Getting to Haida Gwaii

These islands are friggin far out.. man.... We started in Victoria, took a 14 hour bus trip up Vancouver Island to Port McNeil where we stayed at Erindale’s cabin – an old friend of Mac and Shannon. She was out treeplanting at the time, but we made good use of her place, and her woodstove. It was pretty sweet, a garage beside a quiet fishing resort. The first night, I walked down to the water with my glass of wine, only to surprise a mama black bear with her two cubs. She surprised me back, standing on her hind legs and huffing/barking at me. I scampered pretty quickly back to the cabin. There, waking Sidney and rousing Shannon and Mac we saw her walk across the garden, cubs in tow. 

While in Port McNeil we did a day trip to Sointula and to Alert Bay. Sointula is a small island fishing village that is home to the descendants of a Finnish socialist utopian community from the turn of the 20^th century. The cooperative market store there proudly proclaims its endurance from 1909(?). The museum had a good collection of old commie flags, washing machines and logging gear. Then we took the ferry to Alert Bay. Alert Bay is a fishing village/reserve where Kwakiutl culture is pretty strong. We walked along the waterfront, checking out the fish processing plant, the shells, and chatted with an older couple smoking salmon over a fire on the beach. Nearby were totem poles that were unfinished, wrapped in tarps. There is obviously a massive cultural revival going on here. Looming over the bay was a large Victorian residential school, the windows broken, and haunted looking. Next to it, we visited the local cultural center where we learned more about the local Kwakwakwa culture. We started with a short film and sat beside two young boys about 10 years old, one pointed out his relatives to the other and they both sang along with the traditional songs. The masks and art in the centre were powerful. So powerful that they spooked poor Lucky, who had to leave the museum in a panic. Truly, some spirit masks are intended to inspire fear and they do.

We had heard that the previous day in Port McNeil there had been a blockade of the ferry by some first nations groups from Port Hardy who were protesting the logging of lands without consultation. When I asked the young man who worked at the cultural centre about it, he scowled and said that it had made people to miss the dance performance that had been prepared at the cultural centre. As are all communities, these ones are of course divided – even over the strategy of the struggles around land claims and sovereignty.   

In Port McNeil we were driven from the ferry docks to Erindale’s cabin/garage by a grizzled fellow called Reg. Once upon a time he was a francophone from Alberta. Shannon and he quickly figured out mutual acquaintances – as she has some other Franco-Albertan friends. (BTW – we quickly realized that Shannon is one of the world’s best chatter and extractor of information. In other words, she makes friends with everyone we meet – including a fisher from Port Alberni on the bus up). Reg and his wife Barb run the taxis in town – 24 hours a day. From Reg’s account – he sleeps 3 hours a night. And I kind of believe him – given that he does the last call at the bar at 2 and then picks people up to drive them to the ferry in Port Hardy at 5:30 am. He also logs his own land, and runs a restaurant. Which reminds me of  another thing. Everyone in these areas seems to do at least two jobs, or run at least two businesses. Teacher/fisherman, restaurant operator/tour guide/b and b owner were two we ran into.

After our second night at Erindale’s cabin, no bears in sight – we got a ride from Reg to the ferry at Port Hardy. The ferry was a huge sucker – almost like a cruise ship. And the newly privatized BC Ferries treated it accordingly. It was all for the tourists – we were doing “The Inside Passage” which travels up through islands along the BC coast. The day was extraordinary – clear, blue and bright. The passengers were mostly tourists  - lots of Europeans, especially Germans. There were a group of cycling seniors from Whistler BC and a group of education students off on an environmental and cultural educational course. Little did we know that many of the people from the ferry we would see regularly throughout our time on the islands.

On the trip, a voice on the loudspeaker would announce – on your left, we’ve spotted a whale! And we’d rush over to gawp at the water – trying to catch a glimpse of a fin or tail. I’d wanted to see whales a great deal on this trip – and was delighted that we’d now done so. We saw probably six whales – both orcas and humpbacks. Thrilling for what they signified, even if the wee splash of water was slightly underwhelming.

10:30 at night, after drinking beer and eating peanut butter sandwiches for 14 hours, we arrived in Prince Rupert and dragged the now very sleepy kids off the ferry and up the hill to a hotel for the night. The next morning at sunrise we trudged down the hill  (avec tantrumish Sidney – a rare, but dramatic occurrence) to the ferry to Haida Gwaii. 

This ferry was much smaller than the other one – and the trip only 6 hours long. We hung out with two First Nations women  - one Haida, the other Cree and French. The gal from the islands told me a bit of her story – 10 kids – mostly raised in Prince Rupert. She used to go back more often when her parents were alive but she does so less. A pretty common story it seems.  In the end, they gave me their phone number and invited me up to a party/fish bbq at Tow Hill.We also met a Lutheran pastor's family. The fellow very upright. His wife all dreadlocked and smiley..