I love British Columbia, and not just because I have roots there (my father’s family settled there after the Great Depression and many of them stayed). To praise the natural beauty is as redundant as stammering one’s affection in the presence of a supermodel, and almost as embarrassing. But it’s not just the soaring mountain peaks, vast vistas of ocean and mysterious depths of rain forest that make it special. It’s also the people and the whole vibe of the place.
Now I haven’t covered even a miniscule fraction of the terrain, not in person at least. My musician friend Evan Symons and his wonderfully acerbic sidekick Sheena Black have miles (literally) of footage of places, flora and fauna that I’ll likely never get to see in person, but by which I am nonetheless fascinated. They’ve been through many of the northern communities (Evan is from Prince Albert) and have even driven the infamous Dempster Highway to the Yukon and currently split their time between Vancouver (one of he world’s great cities) and Texada Island, the most northerly of the major Gulf Islands. I have developed a strong affection for the life and lives of the Gulf Islands ever since I first set foot on Vancouver Island in 2005. Yes I know it’s shameful, but I hadn’t even been to Victoria before that.
There is a magic in island life. Maybe not everyone gets it, maybe they do. I realized recently that although I was born on an island (Montreal) and spent much of my youth there, I had never recognized or identified myself as an islander so much as a suburbanite, a city-dweller and a Quebecois.
The Expo 67 World’s Fair site was built on islands in the St. Lawrence River, the man-made Ile Nôtre-Dame and the enhanced Ile Ste.-Hélène, which I was also to revisit a few years later as a theatre student at La Poudrière. These seemed like real islands to me because they were, you know, small. I always thought of Montreal as “The City”.
The West Island still holds many fond memories of walking the railroad tracks and biking along the shore of Lac St.-Louis out to the village of Ste.- Anne de Bellevue. Across a short bridge was another “real” island, Ile Perrot.
But as an islander, it’s been fascinating to be introduced to Gabriola, Ruxton, Pylades and most recently, Galiano.
West Coast Trip
Arbutus on Galiano Island
I love British Columbia, and not just because I have roots there (my father’s family settled there after the Great Depression and many of them stayed). To praise the natural beauty is as redundant as stammering one’s affection in the presence of a supermodel, and almost as embarrassing. But it’s not just the soaring mountain peaks, vast vistas of ocean and mysterious depths of rain forest that make it special. It’s also the people and the whole vibe of the place.
Now I haven’t covered even a miniscule fraction of the terrain, not in person at least. My musician friend Evan Symons and his wonderfully acerbic sidekick Sheena Black have miles (literally) of footage of places, flora and fauna that I’ll likely never get to see in person, but by which I am nonetheless fascinated. They’ve been through many of the northern communities (Evan is from Prince Albert) and have even driven the infamous Dempster Highway to the Yukon and currently split their time between Vancouver (one of he world’s great cities) and Texada Island, the most northerly of the major Gulf Islands. I have developed a strong affection for the life and lives of the Gulf Islands ever since I first set foot on Vancouver Island in 2005. Yes I know it’s shameful, but I hadn’t even been to Victoria before that.
There is a magic in island life. Maybe not everyone gets it, maybe they do. I realized recently that although I was born on an island (Montreal) and spent much of my youth there, I had never recognized or identified myself as an islander so much as a suburbanite, a city-dweller and a Quebecois.
The Expo 67 World’s Fair site was built on islands in the St. Lawrence River, the man-made Ile Nôtre-Dame and the enhanced Ile Ste.-Hélène, which I was also to revisit a few years later as a theatre student at La Poudrière. These seemed like real islands to me because they were, you know, small. I always thought of Montreal as “The City”.
The West Island still holds many fond memories of walking the railroad tracks and biking along the shore of Lac St.-Louis out to the village of Ste.- Anne de Bellevue. Across a short bridge was another “real” island, Ile Perrot.
But as an islander, it’s been fascinating to be introduced to Gabriola, Ruxton, Pylades and most recently, Galiano.