Just go

Shortly after we moved here I was given two sage pieces of advice for living on the North Coast by a long-time Rupertite:

1) Always attach the lid to your garbage can with some sort of line or else it will disappear quickly in the wind on stormy garbage days

2) If it's nice out, GO!  Don't wait, don't delay.  You never know what the weather will be like later and if you squander a sunny day, you'll regret it.

It was number two I was thinking of as I stood outside on the most gloriously sunny Remembrance Day I've ever experienced.  I had planned on working that afternoon following the ceremony at the cenotaph, but it was so exquisite out that I quickly abandoned that well-intentioned idea.  Instead, I traded my laptop for a paddle and headed out with a few friends for a couple of hours on the harbour.

It's not that the Prince Rupert harbour is the most scenic paddle; industry, cargo ships, and the Port predominate the view, but there is still nothing nicer than being on the water on a calm, sunny day.  We headed across the water to Digby Island to stretch our legs and explore a bit before heading back as the sun was setting.

As daylight has become a precious commodity now that we are so close to solstice, and drizzly, stormy days are more the norm, these memories and taking advantage of good weather adventures are increasingly valuable.  I spent the sunny moments this weekend inside working on Christmas gifts and I've regretted since it started raining yesterday.  Still much to learn, including always heed the rule: When it's sunny, just go...

here fishy fishy

Visit the north coast and you will learn this:  People around here live to fish.  They fish for their livelihood, they fish for fun.  They wake up at the crack of dawn, fight swell, walk streams with fresh bear tracks, stand in the rain, and spend hours just waiting and hoping all in order to fish.

Before moving here my fishing pinnacle was in first year university when I won a rod and tackle box in the Annual UNBC Outdoor Club ice fishing derby.  Don't be impressed.  I used a stick I found in the bush, borrowed a weight, hook, and some bait from a friend, dropped my line and wandered off to drink beer (because let's be honest, that is what ice fishing is actually about).  The whole catching the second largest fish part was done with zero skill, effort or intention.

Full disclosure: I use that tackle box to store beads to this day.

It's not that I don't like fishing, I just never really sought out the opportunity to do it, even when living in fish-centric places like the north island.  But here it seems different.  It seems ingrained in people.  It's what people talk about.  Canning salmon is a social event. Heck, I even experienced my first fish road-blocks this year.  Twice.  And yes, it's exactly what is sounds like,  a police (actually Fisheries Officer) check point along the highway where instead of checking if you're drunk, they are looking at the legality of what you've caught.

Ty had a couple days out in Chatham Sound this summer so our freezer, while by no means 'full' compared to many people here, has a small stockpile that I am more than thrilled with.  We also got out onto some of the smaller rivers that feed into the Skeena to fish this fall as well. There is something almost meditative about quietly casting and reeling your line in and out as the river rushes by. Cast. Reel. Cast. Reel.Then that meditative moment is shattered by the burst of adrenaline when you have a fish on. I am slowly trying to learn not to shriek like a high-pitched banshee every time this happens (likely this will take me years to actually master, I am nothing if not excitable).

While I am still most definitely a fishing novice, a few weeks ago, I  found myself discussing rivers and runs at a party over beer.  The north coast may just make a fisherwoman out of me yet.

forage

There is not much that is more satisfying than growing or harvesting your own food.   Delicious food, for FREE.  I love free.  Sadly, this year, our garden was pretty much non-existant.  Due to moving right during prime planting/growing season, all we got done was some seeds in containers.  Besides some mutant carrots and a bit of lettuce, nothing else did well at all.  Grand plans are in the works for next year's garden, but for this year, I needed to get my free food fix by doing a little wild foraging.

I'll admit that I was more than a little disappointed when I realized that there were very few blackberries on the north coast. I know, I know, they're invasive, but a delicious version of invasive (so therefore more acceptable in my eyes).  I love blackberries and picking them reminds me of days on Saturna and in Point Roberts when I was wee.  Plus, blackberry pie?  I mean, come on, most delish by far.

Get in my bucket!

The lack of blackberries, however, was happily made up for by the plenitude of blueberries that can be found in the north.  A few weeks ago, I ventured up Shames Mountain (the local ski hill, just outside of Terrace), for an afternoon of picking with some friends.  The whole hillside was full of blueberries and huckleberries just ready to be plucked. Big bonus with blueberries: no thorns.

Mini-forager and scenes from the mountainside.

It seemed like it was going to be a daunting task, but once you got into it, it was a bit addictive.  More berries!

Blueberry picking, however, is more labour intensive.  They're so small so a lot of effort is needed to fill up a bucket.  Luckily, picking them is a bit addictive.  You keep seeing more bushes and more berries that just seem to be begging to be picked, that it's hard to tear yourself away. After a solid couple of hours, we all had full buckets to bring home.  Well, almost all of us. The 2 year old member of our picking party would diligently pick a berry, put it in her bucket, and then immediately snatch it  out to eat it at once.  She probably ate her weight in berries that day. Too cute.

Free food is gooooooood.

Full buckets at the end of the day

Yum.  Free is so good.

PS.  If I was in Vancouver, I'd go do this awesome foraging day with Museum Eats.  So you should go do it for me. :)

digby 3.0: toads, treasures and toddlers

The little guy striding oh so confidently in the photo above?  That's e.  He is one of my best friends.  And yes, he is two and a half.

E came to Rupert to visit early in the summer with his parents, two more of my bestest friends.  It was amazing to have them here and show them our new home. However, the tricky part about being a non-parent and having kiddos come to visit is that you aren't really sure what to do with them.  Can a toddler go kayaking?  How far can they hike?  How often do they nap?  Can you take them to the pub? (Note: probably a bad idea to take a toddler kayaking in very cold waters if you, yourself aren't a pro-star kayaker...they can't hike that far, so bring some sort of baby-backpack to carry them in...they need to nap for a few hours each day- factor that in...and apparently soon you can take kids to a pub- win).

 Luckily, e is awesome and hilarious and his parents are super easy-going, so they were up for pretty much anything. Their visit was definitely one of the highlights of the summer, and my most favorite day of our time together was the one we all spent on Digby Island.

This was Ty and I's third visit to Digby.  I love it over there.  The first time we hiked across the top (see here) and the second we explored a few of the smaller trails and the bewitching and likely haunted old Doctor's house (see here).  Knowing that the trails out of Dodge Cove were easy and toddler friendly, we decided to gamble on missing e's nap for a day and headed out there again.

Getting to Digby is pretty easy.  West Coast Launch runs a water taxi service on Saturdays that leaves Rupert at noon and will pick you up on the other side just after 5.  The ride over takes about 15 minutes and gives you a good look at the Rupert harbour.  Five hours is more than enough time to do a few of the shorter trails, hang out on the beach, have a picnic and say hello to some of the Dodge Cove locals (so friendly and sweet!).

We took e on the CBC Hill trail, which is a fantastic "hike" (not really a hike) for a little one.  In late June/early July when we were there, there were hoards of small western toads all over the first section of trail!  Toddlers LOVE toads, especially if you're willing to catch a few for them to look at up close.  Honestly, I think the highlight of e's entire trip to Rupert was when a (likely terrified) toad peed on my hand after I'd caught it.  We probably spent close to an hour doing a section of trail that should have taken no longer than 15 or 20 minutes because we were constantly stopping to watch hopping toads.

Further along, the residents of Dodge Cove have dotted the pretty trail with all sorts of treasures.  Early on, there are little middens of beach glass, moon snail shells, and a few beach-cast finds.  As you enter into the more wooded section, someone has placed all sorts of small toys (of the Happy Meal variety) in nooks and crannies among the trees and moss.

These little hidden toys are total toddler gold.  While placing small, plastic toys in such a pretty natural environment may seems sort of icky, it's actually more whimsical than anything else.  E loved it and was so excited after each "treasure" he found.  We, again, had to stop regularly so he could look and hold each one before placing it back in it's spot.

Of course, we added in some beach stops to picnic and play about.  Another toddler discovery: throwing rocks = endless amusement.  I had also bought a cheap-o bug catching kit at the Dollar Store, which proved to be a hit.  We imprisoned a few snails and flies for a short time before releasing them back into the undergrowth.

E was well worn out by the end of the day, but withstood forgoing the nap like a champ.  He even had enough energy for one last foot race with Ty on the road back to the water taxi.

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.”

southbound sail

At the end of April I had a suite of meetings to attend on the northern end of Vancouver Island and thus had the chance to cross another activity off my North Coast Bucket List - taking the ferry down the coast.

Confession:  I love ferries

I know, I know, it's almost sacrilege to say considering how much British Columbians love to complain about BC Ferries, but the truth is, I adore a good ferry ride.  Love' em.  (Admittedly I've never lived somewhere where I relied on one for day-to-day life, which I am sure takes the romance of them pretty quickly, but I've probably taken 100s of ferries in my life and I still love them).

The trip from Rupert to Hardy is the grand-daddy of all BC Ferries trips so I was extra excited in the days leading up to it. That being said, besides booking myself a reservation, I didn't do too much research into what the trip would entail and what I should bring.  In my usual last-minute fashion, I posted a quick question on Facebook asking people what the must-haves for the trips were.  It was a bit silly, considering I was already at the terminal and couldn't do anything about it, but in case you were curious, here is what I got in response: Gravol, Night vision goggles to look for blows, Alcohol, Know where the liferafts are, A flask, A cabin.  I had none of the above.  Dammit.

Feeling like a rookie (no flask!), I twiddled my thumbs at the terminal for what seemed like an eternity.   The waiting an eternity part was also my fault.  The truth is, I am am a total goody-goody when it comes to check-in times.  It was a Tuesday in late-April, so of course the ferry was not busy.  None the less, since BC Ferries recommended that you get there 2 HOURS before this sailing, I insisted that Ty drop me off promptly at the time stated on my ticket.  And then I sat there.  For hours.  I'm sure in the summer when the sailings are busy, it's a good idea to get there with plenty of time to assure your reservation, but in April, trust me, this is not the case.

At last, it was time to board.

All aboard!

We had a spectacular day for our sailing, and as we left Rupert, I had a little hint of what it must have felt like to take a bit trans-Atlantic voyage from Europe to North America.  Everyone was out on deck, taking pictures, exploring the ship, looking excited.  But by 'everyone', I mean the 20 or so people that were on the sailing. Seriously, it was dead.  I was shocked by how few people were on board. The crew probably out-numbered the passengers 2:1.

Leaving Rupert

Scenes from the sail

Leaving the harbour I started humming a little earworm that stuck with me the entire trip.  Ridiculously, it only started because I am terrible with song lyrics (ask my sister) and I always sing the wrong words. I somehow mixed up Rod Stewart's  "Will I see you tonight, on a downtown train"...as "I will see you tonight, on a southbound train..."which seemed fitting for my southbound sailing despite the fact that I wasn't on a train and well, they were the completely wrong lyrics.  None the less, it provide my inner soundtrack for the entire 17 hour journey.  Good ol' Rod.

Now you're humming that song, right?

Haha. You. Are. Welcome.

Incorrect lyrics aside, the evening aboard was quite lovely.  The lack of people on this sailing meant you could pretty much have any area of the ship almost completely to yourself.  I spent time on deck enjoying the sun and searching for whales, taking pics, having a beer (why don't all ferries have beer?), reading a magazine and generally enjoying myself.

Beer on board a ferry! Sweet!

The Rupert-Hardy sailings in the winter and spring are an overnight service, so after a few hours on board, the sun began to set, turning the water an iridescent shade of orange and the clouds a cotton candy pink.

Sunset scenes

Because I was travelling on my own dime, I decided to forego a cabin and brought my thermarest and sleeping bag to make myself a little bed in the main seating area.  As I mentioned, there was hardly anyone on the sailing and I pretty much had about 20 rows around me to myself all evening, so I was feeling pretty smug aboout my decision to skip getting a cabin.  The smug feeling was short lived though, as just as I was getting ready to go to bed, another passenger came and made her bed RIGHT beside me.  It was the oddest things ever. There was so much empty room around us!  I gave her a look that could only mean "Are you kidding me?" but either she ignored me or didn't pick up on it.  Needless to say I let our an audible sigh and moved all my stuff a little further away.  She happily took over my former spot and proceeded to snore away the rest of the night.  Oy.

Tucked into bed, giggling over the weird lady that apparently wanted to sleep right beside me.

The next morning I awoke in Fisher Channel to the captain announcing that there were killer whale ahead.  I ran outside in my jammies and watched a group pass by at a bit of a distance.  It never gets old.

I spent the rest of the sailing, curled up next to the window reading and watching the more familiar central coast go by. I'd picked up 'The Oil Man and the Sea' by Arno Kopecky a few weeks previous and it proved the perfect read for the journey.  The book chronicles a sailing trip between two friends, one an author, one a photographer, neither a sailor, as they trace the route of the Northern Gateway tankers through the Great Bear.  It's eloquently and humourously written, while still emphasizing the multitude of reasons why the Enbridge pipeline and it's associated tankers are a terrible idea for this rich landscape.  There were points in my ferry trip where I was passing through the exact locations being described in the book, making it an even richer reading and travelling experience.

As we pulled into the Port Hardy Terminal 17 hours after leaving Rupert, I actually felt a bit sad that the trip was over.  There is something almost meditative about travelling alone this way.  For 17 hours I was quiet and contemplative, moving passively through a beautiful landscape, with nothing but a book, some magazines, my own thoughts, and the wrong lyrics to a Rod Stewart song to accompany me.  With life always moving along a full tilt, it's not very often in life that we take that amount of time to just 'be'.

skunk cabbage country

Spring has finally arrived to Prince Rupert.  But instead of the cherry blossoms I'm used to back home, up here the new season is signaled by a slightly more pungent bloom: Skunk Cabbage.

Behind my office: skunk cabbage.  On our doggy walking route: skunk cabbage.  On the trails I ran yesterday: skunk cabbage.  Everywhere you look in this town, the cheery bright yellow heads of skunk cabbage (Lysichiton americanus) are poking through the saturated earth.

Now I am one of those crazy people who quite enjoys the smell of skunk (much to Ty's dismay) and while skunk cabbage doesn't have quite the same nose, I still enjoy it's musky, earthy smell.  Apparently I'm not the only one, the scent is actually used by the plant to attract pollinators like flies an beetles (so... obviously, I'm in good company).

In honour of this first sign of spring up here, here is a little skunk cabbage 101 (I know you were just dying to know more about it):

• While skunk cabbage may look like one big, yellow flower, each plant actually has a spathe (the big yellow leaf) and spadix (the interior club) that actually contains hundred of teeny flowers.
• Skunk cabbage has the largest leaves of a plant found in the region- up to 150cm long!
• The young plants (especially the roots) are food for bears emerging from hibernation.  Apparently it has a laxative property that helps clear things out after a winter spent asleep.
• Don't try to eat it, it contains calcium oxolate crystal that can cause some major burning.
• Apparently the big, waxy leaves were used by some First Nations as we would use wax paper or saran wrap now, to store food.

So cheers to spring in skunk cabbage country....

wait 5 minutes...

It's finally spring!  Sort of.

Part of my north coast education has meant learning that end of march does not equal cherry blossoms (sad) and instead, it means weather with a severe multiple personality disorder.

The moto these days: "Don't like the weather? Wait five minutes."

On the first day of spring, I was lucky enough to have my colleague and friend, Tess, visiting.  We snapped a few photos outside my office window to illustrate the meteorological madness.  In a matter of 8 hours, we peeped out the window to see snow, rain, hail, and blazing sun.

The other saying around here when the weather gets nutty is "The herring must be in".  Don't worry, I was perpelexed too and did my fair share of mmmm-hmmm-yes-fake-head-nodding-like-I-know-what-you-mean.  But someone finally explained that the weather is often insane in March, and this also corresponds to when the herring begin to concentrate and spawn.

I thought it might have meant something like this:

Yes, I'm aware these aren't herring and Prince Rupert looking nothing like this.