When I plan out a trip like this I like to keep things pretty simple, randomly pick some places to visit, then leave some time to get from point A to B to see whatever happens.  The biggest concern I had for this adventure was how was I going to get from Tofino to the Queen Charlotte Islands.  Carrying a car around can be efficient, but expensive.  Flying can also be expensive, but where would I leave my wheels.  By this time I had already lived out of my car for almost a month, ultimately the advantages of mobility out weighed the disadvantages in coughing up a mortgage payment.  To cap off that argument I thought that if I didn’t really know where I was going, at least I would have a better idea of how to get there.

            Seventeen-hour epic boat rides do not depart every fifteen minutes, I had to somehow organize my calendar (and myself) to get from Tofino to Port Hardy and service runs only every other day.  Just to throw another twist into the plot, I had broken one of the lenses for my camera and needed a spare; the only place that might sell spare parts was in Campbell River a small city about half way up the island.

            As is usually the case for me, my early morning departure ended up being well after lunch.  By the time I arrived at the camera store in Campbell River they were a half hour past closing.  Once again I found myself stuck in a small town with nothing to do; that almost always ends up being a interesting night for me. 

I found a campsite a couple of kilometers out of town, set up my tent for the night and then made the hike back in for dinner.  I am very comfortable with a map and GPS, but I have always found that the best way to learn directions is with your feet.  What I found upon my reentry into town was that most restaurants close at 9 o’clock.  I was very fortunate to get a good restaurant suggestion from a KFC employee waiting to get picked up after working.  The Lookout Seafood Grill was very accommodating and stayed open a little later than usual for my culinary enjoyment of their cooking.  After paying the bill I received more good advice towards another local establishment that would be stay open later; the waitress even offered to give me a life.  To cap off the night the Blue Light bar on the outskirts of town had a local band and plenty of character.  Getting home often proves to be as fun as getting lost in the first place.

            Bright and early I was happily surprised to get a new lens and another memory card at the camera shop for far less than I had dreaded.  Loaded with new toys I then stopped into the local museum.  Wow, the museums in British Columbia really impressed me, much of that started in Campbell River.  The first nations exhibit was exceptionally well presented, but to my surprise, no photography was allowed.  The other exhibits were very well organized as well, but the interesting thing for me was the ban on photography.  The lady at the gift shop desk was excellent to talk to and recommended a few of their books.  I am a sucker for historical discourse and ended up with a few texts and trinkets.  It was here that I initiated the idea of photographically telling the story of each museum that I visit along my journey.  I am not exactly a textbook learner and have rather enjoyed collecting our Canadian stories from the people and places I visited.

             My next stop was the logging museum in Port McNeil.  Again the museum did not allow pictures, although the rational I received was different.  I was their only visitor on the day; the woman who volunteered at the museum was a supply teacher who had originally come from Pakistan.  We hit it off quite well.  About an hour into my short private tour, we were standing up in the conference room admiring a cedar kayak that one of the donors was storing in the rafters.  We discussed the current conditions and politics of the logging industry, which was otherwise unbeknownst to this Ontarian educator. After a small donation to the museum she forced upon me a bumper sticker and me a free T-shirt, I have always liked using artifacts in the classroom and just couldn’t say no.

            I arrived at the Port Hardy museum with about 5 minutes to spare, and really only picked up some information as to where to eat and sleep.  With a 5:30 am check in time for the only ferrie, the campsite I found existed almost exclusively on the ferrie crowd.  It was the first private campground that I had stopped at, and in many regards one of the nicest.  Nowhere else have a set up tent whist two bald eagles were playing tag in the maze of giant red pine trees that surrounded the area.  The trees also provided a padding of mulch that created the softest and most comfortable mattress that my sleeping bag has ever rolled out over.  However, not everything is perfect; at the hostile in Tofino I read a wall posting extolling the cleanliness of BC water and vilifying the multinational soft drink companies that were hijacking our world’s clean water supplies only to sell it back to us in a bottle for a tidy profit.  After setting up camp I returned the front desk to inquire about the potable water situation here; the young girl politely looked at me with disgust.  “If you really want to take the chance of being bent over and sick on a full day boat ride tomorrow, go right ahead and take your chances.”  I recollected a few days in Pakistan last year I had and decided that that was a chance I was not willing to take.

            Up at the crack of dawn the next day I took down my tent and then raced off the ferrie launch.  It was important to cue up early in my car to then sleep behind the wheel while we waited. 

            The Port Hardy to Prince Rupert ferrie is a 17-hour boat ride north through the inland sea along the west coast of Canada.  I can describe it as nothing less than an epic journey.  I spent much of the time on the deck of the ship in awe of the scenery that surrounded us.  You are floating past once mighty mountaintops, covered with lush pine forests.  Along the shore you can see the colour changes in the rock that separates the living trees from the abyss in the ocean below. A closer look reveals the trees roots cling to the last vestiges of solid rock before it all melts away into the sea.  The grandeur of nature is most humbling.

            Such a journey obviously draws the attention of a more elite clientele than myself.  I may be willing to shell out $500 for a boat ride, but the thought of a $20 breakfast sent me running down the stairs to grab some snacks out of my car.  Apparently the parking level was off limits during the cruise and a salty looking security officer intercepted me on my way through the way of parked vehicles.  Rules are rules and I thought I should at least try to explain to him my plight.  “I am just a nice guy driving across the country on a two month adventure, living out of my car to save money.  I really can’t afford these prices every day.  I only want to get a little cereal and milk out of my cooler in the back seat.”  I received the most genuine look of pity I have ever experienced in my life.  I almost felt bad for myself when he responded, “Don’t worry about it man, I know what it can be like. Just be quick about things.”  I didn’t mean to imply being destitute or elicited such sympathy, but I certainly decided that the belly of the whale would be my mess hall for the duration of the trip.  As I was told their concern was that in the past families had come down for a picnic lunch complete with cooking fire, couple that with cigarette smokers and you have a real a fire hazard considering all the fuels and chemicals stored down below.  Thankfully and simple man like myself appeared harmless.

            Feeling invincible yet again I decided to sort out my next ferrie ride from Prince Rupert to the Charlottes.  The information officer on board quickly informed me that I may as well turn my car around once leaving the docks and just park right to get a few hours sleep before cueing up early tomorrow morning.  My reputation must travel faster than I do.  I had not slept in my car yet and the idea of it sounded quite bohemian as well as cost effective.  At this point I was up for anything.

            For lunch I met another security guard that proved to be much more fresh with his attitude.  He actually accompanied me to my car and we started a conversation about life on the coast.  He had worked on the water all his life, in the fishing boats, the canning industry, tours, etcetera, and now for BC Ferries.  As many fishermen are capable of, he could tell quite a tale.  An hour later I noticed he was right at home sitting on the hood of my car with knee slapping laughter while I was tap dancing around trying to find a way to escape to the bathroom.  I finally cut him off by asking for advice about catching the next boat.  You would think he had seen a new kind of sea monster be the way he looked at me after I mention sleeping in my car.  Maybe I would wait until after dinner before making any more rash decisions.

            The afternoon was spent pacing in circles around the boat.  Many people had cabins to sleep in, others rolled out sleeping bags on the floor.  I was able to get some reading finished, but I am restless out at sea.  At many times a crewmember came on the loud speaker describing the scenery and landscape.  As beautiful as things were we were not treated to the glimpses of orcas, seals, dolphins and whales that usually share the road. The boat ride itself was an adventure far more than just a means to an end.

            Following dinner I came to realize that after two days of sleeping on the ground and no fresh shower I craved something far softer than sleeping in my car.  I broke down and slid into Prince Rupert to find a hostel.  The next morning I would once again cue up for a ferrie, this time a six-hour shot straight out into the Pacific to find the Queen Charlotte Islands.  Queen Charlotte actually never visited these islands that bear here name.  They have been the home of the Haida people for nearly eleven thousand years.  I have been mystified with a calling to see these lands since I took a story telling course from Trent University many summers ago.  Many people who have been there consider it the most naturally beautiful place in Canada.  The Haida story is one of great strength today that reemerged from almost extinction a few generations ago.  Between the two weddings that called me out west this week of exploration on Haida Gwaii was my personal mission.  Life is about the journey, not the destination, but it is in choosing the right destinations that we experience the best journeys.  And mine was only one more day away.