You’re halfway up Vancouver Island. You only have a few days before heading back to the mainland–not enough time to get out to the Wild West Coast, nor down to Victoria. Where do you go?
How ’bout here?
This is Englishman Falls Provincial Park, just a hop & skip off the main highway between Campbell River and Nanaimo. And yes, that disappearing waterfall is even more insane in real life. Here’s what it looks like face-on:
Hold up–WHERE is that river going??
…and from the top, just above the drop:
Who, me? Just a boring old clear Canadian river…
That little park was one of several blips on the map of east-central Vancouver Island that, in classic Canadian fashion, fail to call attention to themselves…until you are standing there with your jaw a-drop.
Campbell River–the actual river for which the town is named–is dammed, but not only does it offer the salmon a big side-channel to bypass the dam, it provides guardians for those fish on their passage:
Not as good as a wild, free river–but way better than nothing
Further inland, Strathcona Provincial Park certainly shows up on the map, but this little waterfall? We only found it when directed there by a volunteer docent we happened to meet.
No one else was around. Just me and that pool.
We’d intended to camp in Strathcona, but the weather went sideways. No problem backpacking in the rain, but wet car camping? That just feels stupid. So we got in a short hike…
(I can just imagine that trail repair crew going, “Eh…good enough! Let ’em climb.”)(forcing myself to resist the biggest Chicken-of-the-Woods mushrooms I’ve ever seen!)
…and rode our bikes along the 14-mile long (and unfortunately-named) Buttle Lake…
Bit wet; still pretty
…before heading back to Campbell River, where we’d scored one of those cheap hotel deals at a NOT-cheap hotel, Painter’s Lodge.
as seen from the lodge’s dock, at very low tide
On that dock we found this map–WONDERFULLY helpful for orienting ourselves in BC’s bewildering array of islands:
Not our usual type of stay, but we took full advantage. Especially because the part we stayed in seemed to be a mashup of our last name & our favorite BC island:
Of course the rain stopped when we got there. But then it came back. Phew.
Luckily for us, they let us cook our cheeseburgers out in the patio area!
“This counts as camping, right?” (Quadra Island in the background)
Our last day, after those amazing Englishman Falls, we found a very cool bike path–along the highway, yes, but screened by bushes & trees, with plenty of curves and hills giving it a very adventurous feel.
Some of those bushes had blackberries on them, and I was shocked at how sweet they still were, in September! So: lunch.
Peanut Butter, Honey & Blackberry Sammy!
Our final night on the Big Island (move over, Hawai’i–actually, never mind, you’re already pretty far over) we spent in Nanaimo, in order to catch our ferry next morning. I walked all over, discovering the best kind of quirks, like this Flower Wall:
Just an apartment building, far as I could tell
Along with flowers, Nanaimo boasted its own poster-of-random affirmations, because I found a number of these type of signs, here and there:
Why thanks, Nanaimo. I’ll try!
Next week, the exciting BC conclusion: University of! Thanks for riding along.
For those of you who read my 2023 post on the various meanings of “BC”–don’t worry, I won’t subject you to more of that. I just couldn’t resist a nod to one more extraordinary BC discovery.
This place: Bella Coola, BC
Since The Mate & I learned that a close friend got an amazing admin job at UBC in Vancouver–just up the road from us–we’ve been itching to go visit. Of course, since said friend’s job is just starting, we realized we needed to give him a little time before popping by…but by then our fires were lit. Maps were out. Venues were calling.
So we heeded the call.
Yes, that’s a glacier, as seen from an airplane. I’ll explain.
Bella Coola is accessible three ways: by ferryboat–if you go to Vancouver Island, drive all the way up to Port Hardy, and ride the ferry for 16 hours. By car–if you drive 350 miles north from Vancouver, then turn left and drive another 250, 60 of which is gravel, including a super-sketchy portion known as “The Hill.”
photo courtesy Wikimedia, by some driver braver than I am!
Or you can fly. That’s the option we chose, and, despite the expense, we were SO glad we did. The sight of so many still-healthy-looking glaciers filled me with joy (despite my very scratchy window). And our descent…!!!
Not for the faint of heart…but worth the ticket if you love thrills. And peaks.
I grabbed this shot of the cockpit of our 20-seater plane, just to show the narrowness of the valley we descended into:
Green = safe. Yellow = LOOKOUTFORTHATMOUNTAIN!!!
Once down, The Mate and I looked around, then looked at each other and said the same thing: “Didn’t we just see this in Yosemite?”
Only this is no national park; this is where folks LIVE. That building? It’s an elementary school.
The town of Bella Coola is at one end of a loooooong inlet, giving way to a looooong, skinny valley, which ends in Tweedsmuir Provincial Park, and The Hill. One thing we quickly realized: with so little flat ground, hiking trails for our aging bodies were somewhat limited. But we managed.
This one included extra perks: suspension bridge, whee!
A couple of them I did alone, like Lost Lake:
Found it!
But we didn’t let the lack of long hikes interfere with our awe and delight about the place, from large features…
…to small:
I even got to enjoy a fun cultural scavenger hunt, thanks to a Lopez Island friend who told me her Norwegian great-grandpa was buried at a Lutheran church in Bella Coola. I told her I’d try to find his grave, but all I found was an old-looking church, not Lutheran, with no cemetery, and this (closed) cultural center:
Anybody? Anybody?
“Sorry,” I told my friend, “I’ll keep looking.” But meanwhile–forget humans, we had bears to find! September is full salmon-run season, so we hoped to see both fish, and fishing bears. Not in the Bella Coola River, which is thick with glacial silt…
(still lovely, especially at sunset)
…but in its clearer tributaries. Nor were we disappointed.
Salmon on the left: alive. Huge, upside-down salmon in the center: Thank you for your service. RIP.
Our first morning, we drove Up Valley to Tweedsmuir PP, and were promptly rewarded by seeing a pretty black fox (not pictured; I was driving), followed by a mama bear with 2 cubs.
I managed to pull over fast enough to capture Cub #2, following her fam into the forest.
The best bear-viewing spot, that first morning, yielded no bears.
Still a pretty good spot to hang out. No complaints!
But the next morning, as everyone was looking upriver at the most obvious fishing spot, a gravel bank, I happened to glance the other direction and spotted this fella, soundlessly swimming from OUR side of the river.
I repeat: he was on OUR side. Just behind us.
We all did like this person here, and activated our cameras. Most of what I took were videos–I wanted to capture sound and movement–but I did get a few stills (apologies for my lack of zoom).
Pointy ears; no hump; flat face = Black, not grizzly. Still a big guy!
Actually, during the salmon run, it’s obvious the bears have zero interest in attacking humans. Nice, oily fish are what they crave. What a gift, to be able to sit and watch them move, without feeling like we should be backing away.
We saw one other bear during our 4 days in the valley. But plenty of other wonders too, especially when we signed up for a boat tour…which also, surprise! solved the mystery of my friend’s great-grampa’s missing grave.
Our boat captain was full of history, with photos. Turns out the Norwegian families who arrived in the late 1800s built their settlement at the north end of the inlet…I’m guessing to get as far away as possible from the Nuxalk People who lived there.
See the old settlement? Nope. Because it’s gone.
Joke was on the white folks. In 1936, about 40 years after building their settlement, the Norwegians saw the whole place flooded away and destroyed by a king tide. All they could save was their church, which they pushed with canoes over to the road, then carried Up Valley…where it sits today.
Photo courtesy of Captain Daniel
No longer Lutheran, and no cemetery, but this was the church I’d been looking at! I was able to share this story with my friend, both of us agreeing her forebear’s bones now rest “full fathom five” in the inlet.
Capt. Daniel also stopped at the site of the Norwegians’ old school, explaining how the kids had to hike along the bluffs above the inlet twice a day to attend.
Far left: site of old school. Far right, not quite in the frame: site of village where kids lived. Yikes.
Capt. Daniel, by the way, had the most awesome First Mate: Buck, the Golden Retriever.
Ahoy! Who’s a good boy?
When we arrived at a site, no ramp was lowered: Daniel simply butted the prow against any handy rock…
…and off we clambered. Gingerly.
Buck did it a little quicker.
Our first stop was a hot spring. Have you ever sat in one that didn’t smell like sulphur? We hadn’t. It was MAGNIFICENT.
The big curvy thing above me is a cedar branch.
Here’s the view from Nature’s Best Hot Tub:
ahhhh…
Wait. Is that First Mate Buck, asleep on the job?
Tough life.
When we got to the next drop-off site, our guides stayed in their roles: Daniel dropped us off and went fishing; Buck led us to the Big Cedar Tree.
Seriously. Not a guide dog–a dog guide.
“Wait up, Buck!”
Turns out Buck knew the way, all right.
“You’re not even capturing the whole tree in this frame.”
How about this?
That’s better.
Oh, that boat trip. We had waterfalls…
Can we get a little closer?OK, close enough!
…ancient Nuxhalk pictographs…
See that reddish part of the rock?That’s supposed to be a person. Telling visitors this land is OCCUPIED, thanks.
…and more glaciers, this time from below.
Still can’t get enough.
Before we left the valley, we spent some time in and around the town of Bella Coola itself, where the Nuxhalk culture felt pretty vibrant, at least to us outsiders.
I only wish I could have learned to pronounce that.
A nearby grove of cedars, some ancient, bears the marks of age-old cultural harvesting, both bark…
Thank you!
…and even wood, all without damaging the tree:
So much to learn here.
The last two days of our trip, the wind shifted and the valley grew smoky. We learned of uncontrolled wildfires to the east; Rt. 20 (The Hill) was closed. When it came time to fly out, this time we stopped in the tiny town of Anahim Lake, and got a good look at the fire-threatened sky for ourselves:
Not pictured: the ash falling from the sky
So after that sobering glimpse of what our planet’s facing, it was doubly gratifying and relieving to see those glaciers from above.
Restraining myself from quoting Robert Frost here…I’ll just say, “Hang in there.”
Next up: More BC! Islands, this time–the littler ones. Thanks for coming along.
Leaving the blue waters of La Huasteca Potosina would have been hard, except that we were looking forward to new wonders. Starting with the town of Xilitla, which is famous for the Surrealist Gardens built by an eccentric Englishman almost a century ago.
Eccentric enough for ya?
Since we don’t enjoy standing in line, we decided to view the Gardens from the outside, which was still pretty cool.
Very M.C. Escher. But you aren’t allowed to walk in it, so…I’m not sure we missed much.
Instead, we spent a happy hour meandering through the main town of Xilitla (pronounced Hee-leet-la), which was as colorful as Aquismon, with an even prettier hilltop aspect.
It was a market day–even more colorful!
I found myself wishing I’d brought a bigger suitcase.
That sandy-looking pile on the left is brown sugar, ground from that dark cone in the middle. Mmmm!
Since there were no hikes in Xilitla, we hadn’t made reservations there. So we pushed on, crossing over into the state of Queretaro. To my dismay, while the mountains grew taller, they also grew drier.
And browner. Oh dear.
The main town, Jalpan, looked pretty enough, but…where’s all the green I expected?
Anybody see any waterfalls?
This new landscape worried me, given the weather forecast. It was supposed to be in the 90s our first day, followed by 102. That’s too hot for hiking! And too hot for anything else. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake, bringing us here.
Our only neighbors: hummingbirds, doves, and a group of camping high schoolers.
And walking into town that night, we were equally cheered by Jalpan itself: another well-named Pueblo Mágico.
town plaza
Jalpan went all-out for their “Magic Town” designation, seemed like. Not only was the plaza decorated…
Ay, que precioso
…but each side alley had its own colorful theme.
Why can’t we do this at home?
Oh, and the church wasn’t bad either:
The front is intricately carved. I really should’ve taken close-ups. But you get the idea.
So Jalpan itself stole our hearts. Still, I worried: are we really going hiking in 98 degrees? Turns out, I wasted a good worry. La Sierra Gorda is all about hidden mountain oases.
Ahhhhhh…
Our first hike, along this creek, featured all the blue water we’d been missing. And big ol’ sycamore trees…
And yes! a waterfall.
Let me zoom in a sec on that fan of rock…which, understand, is CREATED by the water itself–a fan-shaped stalactite.
I’m a fan of stalactites, myself!
One wasn’t allowed to swim in this pool, as it’s a habitat for highly endangered axolotls. (Which we didn’t find.) But at the end of the hike…
¡¡¡SÍ!!!
Oh–and another reward: highly cute piggies at the trail entrance.
Even cuter in the video.
Buoyed by our first oasis experience, we ventured out on Day 2…the 102-degree day…with high hopes for lower temps in another cool oasis: El Puente de Diós (Sierra Gorda version, not to be confused with the one in Tamasopo). This hike is famous and sensitive enough that we were required to hire a local guide. And this time, we were also rewarded beyond our wildest expectations.
The hike started similarly to the day before: clear stream, big trees.
Hola, Madre
But soon enough the canyon narrowed.
Keep an eye on that fluted-looking rock, above.
And narrowed further.
Notice that some of those stalactite fans have broken off.
We didn’t realize it at the time, but those rocky fans on either side of the canyon are growing closer to each other with each drop of water than pours down.
Closer…and closer…
Soon we would see just how close those rocky sides could grow. But first…fun with rock faces!
I see a baboon. What do you see?
Soon after this stretch, the canyon opened back up…
…and we started hearing a waterfall roar.
But not just any waterfall. This Bridge of God was…
…awe-striking.
Can you see what happened here? The two sides of the canyon “grew” together, millennium by millennium, drop by mineral-laden drop, to connect into this bridge.
But the most incredible view was from underneath. Here’s looking THROUGH the bridge…
Oh, did those drips feel good!
…but here is looking UP…into the bridge’s belly.
Or whatever body parts you want to call these.
Imagine a roar too loud for conversation.
Hijo Dos noticing that some of God’s pipes seem to be blocked. (You okay, Madre?)
Our guide assured us the water was safe to drink; we took him at his word.
How could you NOT?
No need to swim at God’s Bridge; we were fully cooled by our own awe, all the way back down the trail. Oh, and our guide pointed out this tree, which he said was 800 years old.
Again: we saw no reason not to believe him. Gracias, Ricardo.
On the drive back to Jalpan, as coda to a perfect day, we stopped at the tiniest little lunch spot off the road, run by the tiniest little woman, Doña Mary.
Her kitchen was about the size of this table.
No menus; our host simply narrated what she’d cooked that day. Something she mentioned sounded to me like “little mushrooms” (honguitos), so I asked Hijo Dos to inquire. Turns out she served something called Huitlacoche, which Google told us later is “a fungus that grows on corn kernels, forming a blue-gray, tumor-like growth,” which is considered a delicacy.
It looked as disgusting as it tasted delicious.
You had me at blue-gray. Gracias, Doña Mary.
Approaching Jalpan, we watched the temp guage in our rental car climb and climb. I’d never seen 40 degrees Centigrade before! Let’s hear it for oases.
Next day, we decided to say goodbye to La Sierra Gorda. Most of it, we found, is inaccessible–a wonderful, thriving natural habitat, but not offering many more hikes than those we’d enjoyed. Not wishing to drive long distances on some INCREDIBLY twisty roads, we opted to spend our next night back in Tamasopo.
We ate brunch before leaving Jalpan next morning, where I tried one more ingredient new to me: prickly-pear fruit (in a burrito), which they call tuna or tunita.
Fresh, pretty…tastes a bit like okra, without the sliminess!
I just gotta say, Jalpan–you grew on us, big time.
“Oh, alright…I’ll get back in the car…”
Next up: last days in the blue waters, and giant Meatpile! Thanks for keeping me company.
As Staycations go, this one would’ve had a hard time failing.
Not CGI
A few months ago we paid for two nights at a rental house at Lake Quinault, only to have our travel companions cancel due to illness.
The view from that house
The renter allowed us to change our dates, so we invited intrepid friends: Ben & Lynn from Asheville, whom we’ve known for decades. They said YES!
Walking in W. Seattle’s Lincoln Park while we waited for their flight, we discovered this altar to LOVE. Seemed a good omen–Brussels sprouts & all.
Since our friends were coming clear across the country, the least we could do was take them all the way around the Olympic Peninsula—a.k.a. part of our Big Backyard, across the Strait from our island.
Ben & Lynn–helping give some scale to the Lincoln Park madrona trees
Starting with the rainforests, at Quinault and the Hoh River, we all re-introduced ourselves to some big friends.
Well hello up there!
Ben & Gretchen agree, things are looking up.
In those wondrous, drippy forests, the enormous conifers–fir, spruce, cedar & hemlock–get most of the attention…
…whether alive or helping younger trees to be alive…
…but shoutout to the hardwoods, okay? The mosses seem to love the maples best.
Is that a hobbit hiding in there?
One of the nice thing about traveling with another couple is…
…couple photos! We tried not to take TOO much advantage.
Moving up the Olympic coastline from Quinault, one has an embarrassing pick of beaches. Beach Three’s our favorite, for its tidepools, but the tide was too high this time of year. So we got to focus on other wonders–like this natural water feature.
Isn’t that the coolest little pool? We needed a 4 year-old to play in it.
Rialto Beach might be the most in-your-face breathtaking, if ya like that kinda thing
I have another photo of Lynn doing pretty much the same thing!
It was hard to leave the serenity of Lake Quinault. The northern shore of the lake was 95% deserted–all those empty vacation homes, what’s up, people?
And the sunrise didn’t hurt either.
But after our two nights, it was on to the furthest northwestern point on the Lower 48: the Makah Reservation at Neah Bay.
Along the way we stopped in Forks for groceries [not pictured: amazing apple fritters] and a hike to Third Beach (not to be confused with Beach 3).
Third Beach is the jumping-off point for a magnificent hike, out toward a garden of seastacks, up & down some rope ladders.
We just stayed put and admired ’em from afar.
Somehow, we did just fine.
Never any shortage of seats on these driftlog-piled beaches!
Up at Neah Bay, more choices: Cape Flattery, the very tippy-tip of the Rez, involving a 1.5 mile round trip walk, or Shi Shi Beach…which would’ve required a 2-mile slog through mud just to get to the start of the pretty stuff.
Guess what we chose?
Cape Flattery is difficult to describe without gothic-novel purple prose: surf crashing upon crags, mist and spray and boiling, roiling, heaving, breathing seas…
…or you could just look at the pictures.
After we’d been there an hour, taking every conceivable photo, the sun came out. So what else could we do but start over?
Fine, if we must…
The best photos from Cape Flattery are videos, which capture all that roiling/boiling/heaving stuff I mentioned. But those are harder to embed into this blog, so I’ll just leave you with this one Lynn took:
Is it just me, or do you also see a whale in that rock? Right?
After our dalliance with the Cape and a lengthy visit to the Makah Museum (which was hosting a holiday craft fair), our crew was ready for a rest. But with the sun making such an unexpected appearance, I simply couldn’t resist one more beach visit, this one a simple drive & stroll on my own, to Tsoo-Yess Beach.
See what I mean about that sun? Tsoo-YESSSSS!
I couldn’t stop taking photos of the least little beachy items, which the sun rendered…let’s go ahead & use the term “glorious.”
“just” a piece of kelp, with foam on it
gargantuan log, turned into yet another water feature/sandbox (oh, where is that 4 year-old?)Sand arrows? Maybe kind of appropriate, on the Rez
Once more, it was hard leaving Neah Bay, especially with the sun out, and the thought of un-visited Shi Shi Beach. So we’ll have to come back one day…with better mudboots.
Meanwhile, it was on to a midday walk at Dungeness Spit, in Sequim (pronounced “Squim”):
It’s FIVE MILES long! No mud to slog through, but also not the most changeable scenery, eh? So we mostly stayed put.
Our final overnight stop was the ridiculously pretty town of Pt. Townsend.
also nice & quirky
The upper half of town, where the “proper” folks lived (as opposed to the rough & tumble crowd on the waterfront) is famous for its Victorians.
This was NOT our inn…at least not on this trip. I did stay here once with my HS Besties, years ago.
Oh, and did I mention the deer? I counted fifteen on a ten-minute walk through the leafy part of town.
These never budged as I walked past.
Our weather stayed amazingly clear, gifting us both a Mt. Rainier-silhoutted sunrise…
…over the ferry dock…
…and a Mt. Baker mid-morning, looking north from Ft. Worden State Park.
And if you moved the camera a little to the left, you’d be looking at Lopez Island!
Back in Seattle, we had one last hurrah of a meal w/ our adventure buddies, then left them at their airport hotel while we spent the night with Son Two. Our great fortune: he was dogsitting!
Even better than a 4 year-old!
Back home next day, after a week away, The Mate & I marveled at the deeply exotic beauty so close to our home. Then we looked around our little village and saw these community-crafted, recycled-bottle luminaries everywhere…and thought,
Y’know that “no place like home” thing?
I’ll say it again: (Cape) Flattery will get you. So will Tsoo-Yess, and Beach 3, and Third Beach. That whole peninsula is magical –and we didn’t even visit Lake Crescent, or the Elwha River, or the Sol Duc hot springs. We didn’t even drive up to see snowy Hurricane Ridge (road closed).
There’s just SO MUCH.
So if you go? Bring your camera. But try & bring a 4 year-old too.
The creeks in the Hoh rainforest, on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, are so clear you can barely see them.
Looks like you could stroll right across it, right?
On a recent, brief “campering” trip–getting Vanna Grey used to the idea of short, regional outings instead of 8,000-mile, cross-country odysses–this thought occurred to me: I miss sharing the images of travel, and the thoughts they inspire. I miss the similes, I miss saying “those rainforest creeks are as invisible but as profound as my love of sharing.” I miss blogging!
“It misses you too,” I imagine the Hoh River murmuring.
Two years ago, I embarked on a Master’s program in LA, earning a degree in Creative Writing. As I wrote then, the degree itself wasn’t important; the WORK was. And in order to give myself time and space for that work, I backed off blogging. Backed WAY off. I haven’t counted, but I think I’ve only posted a handful of times in the past two years, mostly just when traveling.
Humptulips River says, “Yep, that seems accurate. Low flow.”
But I’m almost done. Not with my novel; that’ll be easily another year. But done with the program, the requirements, the deadlines. The work is all self-paced now (and a lot cheaper.)
Yep, those requirements are going to disappear…like this magical beach creek!
Which means I’m back, as a blogger. And I’m psyched about that. I get to share all the brilliant diversity of the Pacific Northwest, from tidepools…
…long-view…
to more tidepools:
…and up close!
From the smaller forest inhabitants…
Like these trillium, which start out white but turn purple as they age. Who doesn’t want to do that?!
…to its bigger ones…
Like this guy, who confirmed my family’s unofficial motto, “If you get up early, you might see a moose!” (Or elk, in this case. No one but him & us on the trail that morning.)
…to the biggest of all:
Marymere Falls
I can’t wait–though, actually, I WILL wait, because our next trip is coming up soon. And then my graduation, which–yes, I will write about.
And then, you know what else I might share? Good old home life, which recently issued a giant “Ahem!” That same weekend we were campering, deep in the sky-obscuring forest? The skies of Lopez were doing THIS:
Lopez Island aurora borealis. Image courtesy of Shari Lane
Sometimes, there really is no place like home. But here, there, or anywhere, I’m looking forward to sharing it with y’all again. See you soon.
The Mate and I know already what fortunate folks we are. But when we come back to the Blueridge of NC, we REALLY know it.
Our friends’ big blue backyard
Thanks to accidents of history and confluence of taste, we have an embarrassment of dear friends in these mountains, and this year we were able to spend time with most of them.
Vanna, not so much. Our first set of friends live up at 3,500 feet; the drive up was only half as terrifying as the drive down. And their driveway?
fugeddaboutit
Because they’re wonderful people, our friends were able to secure a parking spot for Vanna at the edge of a neighbor’s property. We left her there for 3 days, schlepping our stuff the remaining 1/4 mile up the mountain on foot.
What happened to dancing w/ her what brung ya?!
This mountaintop neighborhood is a wealthy one. Some of the houses are, in my opinion, ridiculously large–especially when I learned that this one is empty more often than not.
But I have to admit, it’s pretty enough that I took its picture.
The lots up there are large enough to protect the sense of mountain-ness, and care was clearly taken in building the road.
Shouldn’t all roads be like this?
Aside from the fact that we adore our friends and they spoil us rotten, this was simply a very peaceful spot to hang out. It’s always hard to leave Butler Mountain.
Yes, that is the moon hanging out, waiting to say Good Morning to the sun. Honestly.
But our next stop was a picnic date with one of my VERY oldest friends (from Middle School) + husband + sister, down a few thousand feet at the French Broad River, which flows through Asheville. We chose this spot because we knew we couldn’t get Vanna into our friends’ driveway either. (slightly embarrassed eyeroll)
Lucky for us, the French Broad boasts a terrific bike path! And it was a gorgeous day. All this plus good friends & a picnic too.
Asheville is super trendy right now, and expensive, but I did find myself intrigued by this row of what I take to be “Tiny houses” down by the river.
Cute, right? But probably not a Tiny Price Tag.
From there we journeyed an hour to the northeast, to the South Toe River valley, home of the Celo Community and the Arthur Morgan School. I wrote about my Celo history two years ago; you can read about it here if you’d like some background (or just to learn more about this cool place).
South Toe River
THIS friend’s driveway was, finally, fully Vanna-accessible…as long as we took it slowly.
Also magically mossy. Believe it or not, our friend is not an Elf.
The sunny blue of Asheville departed at Celo, but the wintry woods are just as beautiful in fog.
The Mate doing his best impression of a rhododendron
To know these woods with such intimacy…to stare at them from a kitchen window or a sofa, to walk right out the door, to say the names of the creeks and the peaks…this, to me, is a privilege far beyond the simple joy of SEEING this place. That is our greatest gratitude, to the friends who have sunk roots here, allowing us to return again and again.
Till next time, White Oak Creek! Don’t you change.
When it comes to vehicles–hell, when it comes to MOST things except politics–The Mate and I are pretty conservative. Comfy with routine. Change-averse. Sure, we have our “ooh, shiny!” moments…but they’re mostly about stuff like new rain gear or boots. Maybe lawn mowers and nice casserole dishes.
But not cars.
“Who, me? Your devoted Red Rover who just got passed from Son One to Son Two?”
We’ve owned a good number in our nearly 45 years as a couple, and we’ve usually hated every minute of buying them. Our favorite moments come when our car hits that comfy-old-shoe phase. That’s our sweet spot.
Pictured: a sweet spot (Road Trip VIII, Great Basin NP, Nevada)
Since 2011, when we began our annual Road Trips from Lopez Island, WA to Durham/Chapel Hill, N.C. (where I grew up and where The Mate and I met), any car we buy becomes our official Road Trip vehicle. Starting with our then-car, Kiwi the Ford Escape hybrid:
R.T. I, hangin’ out at Jumbo Rocks in Joshua Tree NP…
She served us well.
It was cold enough in Zion NP, back in 2012, we considered sleeping inside Kiwi!
At the end of 2012, Son One’s hand-me-down car broke down once too often, so he inherited Kiwi, and we treated ourselves to the first-model Subaru Crosstrek. Who knew what trendsetters we were! You’ve already met Red Rover, but here’s one more look at her doing her Road Trip thing:
“Road-tripping to Vermont in March, REALLY? Who ARE these people?”
Lil’ Red drove us faithfully every year from 2013 to 2020–the year we headed home super-quick, in the middle of the first wave of COVID lockdowns, fearing our island might be quarantined by the time we got home. Later that year, Son One had to leave Costa Rica and refugeed on Lopez near us, so we used him as an excuse to hand-me-down Red Rover to him…and told ourselves we were doing our part to boost the economy by buying a Toyota RAV4 hybrid.
In 2021, of course, RAVie didn’t get out much. Vaccinations were just beginning. Her first road trip had to wait till 2022. But she got there!
RAVie in the Badlands: “So THAT’s what this road-trip gig is all about. I’m in!”
Today, RAVie is a sprightly four years old, roomy, running great–the perfect road-trip car. What’s NOT perfect: my back. Even after surgery, sitting hour after hour has proven to be…a challenge. Add to that the fact that, road-tripping in February and March, our camping gear only gets used a handful of days despite being lugged around the country for 6-7 weeks, and you get…
...the great Camper Search. Yes. Once The Mate and I decided a campervan would be the best solution to keeping cross-country road trips in our life, and once we’d gotten over our sticker shock of even USED vans (forget new ones!), I started looking at vans. So many vans. Van porn, it felt like. Facebook Marketplace and TheVanCamper.com never had such a faithful viewer.
And that’s how we met Vanna Grey. But! Before I introduce you, I just want to underscore how incredibly off-brand she is for The Mate and me. I don’t mean brand as in Chevy Roadtrek–which she is. I mean “brand” as in habit.
Example. Here’s the pair of new slippers The Mate got me for my birthday, because I specifically asked for them:
They’re Tevas, and they’re amazing.
But now go ahead and ask me: “Gretchen, for WHICH birthday did you receive those slippers?” I will tell you: “2021.” And if you follow up with, “So WHY haven’t you worn them yet???” I’ll respond:
“Because my old ones haven’t actually worn out yet.” Yep–over 2 years after I thought I’d need new ones, these are still going strong.
NOW you’re ready to meet Vanna Grey. NOW you’ll understand just what a momentous life change this is for me & The Mate.
Vanna Grey: more than a new car. SO much more.
To say we are a little intimidated is putting it mildly. We’ve never been RVers; our learning curve is STEEP. Bring on that comfy-shoe feeling!
“Just remember, if Vanna’s too much for you…you can always come back to me! Unless one of the Sons gets there first…”
But we’re also conscious of our incredible good fortune to be taking this step, and so very grateful to all the help we’ve had along the way. See you on the road!
The second half of our BC road trip reminded me of that old children’s book, “Fortunately, Unfortunately.” Except the other way ’round.
Unfortunately, the mid-part of BC that we had to drive through, East-West from Revelstoke to Pemberton, is very dry (which is why it’s so vulnerable to wildfires).
Fortunately, it’s also lovely.
Unfortunately, when we got to Pemberton, so did the rain.
Fortunately, waterfalls don’t care much about rain.
And I thought this hole was just as intriguing as Nairn Falls.Ditto for the mosses, and the river “potholes” in the rock!
Just above Pemberton is Joffre Lakes Prov. Park, which I’d heard was special, so I decided to make the drive up there. Unfortunately, this meant 20 miles up an evilly steep and twisty road. Fortunately, I learned ahead of time that you can’t even peek down the trail without an online reservation.
Oh…maybe that’s why the reservation?
Unfortunately, it was still raining. But fortunately, that meant fewer people competing for reservations, so I was able to get one. (And they’re free.)
Unfortunately, the hike is STEEP. But fortunately…I’ll let the photos do the talking now.
Middle LakeLil’ ol’ waterfall you pass on your way to Upper LakeFirst glimpse of Upper LakeHoly cow, am I looking right at a glacier?!Yep. Glacier. How else does that water get that color?
Unfortunately, I had to hike back down, and next day we had to leave BC and head homewards.
But fortunately, we hit a couple more pretty Provincial Parks on the way down Rt. 99, past Whistler, toward Vancouver: Brandywine Falls…
…which is also an easy hop-on spot for Canada’s exciting Sea to Sky multi-use trail.
Unfortunately the trail was a bit too steep and mountain-bikey for us,
but Fortunately walking your bike is good exercise…and it was still gorgeous!
Or make that “gorge-ous,” as in this one, which hosts a bungee-jumping bridge!
Unfortunately we accidentally drove past Garibaldi Prov. Park, one of the biggest in the province, because we didn’t think its raggedy access road could actually be the right road, and then turning around on the freeway got complicated.
But fortunately I got a nice consolation walk at Alice Lake, the definition of serenity:
So, yeah, unfortunately we finally had to leave “Beyond Compare” BC,
but fortunately I brought THIS image home with me, so I can transport myself with a glance…like right now.
O Canada–thanks for being! O BC–thanks for being the bestest, closest part to us!
There is a word…but not in English. Here’s one to add to your list, along with Schadenfreude and Cafuné (Portuguese for running your hands through the hair of someone you love, according to 41 Fascinating Words From Other Languages We Should Definitely Import to English) :
Dayenu. Or, as it says on our refrigerator magnet,
right there where I’m sure to view it 100 times a day 🙂
Jews and other folk who participate in Passover will recognize this word from the Seder ceremony. In Hebrew it means, roughly, “It would have been enough…” with the added connotation of, “…and yet, God did even more! Wow!”
Passover may be behind us for this year, but the season of Dayenu is just getting going, at least here on Lopez Island. Our normally gorgeous woods and fields have somehow become even gorgeouser (hey, I just invented Word #42 for the list) with wildflowers.
Like our woodlands even needed decorating–let alone by hot-pink orchids that look like something invented made by fairies…
possibly why they’re known as Fairy Slippers
…or golden-blooming succulents whose leaves want to get in on the color wheel action themselves:
And those are “just” the wildflowers. Then there are the lilacs planted all over our island, some 100 years old. Don’t get me started on lilacs. Or better yet, do–then read about them in this blog post I wrote some years ago on that heavenly-scented topic.
Like I said, “some years ago”. Note the stolen lilac sprig in the pony tail. Not sorry.
Extra color, extra scent, in a place which makes daily work of overloading our senses, year ’round? What else is there to say? At a loss for ways to express the feeling, I wrote this song–again, “some years ago.”
Dayenu, Dayenu
Had the rising sun not overwhelmed me…Dayenu.
Had my humble daily bread not filled me…Dayenu.
Had your arms not simply held me…Dayenu.
Dayenu, Dayenu.
Had the lilacs never breathed so sweetly…Dayenu.
Had the wild fawn not leapt so neatly…Dayenu.
Had you not loved me so completely…Dayenu.
Dayenu, Dayenu.
It would have been enough,
It would have blessed us to the core.
Had this morning been our only gift,
We would not have needed more.
Dayenu…Dayenu… Dayenu.
Dayenu…Dayenu… Dayenu.
Had the sunset not shanghaied my breathing…Dayenu.
Had the starlight not adorned the evening…Dayenu.
Had you not promised never leaving…Dayenu.
Dayenu…Dayenu
Dayenu…Dayenu.
So my “Dayenu” these days–apart from my Mate–is spring flowers, wildand tame. What are yours? What’s better than sharing a cup that’s runnething over?
Except for a handful of exotics here and there, we’re about out of fall color here in Washington State.
Great. Just in time for all that extra darkness.
Many folks I know are working hard to adjust their habits or their personal environments, trying to stay one step ahead of seasonal gloom. And even though I’m a very un-SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) person, I find myself doing my own version of this on my walks, snapping photos of whatever brightness I can find during a sunbreak in an otherwise dingy forest.
Even the most pathetic little willow gets its moment in the sun
But what about when there is no sun? We have a LOT of those days here in the Pacific North-wet.
Pretty hard to get excited about snowberries
Ugh, why even bother to go out? Just plug in the Christmas lights.
I won’t dignify that question with a response, except to say this: today, on one of the greyest, most monochromatic days of the year, I made a startling discovery about light. Shining light. Turns out, our most emblematic native tree, the madrona, practically glows on days like these.
Shine? Sheen? Glimmer? Glisten? What else would you call this?
Now, this particular tree (on my neighbors’ property) is one I’ve loved for two decades; I even adopted its crazy loopy branches as my emblem when I became an author. (That’s another story.)
There’s just so much going on with this tree…
But my POINT is, despite a close relationship with this tree, I had never really thought about how its bark gleams when wet.
Neither the rest of the scruffy forest, nor its own dead branches can hide that light
And not just “my” tree–any madrona! Red or green, there’s just something about their surface, more skin than bark, that turns to spotlit satin in the rain.
After rhapsodizing for a while over what’s been under my nose for years upon rainy years, I headed home…and stopped dead at a patch of salal. Guess what?
Who’s all bright and shiny? YOU are!
So. Moral of the story: in this greyest of seasons in this greyest of regions, there’s plenty of light out there. All we have to do is accept the gift of gleam where we find it.
Anyone else have their own version of “the gleam”–maybe in a region much different from mine? Please share a description!
Wing's World 