metlakatla trail

The best adventures always seem to be fraught with a bit of adversity and our visit to the Metlakatla Trail was no different.  In early June, we had the joy of hosting our lovely friend Megs (or Meegs, if you hear her say it with her Kiwi accent).  To celebrate her North Coast visit, we planned to spend the weekend on the trail.  Despite the rainy forecast (we aren’t made of sugar!) and minimal prep (we had the important task of drinking beer at the Wheelhouse Brewery the night before instead of packing!), we made it out the door on time Saturday morning, ready to hop on the ferry.

Unfortunately, despite making a reservation (as instructed) earlier in the week that was confirmed by the trail office, and despite the fact that no one informed us that there was a minimum group size needed for the ferry to run, just as we were leaving the house, we were informed that the water taxi had been cancelled due to the fact that no one else had booked.  With our bags all packed and our hiking boots on, we desperately tried to find another way to get to Metlakatla.  There is nothing quite like someone telling you you CAN’T go that makes you want to go even more.

The trail office was apologetic and tried to find us another boat that might be making the journey, to no avail.  We moped.  We investigated chartering a water taxi, but agreed it was too pricey.  We got grumpy.  We hung out around the dock hoping to hitch a ride.  We regained our optimism - then lost it again.  And just when it seemed like the trip was a bust, we stopped in Cow Bay and stumbled across friends with a zodiac.  In a slightly shrill/our-weekend-is-nearly-ruined voice, I inquired if they’d be so kind to zip us over.  Metlakatla is no more than a 15 minute boat ride away and they happily agreed.

Weekend saved!

See ya later, Rupert!

The euphoria and whooping we made while zipping away from Rupert after all hope had seemed lost was a bit overkill, but there is something oh so satisfying about overcoming a hurdle.  With big smiles on our face, we hopped out onto the dock at Metlakatla, arranged a pick up for the following afternoon and made our way to the trailhead.

Metlakatla is one of seven Tsimishian village communities in the north.  It’s picturesquely situated in Venn Passage and our visit coincided with the wild rose bloom, so the town smelled amazing.  The folks we encountered along the road all smiled and wished us a good hike.  They seemed really proud of their trail.

The Metlakatla trail was built two years ago.  It’s 10km one way, hugging the coastline west of the village, facing Chatham Sound.  It’s a beautiful trail, and one that could be easily done in a day, but it does contain a small campsite near the 7.5km mark, which allows more time for exploring and enjoying the beaches.  Much of the trail is incredibly well maintained, level with crushed gravel, appropriate for many ages and abilities.  Most impressive are the suspension bridges that span several creeks and marshy areas, as well as the lookout tower that takes you up into the canopy and allows you to look out over the beach.

Suspension bridge

It was while we were up on the tower that I spotted a lone wolf loping along the beach below.  We were ecstatic!  It was a perfect vantage point to watch him, and he seemed just as aware of us (stopping several times to gaze up in our direction) as we were of him.  He trotted along the beach for a couple hundred meters before disappearing into the bush.

Bridge into the canopy

There is a wolf down there!

Another experience to check off my North Coast Bucket List.

The rest of our hike was spent spotting culturally modified trees, searching for western toads (which were plentiful), and admiring the thickets of false lily-of-the-valley.

After setting up camp, we spent some of the afternoon exploring the beach at low tide.  The weather mostly held, except for some very light showers, and we felt just too smug sitting on the beach, having a beer, knowing that we almost didn’t make it over.  After dinner, a fire, and some more exploring, we crawled into our tents feeling so cozy as the wind picked up and the forecasted rains finally appeared.

The next morning, we walked the beaches to the very end of the trail and then came back to pack up our camp.  On our hike out, we were lucky enough to spot a pair of sandhill cranes on the beach.  They seemed less stoked about our presence and made prehistoric-sounding squawks as they distanced themselves.

It was a great weekend and a combination of so many things I love about the coast.  Wildlife watching, tidepool exploring, big tree ogling, beach walking, waking up to the sound of the waves…

Despite the snafu with transportation, I’d really recommend to anyone to go do the trail.  Camp overnight if you can.  Learn more about the trail, reservations and fee here.

groundhog spotting

I started writing this post last week and hadn't yet published it because I thought no one would care to read about my backyard rodent-friend.  But let's be honest, my mom is probably one of the few people that actually reads this blog and she'll like it...so, here we go.  ;)

In mid-May we had some friends from Smithers come for a weekend visit with their toddler.  It was great to see them and discover Rupert through the eyes of a two year old (highlights: boats, ice cream, and Mason).  Their visit also uncovered a north coast neighbour we didn't know existed.

The sunny-ish weather inspired some bbq-ing and open patio doors, which is how our house guests discovered what they first thought was a cat in the neighbor's backyard.  Upon closer inspection, however, the supposed cat turned out to not to be feline at all, but a rather large-sized, plump rodent.

What the hell was it?  Embarrassingly, two of us in the room graduated with degrees in Wildlife Biology, but the best we could muster was that it looked like some sort of marmot.  Good old Google came to the rescue (seriously, what did we do before Google?) and we realized that our new next-door neighbor was indeed a marmot- in fact it was the largest species of marmot, the groundhog (Marmota monax).

This was perplexing.  What the hell was a groundhog (also known as a woodchuck) doing so close to the ocean?  I thought marmots were mountainous creatures?  Even more curious was the fact that this groundhog seemed to have claimed a large pile of scrap wood as his empire. He sat atop it surveying his over-grown-backyard-full-of-junk kingdom.

This wasn't even the weirdest part...after spying on the groundhog for a while, we realized that a cat (a real one this time) was sauntering up behind our newly discovered friend.  Eek! I was certain that the groundhog's demise was imminent.  Alas, after skulking around and then bounding up behind it, the cat's presence appeared to have no effect on the groundhog one bit.  In fact, they appeared to be buddies.  He even let the cat sit on top of his wood pile.

And so, thus started my groundhog fascination.  Since discovering this little buddy (whom Ty has dubbed Sylvester), I did a bit more research into groundhogs.  Turns out, unlike other marmots, they aren't a mountain creature at all, but prefer lowland areas.  Despite the fact that their range map does not show them on the coast of BC, they do indeed live here in Rupert.  They are much more plentiful back east, however, and aren't always the most popular.  They build elaborate dens with mutliple tunnels that can do some damage to fields, parks, and even the foundation of a building.  They are also one of the few mammal species that actually undertakes a true hibernation.  Fascinating, right? (Stop rolling your eyes).  Find out more enthralling (I'm serious now) facts about groundhogs here.

My mother, being the fabulous, creative, quirky person that she is, adapted Edward Lear's Owl and the Pussycat just for me and my new groundhog friend.

"The Woodchuck and the Pussy-cat met for drinks on a sunny, woodland patch.

They’d brought clover so fine and dandelion wine, the last of the homebrew batch.

The Woodchuck looked up at the house afar and whistled a worried tune,

“The landlord is changing, there’ll be rearranging and likely eviction too!”

“Don’t worry ole’ Chucky, ole’ Chucky, ole’ pal.” purred the cat to his rodent friend.

“Stay out of their garden and you’ll get a pardon, and all will be right in the end.”

“Interpretation will be your salvation! There’ll be woodchuck-watch tours for friends.”

Haunted houses and daffodils: Digby 2.0

In early May while Ty's brother was in town, we ventured out to visit Digby Island again.  Last time we hiked across the island from the airport ferry dock.  This time we took the easy route by taking the water taxi that deposited us right in the quirky, quaint community of Dodge Cove.

It was a perfect time to visit, Dodge Cove was in bloom.  Most prevalent were the sunny faces of daffodils doting every yard and along the sides of the road.

We struck out to find the CBC Hill trail just south of the community.  It is a charming, easy, well-maintained trail.  We found frogs and unfurling fiddleheads on top of the various "treasures" like beach glass, shells, mini dinosaur figurines and a few Disney princesses tucked into various nooks and crannies by locals. This would be a perfect trail for wee ones.   You can even sneak down to the beaches to do some intertidal investigating.

Half way along the loop the highlight of the trail emerges from the undergrowth: the old Doctor's House.  What must have once been a stately and stunning home now stands in ruins, slowly crumbling back to the forest. Built in 1912, apparently it was never occupied by a Doctor, but was constructed to house one should the quarantine hospital that had been built on a small island nearby ever been put to use.  Alas, the boom of immigration that was predicted, never occurred and both structures began to crumble. Now it stands almost as a sweet and sad reminder of a yet another boom that never manifested for this part of the coast.  

It's creepy and beautiful all at once.  Looking at it from the trail, one could imagine white, ghostly figures appearing in the open, dark windows. I would never step foot in it, and not just because most of the floors have caved in, but it's the perfect stereotype of where a horror movie would occur.  As we poked around, my scaredy-cat nature ensured that I had Cody or Ty nearby.  

The deliciously eerie aura of the house is quickly replaced a little further along the trail as you climb the CBC hill (so named after the CBC transmission towers located there) and step out into a field of daffodils.  

Instead of looping back to town at the end of the trail, we continued along to Casey Cove to do a little beach combing and see the old marine station.  Yet another picturesque set of buildings slowly falling victim to the wet climate that decays just about everything.  

After making our way back from Casey Cove with only a bit of time left before the water taxi home, we made a last jaunt, this time up Buddha Hill.  The short trail leads up a soggy incline to a nice lookout west towards Chatham Sound.  A small Buddha lies hidden in the salal with a scattering of small offerings laid at its base.