A Glimpse of the Next Three Months

Well I must apologize for misleading all of you dear people but I am not as many of you may be thinking on my way to Alaska. No rather I am sitting in the Public Library in the bustling metropolis known as Port Angeles, WA. It turns out that Ron, the skipper of the boat I am working for, decided with the permission of the Washington Fish and Game folks to fish a few more days of the coast of Washington, and so I got my introductory experience in the ways of salmon trolling, and here is what transpired.

Following the short but spectacular ferry ride from Victoria to Port Angeles, Ron picked me up at the terminal and took me back to his home up and out of Port Angeles a ways. I was received with a warm hospitality and after doing my laundry, a much needed chore, picking up the articles Elaine was generous enough to forward to the house, and eating an excellent meal of baked salmon, we were driven out, picking up food supplies on the way, by Ron's wife to Neah Bay where Ron's boat the Ocean Dancer was moored.

I was given the rudimentary tour of the boat and made up my bunk in the cabin below the foredeck before Ron went to bed and I went out for a stroll along the rather remote streets of Neah Bay, an Indian reservation home to perhaps one the oldest tribes known to anthropologists. As typical the past glory of these once magnificent civilizations is scarcely reflected in the tired towns along our American highways. It was not a long walk and I was soon crawling into my bunk to dream of the unknown days looming before me.

The next day proved that much to my disappointment I was not immune to the ravages of sea sickness. I had not eaten Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese in many years and I think it will be many more before I do again. After several hours of running on rather turbulent seas we finally made the fishing grounds and it was not much later that I fell asleep exhausted from one of the most wretched days I can remember. The next day I was much better and by my third day at sea I felt once again that my internal balance had been restored and I was none the worse for the rolling of the boat.

The last few days at sea oscillated from long stretches of waiting for a fish to bite to more exciting personal battles between myself and the salmon that are now for the next several months my livelihood. Interspersed throughout were the various other operations of cleaning the decks, moving ice into and out of the hold, and cleaning packing and unloading eighty king salmon and about thirty halibut. By the time all was said and done, the boat moored in Port Angeles, I was more than a little exhausted despite eating and sleeping at least a time and half what I am used to, and Ron indicates that this is only the tip of the iceberg compared to the number of fish we will catch in Alaska. All in all I like the work and enjoy watching the fruits of my labor piling up in the hold and I look forward to the Alaskan fishing experience. Wish me luck.

On the literary front I have about concluded my pursuit of Melville, which comes highly recommended to anyone with the pretense for adventure, and I especially liked his short story The Piazza. I am now taking suggestions for my next pursuit so don't be shy in your recommendations as I have a few precious days with a handful of used bookstores at my fingertips.

I have the boat to myself the next few days as Ron is of course staying at his house, but offered to let me stay at the docks as it is closer to the heart of the town. No big plans for the next few days besides catching up on communications. Perhaps the next one will come with photos of the journey to Alaska.

Fare the well B.C.

First a shout out to the all the commenters out there. I really appreciate it and I probably would have dropped this thing a long time ago without you guys. Here's looking at you kid :)

Second this will be the last posting for a while as tomorrow I head to Port Angeles to board the Ocean Dancer and head up to Alaska. I think it is three days running to get to the fishing grounds and I just don't know when I will have access to a computer again.

I suppose I last left off in Ganges where I spent several days taking in the casual island living that is so easily had up here in B.C. I have to admit that I was more than ready to move on to Victoria. After packing up the campsite Tara hitchhiked down to Fulford Harbour and I rode my bicycle the few rolling miles through sun drenched farmlands and vineyards to met up again for the ferry ride to Swartz Bay. Again we parted as she took the city bus in to Victoria and I pedaled in. Any complaints of poor bicycle routes on Salt Spring Island were more than suppressed in greater Victoria where miles and miles of dedicated bike paths connect the outlying areas to the inner city. I rode nearly 20 miles without navigating a busy street as the regional trails snaked through farmland and parks and quiet residential streets all expertly connected to provide a safe alternative for bicycles and pedestrians.



Arriving in downtown Victoria I quickly found the Turtle Refuge Hostel shortly before 7 p.m. where Tara and I had agreed to meet, and found her waiting as patiently as she seems capable of. After unloading my gear we went out for dinner to a sort of country themed pub with peanut shells on the floor and a barman in overalls in a straw hat. The music was great with many lesser know Johnny Cash songs among other well respected country artists on the jukebox. the food was good and filling after averaging just over 15 mph for the 20 miles from the ferry to Victoria which had left me quite ravenous. After dinner and a few beers I was ready for a good nights sleep.

I awoke the next morning, much earlier than planned mind you, to the sounds of men working in the old brick building next to the hostel that is being turned into luxury lofts that are becoming all to common in cities all around North America and abroad I am sure. Tara took me out first for a large fried breakfast and then a walking tour of some here favorite parts of the city. We walked the water front to fisherman's wharf where a small neighborhood of houseboats are moored before rounding the point and walking out a long seawall with the shores of Washington state across the Juan de fuca Strait to the south where I am destined to head tomorrow. On we went through Beacon Park which was really quite lovely and reminiscent of the parks I saw in Europe and especially in Amsterdam with countless little ponds and bridges and fountains all about.

The long walk left us both exhausted and after buying some goods for dinner at the market and a bottle of Canadian wine (my first) we headed back to the hostel. We made a salad that was really quite good and ate dinner up on the westward facing deck on the second story that was just blanketed with sun as it was getting on in the day. The wine was sweet and dry and well suited to the warm evening. the Canadian cheese however was disappointing with little or no flavor to speak of. A far cry from the sheep's milk cheese I had on Salt Spring Island that with just a touch of blue struck quite the balance between stinky and smooth. Below a shot off the deck mentioned above.

Tara took off this morning to the north to begin her summer as a kayaking guide. I thoroughly enjoyed out time together, but I am a bit relieved to be on my own again if only for a short time. After more than a week of travelling solo it was nice to have some company, but I think that on ones own is really the best way to go when on the road.

I spent the majority of the day at the Maritime Museum, which seemed fitting as my life for the next few months will be on a boat, my last two weeks have been spent hopping from one coastal town to the next, and my literature the past several days has been set on Melville's high seas. I was delighted to find a model replica of of a "British 74" the boat on which Billy Bud's story is told. The museum sort of oscillated from excellent to shabby depending on the exhibits but was for the most part interesting and was only marred by incredible sneezing fits that plagued me all day. I must be allergic to the something up here in the pacific northwest. Here is that 74 I was talking about.
I am currently perched at the best Internet cafe I have found yet. Billiards, beer, and cyber terminals. What more could I really ask for. The day is waning and I think I will call it an early night what with needing to be at the ferry terminal at 8:30 in order to clear customs. So to all those I won't be able to talk with before I head out, farewell, and wish me good luck.

You know a town is New Age when its named after the holiest river in India

Be prepared for the long one.

So I have been holed up in Ganges on Salt Spring Island for the last two days. It is I think the largest Gulf Island off Vancouver Island and is situated a about 40 miles from downtown Victoria, and has quite the liberal attitude to it. More coffee shops and book stores per capita than I have seen anywhere else. Unfortunately he almighty car still rules the road here and bicycling although not unpleasant would be sublime if there were some bike lanes and the cars didn't drive so damn fast. Perhaps you wonder why I linger here instead of moving on to the allegedly very British city of Victoria? I well fill you in.

After an off day in Nanaimo catching up on communications and taking in a bit off reading I set off down the road without really considering the route I should be taking as I had plenty of time to make it to Victoria and instead just sticking to the coast as much as I could. The morning was cool with cloud cover and I past over several bridges crossing the various rivers and streams B.C. is trying to restore so the Salmon will come back. Below is a shot down the Nanaimo river with the train truss and some boats just hanging out in mid air. I welcome any theories why.


A bit farther down the road I stopped at a roadside farmers market and bought lunch and stuff for dinner including an incredible looking berry pie, just a mini mind you. There I met a fellow cyclists touring with the same book as I and we swapped stories of out travels thus far and talked about the relative merits of our bikes (he rode a converted aluminum cross bike).

Just a few miles down the road the threatening clouds ceased their intimidation and let loose there torrents on me. I stopped and donned my rain gear and had scarcely gone another five miles when my rear tire blew out. I had just been boasting of how well my tires had been treating me on and off road to the cyclist back down the road. Go figure. Fortunately I was just at one of those awful roadside rest stops with all manner of fast food and gasoline, and there was an umbrella set up outside for me to work under. It took some time and three patches before I gave up on that tube and replaced it with another.

Back on the road I passed through Crofton before realizing my route was taking me to Salt Spring Island and through the town of Ganges where Tara had departed for that morning from Nanaimo to take hey kayaking guide test. At the left is a photo from the top deck you can make out my bike in the top left of the photo. I had just rolled up to a market with the intention of finding an internet site where I might drop her a line when I heard my name and she came up behind me. She said she had just arrived and was amazed that I had left Nanaimo later, spent 50 dollars less than her on public transport and arrived at about the same time. She said she had found a camp ground just outside of town and invited me to join her and I did.

We spent the evening much the same as in Nanaimo wandering the docks and comparing menus before settling on the OysterCatcher where I had a lamb burger that was incredible and would warrant a second trip. The next morning I awoke to find the berry pie I had bought had been devoured by the crows that had been annoying me since the early hours of the morning. Who would have thought the old adage to be true. I guess crows know a pie when they see it.


The next day she took me kayaking. She paid my rental fees and in return I let her practice her rescues on me which involved flipping upside down in my kayak and letting her help me back in. After the first terrifying flip I got used to the sensation and the water was actually pretty pleasant. The sun had come out after it had rained all night and been overcast all morning, and the whole experience was a really quite fun for my first turn in a kayak. The weather held all day and after taking showers and doing some laundry we went back to camp and turned in early. Up above is me reading while waiting for my laundry to dry. Here is a photo of our camp and one of Tara doing some last minute studying by lamplight.





The next day, yesterday now (I am finally caught up), Tara went off all day for her exam and I contented myself wandering about town, visiting the Saturday market, drinking coffee, and reading and writing. I finished the Hemingway book I bought in Nanaimo and started in on Billy Bud by Melville at Alex's suggestion. The style certainly took some getting used to after going down the ladder of grammatical complexity from Joyce to Hemingway and then being launched in to the antiquated and rambling prose of Melville. He does have a witty and often wry phrasing I find satisfying and often comic once I get used to it.

A day of sitting around all day had made me restless and so I took the bike out for a couple hours to tour the Island around sunset and these next photos are all from that ride.
























I had planned on moving down to Victoria but I let myself be convinced to stay on another day while Tara completed her exam so that we could have some fun tonight and tomorrow. The campsite is cheap and I like the little town of Ganges so it wasn't a hard decision. Besides my departure date from Port Angeles, has been moved back to the 8th leaving me with plenty of time to get to Victoria and from there it is a short ferry ride to Port Angeles. I am decked out in my cycling gear today and I am going out to do some of the modest peaks on the Island.

Savary Island across the Strait and to Nanaimo

After a magnificent nights rest on the beach on Savary I arose early to make a breakfast of burnt eggs and stale english muffins before packing up and catching the water taxi back to Lund on the mainland at 8 o'clock. Above is my bike off the beach waiting to be loaded. I met some real characters on the ride back to Lund, folks who had been living on the Island for many years bringing all their goods in tubs by boat and taking their waste out the same way. They all seemed happy to be living off the grid but within the reach of civilization. One fellow named Dallas offered me a ride back to Powell River where he was getting some tires fixed. I had already ridden the road to Lund and had not been looking forward to riding it back so I gladly accepted. We spoke the whole way back and he gave me the impression he didn't often get a chance to talk that much as he lived alone on the Island and hadn't many friends as he didn't smoke or drink. Below is the view off the dock from Lund to Savary Island and as you can see it is much darker on the mainland than on Savary.

Once back in Powell River I looked up an aluminum welder whom to which I was referred as I had broken my rear rack some time back. Probably on the miles of off roading with two heavy bags hanging off it. Larry the Tugboat showed up at his shop after I had waited an hour at the door. He jumped out of his van drinking a beer and after taking a look at my rack said it wasn't worth fixing a cheap piece of aluminum like that. He proceeded to wrap some zip-ties to hold the broken struts to the top portion of the rack, and the rack has held fine since. He recommended steel in the future.

I caught the noon ferry to Comox from Powell River(the shot at left is on that crossing) and after taking a wrong turn that led me 15 miles out of my way I finally got on to the Old Highway that runs down Vancouver Island. My legs were well rested as I had only done 20-30 mile days for two previous days, and I made good time to the Denman Island ferry averaging 11 mph despite the head wind. After stocking up on food at the market I took the ferry over to Denman Island. I had intended to go over to Hornsby Island from there but I was late for the last ferry. The park on Denman was fine though and after a short stroll on the beach I soon fell asleep only to be awoken by the steward who collected 17 dollars from me for the site. This was my first time to pay to camp and was a little sore at the fee as I can stay in hostel for not much more. I was soon fast asleep and slept a good 12 hours that night.

The next morning I had planned to catch a bite at one of the local cafe, unfortunately one was closed on Tuesday and the other had shut its doors permanently the week before. Instead I made a breakfast of coffee and a pastry from the local market where I was approached by a salty old sailor who filled my ears for tips to stay warm and safe on a salmon troller where he had spent many a season until the B.C. fisheries collapsed. After our talk I promised him a postcard and set out to catch the 9:30 ferry back to Vancouver Island. Its a short ride and I was soon on my way to Nanaimo. I made good time again as the land is more flat going down the island than it was going up the Sunshine Coast, and I was in Nanaimo checking into the Painted Turtle Hostel before 5.

The ride was over 60 miles and I was right tired. After showering, a trip to the grocery, and a stop at the pub round the corner (where some surly sailor tried to get me going), I was ready for bed.

I awoke the next morning and made eggs over cabbage. A poor rendition of a dish from Smokey Joe's in Berkeley that is sadly no more. I split my day between the local cafe reading The Dubliners and the local internet spot catching up on this blog. A lot of work I'll have you know. I strolled the streets of Nanaimo a bit but hardly left the four block area around the hostel.

In the evening I met a girl named Tara who was staying at the hostel and we went out for drinks and dinner wandering around the harbor and eventually taking a short water taxi over to Protection Island to the Dinghy Dock Pub were sailors could moor their sailboats right in front before coming in for food and drink. The weather was wet which precluded photos. The good drafs and easy conversation made for a pleasant evening.