Kayaking in the Broken Group Islands, 2009

Climbing into your sleeping bag after a long day’s paddle, your body’s fatigued, your mind’s relaxed and sleep comes easily. My wife Jan and I had just spent a week kayaking the Broken Islands on the west coast of Vancouver Island and for our last night, we’d pitched our tent on a beautiful beach on Gibraltar Island.   It was a perfect night for sleeping: the air was still, the water calm, not a sound could be heard.

Until …

Just before dawn, still deep asleep, we were gradually nudged into consciousness by a gentle sound -- a “chuffff”, then another “chuffff”, then another.  Jan whispered “do you hear that?”  We held our breaths waiting to hear it again.  Then, another chuffff and we both exclaimed, in unison, “a whale!”  We jumped out of our bags and stumbled down to the water’s edge. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky had been painted with a beautiful pre-dawn glow and the trees across the bay with an inky black.  When we heard the next chufff, it was just light enough to make out the unmistakable profile and spout of a majestic humpback whale.

The whale continued its pattern of a few breaths followed by a long time underwater while it dove deep for food, and we sat and watched as it gradually worked its way further and further down the channel until finally it was out of sight.  The sun was now well above the horizon and we basked in its warmth and relished the memories of a fantastic trip on west coast capped off with this intimate encounter with a humpback.

Our adventure began with a three hour sail down the inlet from Port Alberni aboard the MV Frances Barkley.  It deposited us, our kayak and gear on a dock at Sechart, just outside the Broken Island Group of the Pacific Rim National Park.  The Broken Group is one of three units of the Pacific Rim National Park.  It sits midway between the West Coast Trail unit to the south and the Long Beach Unit, located between Tofino and Ucluelet, to the north.

At the dock, we were greeted by a park ranger who briefed us on how to have a safe and enjoyable experience and commented that “there are so many whales this summer that I’ll give you your money back if you don’t see one”.    He was right.  Within an hour  of leaving the dock, we saw our first humpback spouting in the distance! And we were to see whales, seals and sea lions, almost every day.

One encounter was a little too close for comfort.  We had already pitched camp for the night and saw a whale heading toward us down a long channel.  We decided to hop in our kayak to get a better look.  After a short paddle, we stopped and waited.  It had been down a very long time and finally broke water perhaps a hundred metres to our left.  What a great view.  We remained motionless, scanning the water for it to break through again.   This time it surfaced directly in front of us, a few short metres away.  Jan whooped and I gulped, but still managed to snap a picture.  It was so close that we noticed that, where it had just surfaced, the water went dead calm – it had left a distinct “footprint” in the choppy water.  Slowly we drifted towards the footprint but fortunately, we saw it surface again far off to our right.  We had survived our close encounter.

The other close encounters we had were with fellow paddlers and what a great bunch of people we met.   On our last night, a real international group gathered round a communal campfire on the beach:  a young couple from France who had made this one of their stops on a round the world adventure, a family of three from the US, a couple from England who had a life-long fascination with the Canadian wilderness - the man’s daily dip in these frigid waters was part of his Canadian experience, a German couple celebrating their tenth year kayaking these waters and four of us from Canada.  Under the beautiful starry skies, we swapped stories, ate marshmallows and shared an unforgettable, distinctly west coast experience.

It was a night and a trip that we’ll cherish forever.  This part of BC is teeming with life in all its beauty.   And still sometimes as I drift off to sleep I can almost hear that far off chuffff of a gentle giant.   It’s a wonderful sound and if you’re ever going to be woken up from a deep sleep, I can’t imagine a better sound or a better place to hear it than on a beach, on an island on the west coast of BC.

Snail colony -- more questions than answers

I took this pic while backpacking the west coast trail.   We tried to walk the beach, whenever the tides permitted.  One day, we discovered this colony of sea snails huddled together clinging to a rock that would soon be covered by the rising tide.  The snails are so small a penny would cover a few of them.  
What I wonder is why are they so closely packed together?  Are they drawn to each other?  Are they each vying for a prime patch of real estate that has the perfect combination of food and foothold?  Are they procreating?  Are they just huddling together for protection, with those on the outside most vulnerable?  How long do they stay clustered together like this?

You want me to do what?

I'm a big fan of public transit, especially the rapid transit variety, like Vancouver's skytrain. Last year, partly in preparation for the 2010 Olympics, we were blessed with a brand new line from downtown to the airport and to Richmond, where I live. It's called skytrain because the train runs on a track that's elevated above ground. I brought my bike along one day and bikes aren't allowed on the escalators or stairs, so you must take the elevator. Seemed simple enough, until I got inside and was greeted with a set of buttons I just could not figure out!

I thought that these might be imported elevators that still have the buttons in the local language, so maybe C means up and S means down??

Ended up pushing both C and S, ignoring the 4 buttons, each with double arrows that seemed to be twice too many ways of opening and closing the doors.

Doors close. Rumble, rumble. Doors open, but instead of seeing a platform of people, I just see another elevator across from me. So, I go across and enter, expecting to see another S and C. But no, now I have 3 buttons: C, CR and T !! (still ignoring the 4 buttons that seem to open/close the door)

Yowzahs! So, I push all 3 and up it goes.

When I got off at my destination, I unlocked the mystery of the buttons, thanks to a kind soul who handwrote the meaning of the buttons:
S = Street level
C = Concourse level
CR = Concourse level, Rear door
T = Train level

No indication of why there are 2 sets of door open/door close buttons.

Sigh.

Needles taking shape after the rain

Nothing like a good rainstorm to clear the air and wash clean the street.  Here are some pics of our street after a rainstorm that was heavy enough to cause little rivers to form.  All that remained of the rivers afterwards were fir needles heaped up to create interesting shapes and patterns.

Nice swoosh shape

Looks like the little river flowed around these weeds

Needles in beautiful alignment

Fantastic pattern of needles in neat horizontal lines on a background of randomly oriented needles

Large dense swirl surrounded by randomness

Ruth's Gift

I lit a candle today in memory of Ruth, a longtime visitor to the Listening Post, who passed away a couple days ago. Ruth was aging and of poor health, yet had an inner strength that enabled her to live alone in one of the toughest areas of town. I only ever saw her wearing jeans, a tshirt, and a Greek fisher's cap that covered most of her short, grey hair. In cooler weather she'd bundle up in a woolen coat that would be equally at home in the Yukon where she lived for several years. She was a quiet, gentle woman. Our conversations were unhurried and included periods of comfortable silence. Ruth would ask about our candle supply and kept us well stocked, though she lived in social housing and was of very modest means.

We always have several candles burning at the Listening Post -- one in the front window, welcoming passersby to pause for a moment and enjoy the peaceful space, one in the centre of the circular seating area, serving as a focal point for silent meditation and prayer and one on the bookshelf in the entryway, inviting peaceful, respectful conversation.

The candles burn with a soft, warm glow that remind me of Ruth, her gentle manner, her strong inner spirit, her generosity. Ruth's gift of candles is a gift of light to her community and to those who happen to walk by and pause for a few moments to reflect, perhaps to feel some comfort, some peace, some joy.

Thank you, Ruth, for the light you continue to bring to the world.

How my grandparents met

My grandparents on my mother's side were married in Cuba, in 1919.  They met in Cuba, but neither were Cuban and neither had any Spanish blood in them.  Here's how they came to meet.

My grandfather, William Boomer, worked as an auto mechanic in the early days of the automobile, and was an inventor in his spare time. In 1917, he invented a product to fix leaks in car tires, called Noleex.   It was a goopy liquid that you'd squirt into the flat tire and voila, no leaks.  His product had one flaw: it didn't work in cold temperatures. Since he was living in Saskatchewan, Canada at the time this was a significant problem. So, he packed up and moved to the warmer climes of Cuba. It's not clear why he chose Cuba, but it is clear he didn't do much market research, because he discovered soon after arriving that there were very few cars in Cuba! We have only a few pictures of him from those days, always on horseback!

The trip was worthwhile because he met his future wife there, Eva Johnson, a young woman who had recently emigrated with a number of Swedish families from the USA to Cuba. They fell in love, married, then moved back to Canada to raise a family. I never knew my grandfather -- he died at age 53, but knew my grandmother well.   She was a free spirit who loved to visit her children and grandchildren, spread out across the country from the east coast to the west.  She always travelled by bus and would stay a few weeks or months, then move on to the next place.  She loved to play cards, especially whist, canasta and double or triple solitaire.   She continued her travelling ways well into her 80s, and she eventually settled in her beloved Vancouver where she spent her last years. Her ashes are scattered on the Ganges, in India, but that's another story.

Fridays are for Listening

Every Friday, I bike or hop on a bus and head to one of my favourite places -- 382 Main Street in Vancouver.  When I arrive, I unlock the door, put the kettle on, light some candles and put on some fine music. Before settling in for a few hours of listening, I go the front window and flip over the "Closed" sign to say "Open". For 382 Main Street is better known as "The Listening Post" and I'm here to listen to people, not music.

The Listening Post is an oasis of peace and quiet where everyone is welcome to come in and sit for a while, to listen to their inner voice, to meditate, or pray. If they'd like to talk with someone, there are volunteers available to listen with care and respect. We don't preach or counsel, we just try to meet people where they are and journey with them for a while.

We are located in the heart of Vancouver's inner city, the Downtown Eastside (DTES), where poverty, addiction, mental illness and homelessness are the norm. The Listening Post has served the people of the area for 8 years and is now part of the fabric of this community. The space is privately funded, the furnishings all donated and it's staffed entirely by volunteers. Most volunteers are affiliated with a particular religion, but we are not an overtly religious place and we don't push religion. But we are definitely a sacred place and you can feel it when you walk in the door.

It's a privilege to volunteer here. It's a special privilege to listen to someone's story, to share their pain and their joys. I have met many wonderful people and learned so much from them. They have taught me much about who I am as a person. The Listening Post and the people who come for a visit are a big part of my life now. And for this, I am very grateful.