Kispiox opened our eyes to a new appreciation of the festival experience.

Turning off the Yellowhead Highway (Highway 16) at Hazelton, under the majestic gaze of the Roche de Boule Mountain Range, we journeyed 29 kilometres over breathtaking single lane bridges spanning jaw-dropping gorges and chattering rivers, wending tree-lined ways (largely paved) to emerge at the Kispiox Festival grounds hard by the Kispiox River. On the way we disturbed a solitary black bear strolling leisurely along the road.

Colour exploded amid nature’s green and the pulse of music echoed through the trees. Relaxed and friendly volunteers took our admission, which at $60 for the three days (free if you are over 65 or under 12) is a good deal, and directed us to where it was all happening. Varying modes of accommodation filled the camping grounds, divided between “Quiet”, “Very Quiet”, “Musical” and “Performers and Co-ordinators”. Separate venues offered food services and the unique shopping opportunities only festivals afford. The family focus was amply revealed at the children’s area complete with toys, activities and its own entertainment stage.

We arrived at the main River Stage in time to experience the large, colourfully attired, and local Twisted String Band, pumping out lively pieces which had audience members up and dancing while others watched from benches, personal seating or the natural amphitheatre overlooking the stage. The crowd, itself awash in colour, was composed of folk of all ages, hair lengths and attire. Nearby the Hall Stage, housed appropriately in a building with a hall, afforded entertainment free from the warming hand of the Sun.

Set off on its own was the workshop tent where aficionados could meet and learn from performers on a wide range of skills.

Unlike many festivals there was no beer garden though the atmosphere lacked nothing by its absence; indeed the presence of imbibing was apparent but respectfully restricted to non stage areas and revealed no evidence of abuse.

The range of performers covered the bases from children’s’ music, drumming, belly dancing, vaudeville style acts and an eclectic assortment of music provided by both “local” talent and headliners. Such local talent engaged performers from as far away as Prince Rupert and Smithers and was no less impressive in its offerings than the fare provided by headliners.

The 2018 headliners included The Tequila Mockingbird Orchestra, Jacki Treehorn, Fish and Bird from Victoria, multi-faceted CR Avery, the “post-modern Vaudeville duo the Cromoli Brothers, Hannah Epperson, Joanna Chapman-Smith, Jenny Ritter, the Harpoonist and the Axe Murderer, childrens’ performer Angela Brown of the Ta Daa Lady Show, Liron Man playing the hang drum and Bocephus King.

A pervasive sense of community permeated the atmosphere – young, old, children, families, First Nations were all well represented and the banter and interaction suggested many knew each other. It felt rather like being in the midst of a large family gathering.

Originally beginning in 1995 with 50 performers and 200 volunteers the festival has grown and now draws over 2000 participants to its fold.

Opening on Friday with a formal welcome by the resident Gitxsan First Nations peoples it ran all day Saturday and terminated with the closing ceremony at 7 pm Sunday. Great music, great atmosphere and great setting equaled a great time.

The Kispiox River chatters by on its forever journey to the sea adding its voice to the heartbeat of the festival, a constant reminder of the pristine beauty and balance of this world. The place and the event are worth time, energy and cost to see and experience. Beauty in nature and humanity does not abide being taken for granted. Hard to believe there are those entertaining pressing a high risk oil pipeline through this land of pristine beauty, purity, vibrant economy and diverse community.

If You Go:

Getting there
By car you are 1:30 hours west from Smithers or 2 hours east from Terrace which are both well served by rail, bus, road and air. Smithers has four flights daily from Vancouver Airport

Services:
There is no readily accessible indoor plumbing on site and it is recommended you bring water, though there is water available on site. There is special washroom access for persons with handicaps to the two existing indoor washrooms. Food services and an outdoor market are available.

Accomodation:
Camping is available on site as well at many off site locations. There are B & B’s throughout the Kispiox Valley as well as in Hazelton.

About the author:
Since 1994 Glen Cowley has parlayed his interest in sports, travel and history into both books and articles. The author of two books on hockey and over fifty published article ( including sports, biographies and travel) he continues to explore perspectives in time and place wherever his travels take him. From the varied landscapes of British Columbia to Eastern Canada and the USA, the British Isles, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Greece and France he has found ample fodder for features. See Glen Cowley’s website at: www.windandice.shawwebspace.ca

All photos by Glen Cowley:
The main stage – River Stage
Spectacular Roche de Boule
Festival Market
Belly Dancer

by Peter Kwong

I was mesmerized by a pile of stone sitting inside the brow of a herring skiff. I asked myself this seemingly silly question “ Did Haida Indians get their fish with stones?”

Next to the boat my Haida Indian friend Scott was working on a bench filleting a dozen of King Salmon. He was very much absorbed in his task and oblivious of my presence behind him. Once in a while I observed he would raise his head, cock his nose and squint his eyes to watch vigilantly over the ocean in front of him. It was low tide on the beach with children playing and gathering gigantic shell fish and mussels. Another silly question crossed my mind “Do the great white sharks roam in this remote part of the Pacific Northwest?”

Here I was on a late morning sitting on the front porch of a beach front property with a commanding ocean view. I had stayed the previous night inside my friend’s family modest if not slightly dilapidated seaside bungalow. As I sipped a murky stale coffee I tried to analyze why everything appeared topsy-turvy to me since arrival at Masset Indian reserve, Queen Charlotte Island.

“Bungalows”- isn’t that an architectural platform invented by the East Indian and brought to the new world by the British? Yet on that long stretch of beach I found that only Bill Reid, the rich and famous totem carver, lives in a traditional long house. Everyone else lived in plain “million dollar view” bungalows on the reserve.

I also felt a little short changed not able to experience an enchanting evening lit up by candle fish. My consolation was to discover that eulachon, a fatty finger size smelt, used traditionally as candle is actually quite tasty. The native had a way to preserve the fish as food staple for the harsh winter by separating the oil and salting the flesh. The processed eulachon can then be preserved without refrigeration. When the time come for the fish is to be consumed the extracted oil is added back onto the dehydrated meat over wild rice. Unlike lox, the cold smoke salmon, eulachon was not prized by the European settlers and hence remained much unknown to the rest of the world.

My stomach did not agree well with the seaweed samosa offered to me at my previous dinner. Coastal people on both side of the pacific consume seaweed as part of the daily food staple. Unlike the Japanese who ground dry seaweeds into sheet for sushi rolls, the native on this side preferred deep fried seaweed sprinkled with salt into a shape like a East Indian samosa.

I was also intrigued to discover that bringing “meat” to the table is a children job in this part of the world. In this bountiful land the bears are huge, ravens are super-sized , the local sitka deer are exceptional small animals. Deer hunting meant children played in the backyard, corralled and wrestled a roaming deer to the ground and clubbed the animal with a nearby stone to bring venison for dinner. If it is possible for kids to hunt on land with stone, is it not too far fetched to believe one can catch fish with stone at sea?

But what flabbergasted me was the absence of a single erected totem pole on that long-stretch of beach on the reserve. Since the beginning of time the people of Haida Gwaii have been carving totem poles as sacred monument to tell the story of it people- folklore, myths and customs. When their huge collection of totem poles were eradicated by the missionaries for preparation of new life separated from their pagan gods, the Haida nation lost bearing of their past, required to reconcile with a integrated present of bungalows, electricity and other amenities of the modern world and ponder their unknown future. Slowly I began to understand the dichotomy split inside my head between my expectation of Haida Gwaii as depicted in Emily Carr paintings at the Vancouver Art Gallery to the super-reality I encountered on the ground.

The Canadian Forces Station (CFS) is located across the highway up on the foothill on the other side of the Indian reserve. It was originally built in 1942 as a Naval Radio Station (NRS) to look out for intruders from Imperial Japan. After the war the detachment operated as an HFDF intercept station of NORAD. When I asked Major LeMay what the motto of the station ‘SINE DUBIO SINE MORA‘ meant, he explained “’Without doubt without delay.’ Canada will declare sovereignty by scrambling jets to chase off Russian planes once they enter into our airspace.” And then he pointed down to the beach and commented, “Every time when float planes operated by exotic fishing charter swooped down into water near the reserve for trophy size salmon, the Indians sent their speed boats out to sea and threw rocks to chase off the intruding fishermen. In a quixotic way this is how indigenous native declared their sovereignty!”

That somehow explained to me about that mysterious pile of stones.

Full Day Queen Charlotte Kayak and Walking Tour from Picton

If You Go:

General Information: www.gohaidagwaii.ca
BC Government Web Site: www.hellobc.com/haida-gwaii-queen-charlotte-islands.aspx
Canadian Forces Station: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CFS_Masset
Haida Gwaii – Raven and the First Men video:

Celebration in Old Massett (Haida dancing) video:

Photo Credits:
Haida Heritage Centre by Christian and Kristie via Flickr
Haida fishing by Graham Richard / CC BY-SA
Haida totem poles by Karen Neoh / CC BY

About the author:
Peter Kwong was born and raised in Hong Kong. He came to Canada at the age of seventeen to pursue a liberal arts education at Simon Fraser University. A long time resident of Vancouver, Peter is is now retired and able to spend more time on his passion for travel and adventure.

British Columbia, Canada

by W. Ruth Kozak

Warm Christmas cheer greeted me and made it a pleasant winter’s outing when I visited the Burnaby Heritage Museum. From the blazing coloured lights to the Victorian Christmas decorations I was quickly transported into the spirit of the holiday season.

The Village represents a heritage community along the old B.C. Electric Interurban Railway Line. A visit to the little heritage shops is always interesting and the docents will eagerly give you some background history. I particularly enjoy visiting the 1920’s General Store which for me is somewhat of a trip down memory lane to my early childhood on the prairies. Inside the Way Sang Yuen Wat Kee Chinese herbalist shop, red paper lanterns are strung up for the holiday season. In the print shop, the docent is giving a group of school children a demonstration of old printing presses. In the Interurban Tram barn you can visit one of the restored trams. They ran until the late ‘50s, and I can recall riding the tram home from high school, barrelling down First Avenue with the floorboard clattering, on its route to New Westminster.

There are various ongoing events throughout the season including a theatre where you can watch old silent films, a blacksmith demonstration, carolers, a Christmas scavenger hunt, rug hooking demonstrations, children’s crafts and even a visit from Father Christmas. When you arrive at the ticket office, they’ll give you the day’s scheduled events and the location of where you can see them.

The 1911 home of bachelor Tom Irvine features the kinds of simple Christmas decorations of the past. Inside the old school room, a docent representing a turn-of-the-century teacher lectured a group of visiting school children exactly as if they were students of that era. What a surprise when she made them all line up and show their hands to make sure they were clean, just like they used to do in old school rooms!

At the Elworth house it’s Christmas eve at the 1922 home of the Bateman family. It gives you a real sense of stepping back into the past. There’s also a replica of a log house decorated to resemble a gingerbread house, straight out of Hansel and Gretel (there’s no witch inside, though). Traditional Christmas decorations including a tree decorated with handmade ornaments are displayed in the Jesse Love farm house (circa 1893). And there’s a group of mannequin carolers in period costume in the living room ready to sing in a caroling diorama. In one of the bedrooms the bed is covered with a hand-made quilt demonstration the quilting skills of women in those days.

A ride on the vintage C.W. Parker Carousel is a must no matter what age you are. This is my one of my favourite activities at the Museum. The carousel originally operated at the PNE for many years and I remember riding it when I was a youngster. It was later restored, with each pony or sled carefully painted and repaired by donations from various people or organizations. Ride on the beautiful prancing horses, accompanied by the tunes of an original Wurlitzer organ. Great fun! At the gift shop next door you can buy those last minute trinkets to fill the Christmas stockings.

There’s lots to see at the Heritage Village, with hirty-two displays as well as the scheduled events. The afternoon I visited, a musical duo from Guatemala was playing “Feliz Navidad” and other seasonal songs inside the little church. After my tour I refreshed myself at the ice cream parlour with some lemon cake and a hot cup of cocoa. They also provide full meal service.

This is the Museum’s 40th Anniversary so if you’re in the vicinity, be sure to stop in to spend a pleasant afternoon or evening enjoying a heritage Christmas. Bring the kids, or come by yourself and relive some of your childhood!

If You Go:

Burnaby Village Museum & Carousel
6501 Deer Lake Avenue,
Burnaby, B.C.

Burnaby Village Heritage Christmas to January 2, 2011
Times: 12 noon to 8 pm Daily
(Closed December 24 & 25)
Tickets: Free gate admission to celebrate the Heritage Museum’s 40th Anniversary
Carousel Ride (any age) $2.25 per ride

About the author:
W. Ruth Kozak always enjoys a trip down memory lane. She tries to visit the Burnaby Heritage Museum a couple of times a year, especially at Christmas. Ruth write historical fiction as well as travel and memoirs and instructs various writing classes in Vancouver. Visit www.ruthkozak.com

All photographs are by W. Ruth Kozak.

British Columbia, Canada

by Susan Zuckerman

Beneath the steep sandy cliffs, crickets sing in the beach grass. I breathe the salty tang of seaweed. A flock of killdeer veers above the waves. In the sand at my feet is a puzzle of animal tracks. The hooves of a doe and fawn are easy to decipher, as are the hand-shapes of a raccoon. But who left these pointy-clawed prints? Then I notice the sinuous tail-drag: an otter.

I picture the sleek-furred animals that left these trails. I also imagine a British naval officer in brass-buttoned jacket and silver-buckled shoes striding alongside. About two centuries ago, Captain George Vancouver added his own footsteps to this very stretch of shore.

A Cliff-top Salish Village

There are not many places on the Pacific Coast where we know for certain Vancouver walked, but this is one: the beach of Cape Mudge at the southern tip of Quadra Island, across Discovery Passage from Campbell River, British Columbia. In 1792, while charting the coast, Captain Vancouver visited here with his two ships, the Discovery and the Chatham. At that time, a Coast Salish village known as Tsa-Kwa-Luten thrived atop the sandy cliff. While the British ships sat at anchor on July 13, 1792, the natives paddled out in canoes and greeted the crews with fish and wild fruits in exchange for European articles of trade.

Vancouver said he needed to indulge his curiosity, and recorded his reciprocal visit: “We were received by a man who appeared to be the chief . . . and he conducted us up to the village by a very narrow path winding diagonally up the cliff . . . within a few degrees of being perpendicular. Close to the edge of this precipice stood the village. . . . The spot where it was erected appeared to be well chosen to insure its protection.”

A path no longer ascends the cliff-face, but the First Nation-owned Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge where I am staying offers a Heritage Walking Trail booklet indicating a “backdoor” approach. The forested route meanders beside a chasm that once protected the rear of the cliff-top citadel. Huckleberry bushes are laden with fruit that I nibble as I walk. The air is sweet with Douglas fir. I’m serenaded by whistling chickadees and breezes in the treetops. A footbridge stretches across the ravine and the forest gives way to a grassy meadow high above the beach.

I’ve reached the naturally fortified site of the ancient Salish village. It commands a sweeping view of Discovery Passage and the snowy peaks of Vancouver Island. I notice a small motorboat below, headed north in the choppy waves but making no progress. I’m reminded of Vancouver’s ships anchoring off Cape Mudge because the tide was too strong to make headway. The motorboat gives up and turns south.

Captain Vancouver’s log mentions a distinctive giant boulder in the village and I find it half-obscured by grass and shrubs. I imagine Salish children’s laughter as they clamber up this boulder and slide down its sloping sides, their mothers admonishing them to keep back from the precipitous cliff. I envision cedar-plank houses over-looking the sea, racks of salmon drying over wood-fires.

The sky splits with a loud screech. A bald eagle soars so close I hear the wind in its feathers. It perches atop a wind-sculpted fir, resembling the highest creature on a totem pole. Like Captain Vancouver, I must learn more about the people who lived here and why they abandoned this beautiful spot.

Potlatch Treasures and the Cannibal Spirit Dance

The Nuyumbalees Cultural Center is situated in the present day Kwakwaka’wakw village of Cape Mudge, also known as Ucle-tah, a kilometer up the beach from Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge. It houses the priceless, historic “Potlatch Collection,” artifacts and regalia once used at ceremonial feast gatherings. The Government of Canada confiscated these items under the Anti Potlatch Laws of 1884. When the law was eventually repealed, one of the conditions was that the repatriated goods be publicly displayed. Nuyumbalees is one of two museums built in the 1970s specifically for this purpose, the other being the U’mista Cultural Center in Alert Bay.

When I first enter the subdued space of Nuyambalees I am greeted by the scent of cedar and the solemn, rhythmic music of drums and chanting. Two human figures carved in wood usher me into a world of breathtaking ceremonial artwork.

An array of masks is the main feature: ravens, wolves, bears, killer whales, mosquitoes, double-headed serpents, all used in potlatch dances. Included in each description is the original owner, and some of their photographs are also on display. Many have Anglicized names such as Billy Assu and Amos Dawson, but their Kwakwaka’wakw names translate to honourifics such as “Always Giving Potlatches” or “High Ranking in Feasts”.

One of the treasures is an exquisite ermine headdress. The frontlet has a carved hawk-head encircled with turquoise abalone shell. A capelet of forty white ermine pelts cascades over the shoulders. Originally it was given to Chief Moses Alfred as part of his wife’s dowry, then passed down through many generations.

I’m especially drawn to numerous brilliantly painted masks with meter-long beaks: the Cannibal Spirits. Some are crowned with carved human skulls or eagle-down tufts. All have their beaks tied shut. It is believed the masks snap their beaks if not secured. Traditionally they were hidden when not in potlatch use, wrapped in cedar bark or Hudson Bay blankets. Only for the final part of a complex, four-day dance were these masks worn.

The Cannibal Spirit Dance was the most important in Kwakwaka’wakw culture, used to initiate members into a secret society known as the Hamatsa. Possessed by the Cannibal Spirit, the young novice would disappear into the woods for ten days. To take away his human scent he wore only hemlock branches. Older Hamatsas occasionally went in and blew whistles, simulating the voices of supernatural forest creatures. They also taught him ritual dances and songs. Eventually the novice entered the Big House dancing wildly, gnashing his teeth, and even biting members of the audience. The Cannibal Spirit was feared to suck out people’s brains with his long beak. By the fourth day, the older Hamatsas, dancing in shaggy cedar-bark skirts and capes, tamed the Cannibal Spirit. I feel honoured to view such sacred works of art, yet saddened and humbled that the First Nations people, however proud they may be of these treasures, are forced to display them.

Photographs and touching are not allowed in the Cultural Center, but there are plenty of opportunities outside. Next door is an education center with a collection of masks and button-blankets to handle and even wear. Across the street stands an open-air structure with colourful totem poles carved by local artists. Petroglyphs are also scattered about, large stones with ancient carved figures.

I’m curious, though, why the Kwakwaka’wakw are now living here. Captain Vancouver met a different tribe, the Coast Salish. What became of those people down the beach in the cliff-top citadel?

The Death Hole Days

I learn that after Captain Vancouver’s voyage, a branch of the Kwakwaka’wakw known as the Lekwiltok descended from the north in their war canoes, with firearms acquired from European traders. Between 1792 and 1850, they raided and occupied numerous Salish villages and eventually commanded all of Discovery Passage—all save Tsa-Kwa-Luten, the village atop the sandy cliffs at Cape Mudge. So well fortified by nature, the Lekwiltok decided it was impossible to attack.

Across the water, however, the northerners occupied the village at Campbell River, one of the best salmon streams on the coast and the main source of food for Tsa-Kwa-Luten. A few years later, the Lekwiltok built the village of Ucle-tah, still occupied by their descendants, where I visited the Cultural Center. The people of Tsa-Kwa-Luten, their enemies now virtually on their doorstep and their supply of salmon greatly diminished, decided to leave. They joined their kin in Comox Harbour, a few miles south on Vancouver Island.

Cape Mudge became known as The Death Hole. Discovery Passage was an important route for the Haidas, Tsimshians and other tribes of the north who canoed to the Hudson Bay trading post at Fort Victoria. Fierce winds and strong tides made for treacherous travel past the cape. The worst threat, however, came from the fierce Lekwiltok who guarded the passage in their swift canoes. Some travelers paid a toll to pass safely but many met slavery or death. Most travel past Cape Mudge had to be undertaken by stealth in the dark of night. The people of Ucle-tah even attacked and raided European ships. In one instance, the entire crew of a Hudson Bay vessel was murdered when they stopped for water at Cape Mudge. Gradually, however, as European settlers spread throughout the coast, the people of Cape Mudge put away their arms and changed to meet the challenges of a new era.

Cedar-Plank Salmon and Quadra Island Wine

Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge is one way the native people of Cape Mudge have met the challenge of living in today’s society. The spacious lounge is designed like a Big House with a vaulted ceiling, the walls decorated with traditional art, including cedar paddles and button-blankets. The dining room features contemporary First Nations art. I feast on cedar-planked salmon, sip local Quadra Island wine, and gaze at the sunset over Vancouver Island.

Cape Mudge remains a wild place. A lighthouse now guides ships through the treacherous waters of the Death Hole, but you can still hear the Cannibal Spirits whistling through the fir trees. And I feel a kinship now with George Vancouver. We have both left footprints on this windswept shore.

Open Boat Nanaimo Whale Watching

If You Go:

From Vancouver, take a ferry (about two hours) to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Campbell River is a two-hour drive north of Nanaimo. From downtown Campbell River the ferry to Quadra Island takes about 10 minutes. Ferry Information: www.bcferries.com

Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge has an RV park and cabins on the beach as well as the main lodge. All rooms in the lodge have ocean-view balconies. Tsa-Kwa-Luten website: www.capemudgeresort.bc.ca

The rustic Southend Farm and Vineyard is a short drive from Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge and well worth the visit, although the wine shop is only open on weekends. I recommend their Ortega white and Black Crow red (an Agria and Pinot Noir blend). www.southend.ca

The Cape Mudge lighthouse is a short walk north of Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge. Over 100 years old, it is still staffed and fully operational.

Ancient petroglyphs are a feature of Cape Mudge. A few have been moved outside the Nuyumbalees Cultural Center. Some are in situ on the beach in front of Tsa-Kwa-Luten Lodge. One of these is a lovely human face carved on a huge boulder, but accessible only at low tide. An excellent guide, Petroglyphs of Quadra Island by Joy Inglis, is available at the gift shop at Nuyumbalees and the bookstore near the ferry terminal in Quathiaski Cove.

More Links:

♦ The Cultural Center: www.nuyumbalees.com
♦ A wealth of info about Quadra Island: www.quadraisland.ca
♦ An account of George Vancouver’s voyage, written by him in 1801, can be accessed at: www.canadiana.org

About the author:
Susan lives near Vancouver, B. C. She is a recently retired elementary school teacher and writes historical fiction. The British Columbia coast is one of her favourite areas to travel.

All photographs are by Susan Zuckerman.

It was a historic Royal Wedding weekend celebrated in style in British Columbia’s capital city, Victoria, named for Queen Victoria. Victoria is one my favourite local destinations, so my friend and I decided to visit this historic West Coast city to celebrate the royal event.

Victoria has an interesting history. The First Nations people first settled in this area along what is now the Inner Harbour. Then came the fur traders of the Hudson’s Bay company who played a key role in establishing the city’s British flavour. Fort Victoria was built in 1842 and one of the original settlement’s farms is the Craigflower Farmhouse. Then came the gold seekers, heading north to seek their fortunes in the gold mines of the Yukon and Klondike. These included Chinese immigrants who founded Canada’s first Chinatown in Victoria.

But the essential culture of the new city was of British origin, and even today Victoria lures visitors because it’s a little bit of Olde England. The evidence of these early British residents can be seen in the architecture of Victoria, the heritage homes around James Bay, Rockland and Oak Bay, the magnificent Parliament buildings and grand old Empress Hotel, designed by architect Francis Mawson Rattenbury.

Appropriately, my friend and I stayed at the Queen Victoria hotel, located across from the Royal BC Museum, with a view of the Inner Harbour and Fairmont Empress Hotel.

We began our royal weekend celebration with high tea at the historic James Bay Tea Room. To commemorate the wedding of H.R.H. Prince William and Miss Kate Middleton, there was a special tea service with traditional goodies such as cucumber and cream cheese finger sandwiches, homemade scones with fresh clotted cream and strawberry jam, fresh strawberry cup with orange liquor and assorted petit fours. Of course, complete with a big pot of English tea!

This quaint little tea house, tucked on a back street behind the Provincial Parliament Buildings, is a turn-of-the-century house, built in 1907 as a family home. It was transformed into this charming restaurant/tea room in the 1980s and is a popular spot for tourists to experience a real British style afternoon tea. It was a perfect place to celebrate the wedding, surrounded by royalty memorabilia with pictures of the royal family covering every inch of the walls, china tea sets and other royalty souvenirs.

The following day, we spent a delightful afternoon at another famous Victoria location, the Butchart Gardens. Established in 1904, the Butchart family’s original estate was named “Benvenuto”, Italian for “Welcome”. You’ll certainly feel the welcoming ambience when you visit this remarkable historic garden.

Robert Pim Butchart began as a cement manufacturer in Ontario and by the turn of the century had become a successful pioneer in this industry. He was lured to the West Coast of Canada because of the rich limestone deposits vital for cement production, and built a factory at Tod Inlet on Vancouver Island. His family established their home there and as the limestone in the quarry became exhausted, his wife Jennie conceived the idea for refurbishing the quarry into a beautiful garden in the style of the grand estates of the period.

The limestone quarry was transformed into the magnificent Sunken Garden. Mrs Butchart planned the landscaping of the property, transforming it into a garden that covers 22 ha (55 acres) of greenery, woodlands, flower gardens and horticultural displays. Mr. Butchart collected ornamental birds from all over the world including peacocks and ducks and built many elaborate birdhouses through the gardens.

By the 1920s more than 50 thousand people came every year to visit the gardens. To extend a welcome to their estate, flowering cherry trees were purchased from Japan and installed at the garden’s entrance.

The Butchart’s house was a luxurious show place with an indoor salt-water swimming pool, billiard room and bowling alley. It now contains the Dining Room Restaurant with some rooms still used for family entertainment. The self-playing Aeolian pipe organ is still played on special occasions.

The Butchart’s love of Italy is evident in the lovely Italian Garden, located beside their house. Their tradition of collecting unusual objects when traveling is displayed with the Fountain of the Three Sturgeons, and the big bronze boar near the entrance of the Gardens, both from Florence Italy. A newer acquisition is the Rose Carousel, crafted by Brass Ring Entertainment of Sun Valley, California. It’s the only carousel on Vancouver Island and is a wonderful menagerie of thirty animals ranging from bears, horses, ostriches, zebras and mirrors. The designs were chosen by Robin Clarke, the Garden’s present owner and great granddaughter of Jennie Butchart.

Butchart Gardens is still a family business and famous as a West Coast display garden with an international reputation for its year-round displays of flowering plants. For my friend and I, a visit there was a perfect way to end our Royal Wedding Weekend celebration.

Victoria City and Butchart Gardens Private Half-Day Tour

If You Go:

The Butchart Gardens is located on Vancouver Island, 23 kilometers (14 miles) north of Victoria, and 10 km (12.5 miles) south of the Vancouver-Victoria ferry terminal at Swartz Bay. At 800 Benvenuto Avenue, Brentwood Bay. Parking is free. There are buses from Victoria. Open every day of the year at 9 a.m. except for Christmas Day when it opens at 1 pm. For admission prices see: www.butchartgardens.com

Accommodation in Victoria: Victoria has many lovely heritage homes turned into B&Bs as well as a good selection of hotels conveniently located.
www.accommodationsbc.com/victoria

Queen Victoria Hotel & Suites,
655 Douglas St., Victoria B.C. V8V 2P9 250-386-1312
www.qvhotel.com

James Bay Tearoom & Restaurant
332 Menzies Street, Victoria, BC V8V 1S2
www.jamesbaytearoomandrestaurant.com

For more information on Victoria:
www.tourismvictoria.com

About the author:
A British Columbia resident, W. Ruth Kozak is a frequent visitor to Victoria and loves exploring all the historic areas of this lovely city. This was indeed a special occasion on a very historic weekend and many thanks go to Victoria Tourism for providing the opportunity.

Photo credits:
Victoria BC inner harbour by Jondolar Schnurr from Pixabay
All other photos are by W. Ruth Kozak.