Broken Islands

I like a good name, and geographical features attract some of the best. Aoraki. Desolation Sound. Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. Tierra del Fuego. Some names are descriptively apt. Others less so: Desolation Sound captures the mood of the map-maker, rather than the place itself. The Broken Islands is a perfect descriptor for this fragmented cluster of forested rocks on the west coast of Vancouver Island. The islands are within Barkley Sound, south of Ucluelet, and comprise a unit of the federally-managed Pacific Rim National Park Reserve (the other two units are Long Beach, between Tofino and Ucluelet, and the West Coast Trail). Our last trip of the summer was spent kayaking in the Broken Islands with friends Dan and Lesley. We spent five days on the water, camping on three different islands, and experiencing the variety the coast offers.

We put into the water at Toquart Bay, having rented kayaks - Current Designs Solstices - from Majestic Ocean Kayaking in Ucluelet. Our first crossing, from the bay to the Stopper Islands, loosened up spines, shoulders and wrists. We passed through the channel bisecting the Stoppers, stopped for a bite and some adjustments, and then crossed a wider channel to Lyall Point. The fog cover began to lift from the surrounding landscape. We entered the park near Hand Island, navigating between Hand's western shore and a off-lying islet. We left Hand and passed through a channel between the Brabant Islands. The sun began to shine as we crossed over Peacock Channel and approached Dodd Island. Crossing Peacock we encountered signs of red tide, a seasonal toxic algal bloom which makes shellfish off-limits. The water was a muddy reddish-brown.

Approaching Dodd Island.

We pulled up to the beach on the eastern point of Dodd, location of one of the park's seven dedicated campsites. We caught some sun and explored the point. A flotilla of four double kayaks beached and we decided to continue on to Willis Island and explore its camping options. We set up camp under cedar trees above a pebbly beach. Sarah and I swam, briefly. The water was cold, but not as cold as I expected. Sarah cooked chili con carne for dinner, and we enjoyed a clear sunset.

Dinner site on Willis Island.

Next morning we woke to dense fog hanging over the water. We ate breakfast, packed up camp and were on the water as the fog lifted. Our destination was Clarke Island, in the south west corner of the park. We paddled around the western end of Willis and crossed Thiepval Channel to a chain of islands, including Turrent and Trickett. The tide was low, preventing passage through the first channel we approached, but we negotiated our way between the chain of islands, and bee-lined for Clarke. We approached Clarke from the north west, sneaking between barnacle-encrusted outcrops and kelp beds into a small lagoon on the west side of the island. A mink was spotted on one of the little islands offshore. We landed on a white sandy beach with western exposure. Sarah and I continued around to investigate a bay on the island's south side, before returning to set up camp. We ate lunch and then entered the water again. Passing through the channel between Clarke and Benson, an island to the south, we returned to Turrent Island, this time exploring the sheltered waters of its southern coast. We saw numerous sea stars (starfish) including bat stars, mottled stars, and one or two sun stars, but we failed to locate Turrent's giant Sitka spruce.

Bat star, Asterina miniata.

Turning it up for the camera, off Turrent Island.

Our return to Clarke was into a decent head wind, but conditions were fine on the beach. I had started Wade Davis's The Wayfarers, and reading his chapter on the extraordinary Polynesian navigation and settling of the Pacific felt appropriate. As evening fell we heard loud mewling and rustling from the dense bush behind our tent site. We realized the mink had her den there, with young to feed.

Sunset on Clarke Island.

The middle day of our trip was dedicated to exploring the outer islands of the Broken Group. Once again we passed between Clarke and Benson. Conditions were perfect for crossing Coaster Channel, the largest open-water stretch within the park. We passed to the north of Verbeke Reef, as the Pacific swell crashed against the exposed rock. Around us was an ocean of suds, carpets of foam thrown up by the friction between wave and rock.

Entering the suds.

Dan and Lesley, perfect paddling conditions.

We left the shelter of islands and outcrops and entered what I wanted to call the open ocean, despite the proximity of land. Japan was on my right, Vancouver Island to my left, and we were riding 5-6 feet of swell. The experience aboard a kayak was somewhat disorientating. When I focused on paddling, I barely noticed the sweep of the swell passing beneath me. Looking at the paddlers around me, watching as they sunk into a trough or rose high on the crest of the swell, brought home the size and strength of the swell. We passed the outside of an unnamed island, a mound of rock capped with forest, the cliffs on its south western shore battered by the incoming waves, and approached Wouwer Island. We entered a channel between Wouwer, on the outer, and Batley. Paddling the inner coast of Wouwer, we came out between the island and another, Howell, that bore the brunt of the Pacific swell. Sea lions basked on rocks between the two islands, uttering warning grunts to the kayaks passing by.

Between Wouwer and Howell.

We followed the northern coast of Howell, and then crossed over to Dicebox Island, navigating past isolated outcrops of rock topped by hardy spruce and other vegetation clinging on to their slice of paradise. Dicebox was once the location of a Nuu-chah-nulth village and fortification. Indeed, eighteen historical First Nations village sites have been identified within the Broken Island Group. The numerous clam and oyster beds, the clusters of mussels - all frustratingly inedible due to the red tide - attested to the bounty of the region. We later came across CMTs - culturally-modified trees - on Effingham Island: cedar stripped of its outer bark, the purpose being the use of cedar fibres for making clothing. Landing at Dicebox was a little tricky, as the beach was steep and a bit rocky, and small curlers kept my kayak in motion. I managed to eject without tipping myself into the water, and we lunched in the sun. 

On Dicebox.

From Dicebox we paddled south east toward Cree Island, and then north towards Effingham Island, the largest island in the Broken Group. We passed through bull kelp beds, spying spider crabs clinging to the stems. A large sea cave on Austin Island held our attention. The coast along this stretch was shaped by its exposure to the Pacific, with high cliffs in places, and wave-shaped formations.

East of Austin Island. Imperial Eagle Channel and the open Pacific are beyond.

We cut west between Austin and Effingham and followed the coastline clockwise into Effingham Bay. After a brief exploration of Effingham, including our discovery of the culturally-modified trees, we started back towards Clarke. As we left the shelter of Effingham and Gilbert, the island adjacent, we encountered the forecasted south-westerly winds. We made our way to Cooper Island and beached to take stock. Whitecaps on Coaster Channel indicated a decent rate of knots. Fog was being blown through, low and thick in places. After listening to the radio broadcast, we decided to make the crossing before the wind increased in strength.

On Cooper Island, looking south.

We passed through the channel between Cooper and Camblain, trying to exploit the shelter of the landmasses between us and the open ocean. The wind combined with the swell as we entered the channel, making it difficult to keep our noses pointed towards our destination. We detoured around a reef and paddled the last stretch into the wind. Wisps of fog swept overhead. We passed by a bald eagle clinging to a straggly shrub on the rocky reef, its feathers in disarray. We landed on Clarke, bushed. The wind died away as dinner was prepared. Dan lit a fire and I fried cookies. We spotted the mink again, cruising the shoreline and foraging for food.

The following morning we departed for the north east corner of the park. We made our way to Thiepval Channel, and then passed into the sheltered waters between Dodd, Willis and Turtle Islands. We turned east, negotiating the islets of the Tiny Group, before entering the lagoon between Jarvis and Jaques Islands at high tide. Within, we floated above a fish trap, a stone structure designed to capture fish as the tide recedes.

Entering the lagoon, Jarvis Island on the left, Jaques on the right.

After a stately dawdle around the lagoon, we exited via the north entrance and tracked along Jaques's coast to Gibraltar Island. The campsite there was primarily in the shaded forest of the island's north coast, but a small spit out to a rocky outcrop kept us in the sun. We were second to Gibraltar, but landed superior tent sites, under demi-giant Western Redcedar and overlooking the water. Dan checked his phone messages and learned there had been an earthquake off the west coast of Vancouver Island that afternoon. We'd been on the water and hadn't felt a thing. We swam, followed circuitous trails in the forest, and cruised the tide pools, studying anemone cities and hermit crabs at work. Later that night we lit a fire and consumed one or two mugs of vino tinto.

Decent-sized cedar on Gibraltar Island.

The view north west from Gibraltar. Jaques Island is obscured,
Erin and Nettle Islands are to the right.

Our last day was eventful. We broke camp and paddled north to Nettle Island, making our way up between Nettle and the smaller Denne Island. The foresters in the group exclaimed over the white pine evident on Denne's slopes. We tracked between Denne and Prideaux. Before us was a stretch of water where two channels merged, Sechart and Peacock, where we spied a humpback whale in the distance. It disappeared from view, before rising some moments later much closer to us, heading past us toward Gibraltar. We carried on, crossing Sechart Channel and the park boundary as we passed a couple jigging for ling cod, and landing on Capstan Island, one of the Pinkerton Islands, for lunch. After lunch we encountered another humpback whale, rising and blowing three times before disappearing from view, as it headed east along Sechart. We passed through the Pinkertons and followed the coast of Vancouver Island, arriving again at Lyall Point, our last resting place before we entered the Broken Islands four days previous. We crossed to the Stopper Islands, where we witnessed an acrobatic display of feeding in the channel between the two islands, as a sea lion decimated a ball of fish, leaping, twisting and curling after the small silvery flashes of flesh. We slowly paddled the last stretch to Toquart Bay, not quite ready to finish the trip, weary but satisfied with our exploration of the Broken Islands.

Peachy sunset on Gibraltar.

The Silviculturist

Sarah was interviewed last month in Johnson Bay, Rivers Inlet by Hans Peter Meyer, a writer and photographer, for his Coastal Forestry Industry Project. The project is an examination of the coastal forestry industry at this point of time in its history.

Sarah Mukai in Johnson Bay, Rivers Inlet (Part 1) from hanspetermeyer on Vimeo.

Sarah Mukai in Johnson Bay, Rivers Inlet (Part 2) from hanspetermeyer on Vimeo.

Sarah is a silviculture forester. Essentially, her job is to manage the replanting of tree species to replace those felled by her company, as legislated by the provincial government. Silviculture management requires Sarah to spend many hours in the field, supervising planting and brushing operations, surveying replanted blocks, and, on rare occasions, planting trees herself, where only a few (hundred) are needed to fill spaces in a previously planted area. (Brushing is the management of "weed" species, like alder, that grow more vigourously and shade the planted trees. Brushing involves the girdling or poisoning of these weed species to allow the more desired species enough light.)

Sarah on Gilford Island. The plastic cones protect cedar seedlings from deer.

In the last five months Sarah has spent about 60 days in the field, the odd day out of Campbell River, but the majority camp shifts in inlets along the BC coastline. The camps are usually barges, like the one in Johnson Bay, above, and are reached by boat or float plane. The duration of Sarah's camp shifts range from a couple of days to more than a week, and she roams up and down the coast. Over the summer, Sarah has travelled as far afield as Ocean Falls and Bella Bella, 52 degrees north, on BC's central coast, working on and around King Island, from Burke Channel to Cousins and Kwatna Inlets and the Quatlena River.

View Larger Map

Ocean Falls to Campbell River. Sarah operates in the 600 kilometres between the two towns, predominantly on the continental coast within terrain carved by ice-age glaciers.

Lasqueti Daughters, a landing craft operated by a contracting company in the Quatlena region. Sarah had contracted the company to manually girdle alder trees, below.

 

Ocean Falls, established as a pulp and paper mill town in 1906, has a classic West Coast boom town history, with a population at one time of 3,900. Today about fifty people still reside in the community, and Sarah brings home stories of the forest's encroachment on the town, as vegetation overwhelms decaying buildings and infrastructure. Ocean Falls has an annual rainfall of 172 inches, giving the green every reason to grow fast.

Ocean Falls, at the head of Cousins Inlet.

Further south, Sarah worked in the Rivers Inlet system, which includes Hardy and Moses Inlets, as well as Johnson Bay, the background to the videos above.

Falling a Western Redcedar, the provincial tree of BC, near the Sandel River in Rivers Inlet.

Log barge dumping a load.

Barge camp in Moses Inlet.

Closer to Vancouver Island, Sarah conducted regeneration and free-growing surveys in the Mereworth Sound region, which includes Boswell and Smith Inlets. Sarah also worked on Gilford and West Thurlow Islands, in Johnstone Strait, as well as Knight Inlet and Philips Arm. Access to work sites is generally by helicopter, Hughes 500 or Bell 206 Jet Ranger, or, occasionally, the Eurocopter AS350 Ecureuil (Squirrel) known in North America as the AStar.

Hughes 500, by the Wakeman River.

Bell 206, in a Knight Inlet cut block.



Time for a pick-up.

Grumman G-21 Goose in Moses Inlet. The prototype's first flight was in 1937. 

Only about 30 are airworthy today.

DHC-3 Otter, on the slough at the head of Knight Inlet.

A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to fly the route to Interfor's camp at the head of Knight Inlet from Campbell River. I flew in a de Havilland DHC-3 Otter, a STOL plane that first flew in 1951. My version was the float plane above. We taxied from VIA's dock, out the estuary at the mouth of the Campbell River, and took off from the salty brine of Discovery Passage. Our pilot was a grey-haried veteran; after delivering the safety briefing he told us the flight time was 30 minutes and the in-flight film was beautiful BC. Our route carried us over Quadra Island, Sonora Island and East Thurlow Island, as well as the smaller Loughborough Inlet. To the east was Mt. Waddington, the third highest peak in BC at 4,019 metres, and the highest mountain solely in the province, the other two resting on the border with Alaska. The Otter passed between two snow-capped mountain peaks and dropped into the space above Knight Inlet. Knight is one of larger fjords on the BC coast, about 125 kilometres in length and more than two and a half kilometres wide in places. The inlet was a milky swirl of mint with flecks of chocolate; heavy rain had fallen on the headwaters that fed the inlet, primarily the Klinaklini River, itself fed by the enormous Klinaklini Glacier. We followed Knight Inlet to its interface with the flowing water of the river. The Otter circled once over the camp, checking the conditions for landing, and then landed in the slough next to the camp.

Knight Inlet

Seeds

One of the more depressing graphical images I've seen lately, via National Geographic. If you follow the link, you'll find great images of endangered chickens and rare cattle breeds and diverse potato varieties (I'd like to know the story behind the naming of "Makes The Daughter In Law Cry" potato). One positive is the dated nature of the data. 1983 is a few years back, and there's been a real resurgence in valuing, preserving and cultivating heritage and heirloom vegetable and fruit varieties, as the National Geographic's feature article points out.

We save seeds ourselves, propagating heirloom tomato varieties, beans and peas, and radishes and garlic. The germination rates of our saved seeds are strong, so we must be doing something right. Seeds we buy generally come from the Comox Valley Growers and Seed Savers Society's annual Seedy Saturday sale, usually held in March. We purchase much of our supply from the stall operated by Salt Spring Seeds. They have a great range of heritage and heirloom varieties, and their seeds have high germination rates.

The cool weather this spring and early summer has been great for lettuce. Drunken Woman lettuce is an Italian butterhead heirloom; the seeds were purchased from Salt Spring Seeds. We have bountiful supplies of amazing lettuce right now. According to my lengthy research (yeah Wikipedia), the Ancient Egyptians considered lettuce an aphrodisiac. My factoid for the day. (And anyone who dismisses Wikipedia as a source should read the recently featured article on Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises - that's a quality piece of encyclopaedic writing.) Now we just need summer to kick on for our tomatoes to catch up.

Renovations

One of our focuses this year is on home improvement. We've been gradually knocking off projects since we moved into 541 in 2007, but we wanted to accelerate this year. The kitchen was the final unfinished piece on the main floor. The house exterior and landscape are on-going projects as I write this - I'll have more to report as the summer progresses. For those who've visited 541 - these are our changes - and for those who haven't - this is where we live. 

Kitchen

Before:

After:

The kitchen was the last room to be renovated on the main floor. We didn't want to gut the space - it's serviceable enough. With flooring being replaced in the basement via insurance, we decided to include the kitchen while we had tradesmen in. Removing the hanging shelves over the counter opened up the space, allowing more light to enter and making that counter a more productive surface. The flow is better when we're entertaining as well: I don't have to crane my neck when guests are talking to me from the dining table. 

When we piped gas in last year, with the replacement of our flooded oil furnace for an Energy Star gas furnace, our intention was to convert to a gas stove. With the kitchen renovated, we were ready. After two years of cooking on gas in Korea, we were hooked. The years of cooking on a temperamental, inefficient stove are swiftly being forgotten. Our wok is finally frying vegetables the way it was designed to - for people who love cooking, and cook often, I can't believe what we put up with previously. Human beings = adaptable.

Below:

The light fixture was purchased and installed yesterday, one of the final pieces of the puzzle.

Bathroom

Before:

During: 

Aside from sanding, oiling and waxing our hardwood floors before we moved in, this was our first renovation project. The wallpaper was hell to remove. In hindsight, we should have started with the study or guest bedroom - by the time we got to those rooms our approach and techniques were much more efficient. Renovating the bathroom was a great learning curve.

After: 

Bowl sink by Heinz Laffin, a Hornby potter; indigenous masks from Argentina; graffiti print courtesy of Dan Hinch and one Wellington wall. Whoever names paint colours for Benjamin Moore has quite the job: the brown is Grizzly Bear Brown, and really jives with the pink shower tiles.

Master Bedroom

Before:

During:

After: 

Of all the wallpaper in the house, this was the most interesting. We decided to keep a strip to remind us of the original wall, and to act as a warning against ever papering over our painted walls. The Mandarin Orange is a blast to wake too - and finds a common thread in Jean Greenwood's Winter Warning.

Living Room

Before:

Prior to refinishing the floor.

After:

We installed the fireplace insert and haven't looked back. Heats the whole floor and has visitors succumbing to the soporific comforts of our giant sheepskin rug (8 skins sown together).

With the number of colourful paintings in our possession (the majority by Jean Greenwood, Sarah's grandmother), we decided to go with a neutral tone in the living room. October Mist, a green-grey, is understated without boring us. 

Study & Guest Bedroom

Before:

During:

Yet more wallpaper, and lilac paint beneath.

After:

Hibiscus in the study, one of the more stimulating colours we painted,

 and Morning Sunshine in the guest bedroom.

Hall

In the first photo below, guest bedroom and study are at the far end, left and right, respectively. Bathroom to the left and master bedroom to the right. Love the hardwood floor detail. The colour is Milky Way, on the same palette spectrum as Mandarin Orange, Morning Sunshine, and the second colour in the master bedroom and kitchen, Lighthouse.

Below:

The sushi tray hanging on the wall was made by Sarah's grandfather, a boat builder and wood worker.

Basement

The basement is a work-in-progress, although two sewer floods have sped the process considerably. Thank you, City of Campbell River and Lloyd's of London. More on that later.

The descent: