A very quick post this week, dashed out in between visits from family and friends, about a little place we like to sit and stare from when we need a short break.
Life is going along just fine out on the coast, a blend of warm and sunny days mixed with warm and foggy days, and, so far, just a hint of rain every now and then. We never need an excuse to head outside, but it is great to log off (I must spend less time reading online newspapers – isn’t it all fake anyway?), put down our books, avoid any household chores, and choose instead to get up and get going to a beach or trail.
The pictures included this week were taken from a spot just off the Wild Pacific Trail. You know the place, where you have to push through a tangle of salal and other bushy undergrowth, and then scramble down some rocks to get onto a tiny pebble and shell beach. Yup, that place, but don’t tell anyone. Anyway, it doesn’t exist…
Our last couple of visits there, the grey skies and grey seas were very soothing. In truth, I think on a sunny day we would find it almost too hot to sit out there on a log. Scout prefers it not too hot, and we are doing all we can for her by brushing out her shedding coat – so far, she has shed ten times her own body weight in fur this summer. (That probably isn’t true, but let’s embrace the current fashion for saying anything and insisting it is true because I said it and you didn’t – isn’t that how it works?) It is fun to watch her leap from log to log, her own version of logging on and off. Sensible dog.
Yikes, and I think I’ll leave it here, saying thank goodness for favourite quiet places just off the trail. Thanks for reading, I hope you have a wonderful weekend, and it’s one where you’ll find yourself in your own soothing spaces.
Sounds spooky, and Hallowe’en is weeks away. What’s going on?
We had plans to hike up a good stretch of Long Beach last week, starting from the Kwisitis Visitor Centre, and continuing until legs or snacks gave out. Unfortunately, a large black bear was wandering back and forth across a narrow section of beach, and Parks Canada were there to ensure the bear was left alone, and our walk was cut short. Instead, we opted to mooch about on Lismer and South Beach, and Scout attempted to dig her way to the southern hemisphere. Time well spent.
Yes, yes, all quite lovely, but what about the surf ghosts? I can’t hear you cry.
We returned to the same beach a couple of days later, and the weather was warm, but very foggy along the shore. Bear warning signs were in place, and we were a little reluctant to head out, because we wouldn’t be able to see the bear in the mist. When we stopped to think about it, mist, fog, rain or shine, we rarely spot bears because they’ve already seen/heard us and moved along. That said, we prefer a longer view and a bit of distance where possible.
Great. The ghost surfers?!
We decided to wait out the fog, believing it would lift as the morning wore on, and start our walk with a clearer view. We settled down on a log, broke into our snack supply, and saw a couple of surfers emerge onto the beach and head to the waves. They made an interesting sight through the veil of mist. Before coming to this part of the coast, if you’d said anything to me about surfing, I’d think of Hawaii and board shorts, and a beach bar serving drinks with an umbrella in. That, or my sad and exhausting attempts at surfing off the coast of the Isle of Wight (southern UK, frigid English Channel waters) many, many years ago. If there was a bar serving drinks with an umbrella in, I didn’t see it…
Our ghost surfers were kitted out in wetsuits, sensibly enough, and took to the waters without hesitation, appearing to have a fine time in the surf. They played for nearly an hour, and when they finally came back out of the water, I hope they had something warming to drink, no umbrellas.
Eventually, the fog cleared enough for us to head up the beach, and we had a pleasant walk, spotting shore birds and no bear. After an hour, the next fog bank rolled in, and we retraced our steps back to the parking lot. As we approached the visitor centre, we saw more ghost surfers emerging in the mist. I admire the surfers out here. They are a committed bunch, and clearly appear to enjoy their passion. So much so, they even come back as ghosts…
Scout and I often end up at Indignant Cove, and often on a Monday evening. Mrs. PC is at her exercise class, keeping healthy and in shape, thinking about the future, all that stuff about using it now so you still have it later. I get a bit hot under the collar thinking about exercise, and tend to wander off with the dog to find a quiet place to sit and think about a healthy future. Meditation burns calories, yes?
A gentle – I mean a very brisk and pacy – walk along the Wild Pacific Trail, and we end up at a small shell, gravel and rocky beach overlooking the ocean. Scout gets to chew as many sticks and logs as she can – crunches? – and I clamber and stumble about a bit, huffing and puffing and getting quite exercised each time I slip or trip. It’s a full body workout…
Most times we are sat there – I mean striding up and down the shore – we spy a bald eagle or two, see fishing boats out on the ocean, and wave “hi” to passers-by up on the trail, especially the joggers and runners. Sometimes the mosquitoes are out in force, so that’s quite a bit of arm stretching and balance, but if there’s a breeze, they are kept at bay.
One recent evening, the tide was getting high, and water was surging up the channel to the left of where we were sitting – just a quick breather. The whump and thump as the weight of the water crashed onto the rocks was loud, even though conditions were relatively calm. A huge thud, rumble and cracking sound reverberated over us when a log smashed onto the rocks. The ground seemed to shake, and that was from a single log on a pleasant evening. Imagine a fierce storm, now that would set your heart racing…
Indignant Cove? A strange name, and you won’t find it on maps or charts. I call it that because if we continue on the trail without stopping, walking past the gaps in the logs and rocks where you can access the beach, Scout digs all four paws in and comes to a halt, looking indignant. Why aren’t we going down there? I’ve made a start on that log, and it needs finishing. Can a dog look indignant? Yes. A short, yet healthy and vigorous, game of tug of war ensues, and if Scout wins, we go to the beach. We usually go to the beach.
I like the word cove when used to describe a person. It reminds me of the naval fiction by Patrick O’ Brian, set in the early nineteenth century, where you’d expect someone to be called an ill mannered cove if they weren’t of good character. I’m not suggesting Scout is ill mannered, far from it. But she can be an indignant cove if we don’t stop at Indignant Cove.
Well, I’m exhausted after all that, and will have to rest up until next time. Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend!
It’s time to go coastal! This will have to be a swift post, like my travels, and like the soundtrack in the car. Huh? Your soundtrack will be Swift? Taylor Swift? You don’t seem the type…
Well, really! Of course I like Taylor Swift songs. Just not so much when she’s singing them. I’ll be listening to 1989, but the reimagining or reworking created a couple of years ago by Ryan Adams. No, Ryan, not Bryan (Bryan, you are still loved in Canada, but not for that Robin Hood song…)
Ryan Adams put on his Bob Dylan/Bruce Springsteen/Roy Orbison hats for the vocals, got the guitars to sound a bit like Johnny Marr, and turned 1989 into something an old fart like me can enjoy. Full of space, drama and echo, with the highlight being Shake It Off – if you give it a go, you might like it.
What else is on the soundtrack? Well, one singer parts of 1989 reminded me of (you wouldn’t necessarily think of her when listening to the Swift album) is Tracy Chapman. Her first album is as relevant today as it was 30 years ago, and that is both a good and bad thing if you are familiar with her themes on that record. We should be Talkin’ ’bout a Revolution – maybe November?
Finally, and for two reasons, virtually anything by AC/DC will also be playing. One, it’ll be a slight contrast to all the sensitivity of the other two artists, and two, Mrs. PlaidCamper won’t be in the car for this trip, so here’s my chance to play it loud. Maybe this one? Thunderstruck – turned up to 11. Oh dear…
Oh no, where is Mrs. PC? She’ll be following on a little later, and also for two reasons. One, she is not quite finished teaching the academic year, and two, my brother is visiting us out on the coast for a couple of weeks, and she’s letting us get on with it for the first week. The “it” being falling off paddle boards, falling out of kayaks, falling over rocks and logs, playing anti-social music from the late 70s and early 80s, drinking a beer (or two), and staying up past our bedtime. Or that’s what we’ll say we did if our other two brothers ask. Might even find time to watch a game or two where England’s bid to win the World Cup is doomed yet again. We will tidy up before Mrs. PC arrives. Luckily, Scout is with us because we have to have a sensible member in the party.
My main priority this week is to get to Tofino Airport in time to pick up my brother when his plane lands. It’ll take him almost as long to make his trip out from the DC area as my little road trip. He’s changing planes about a gazillion times, and he’s not too happy that each one is smaller than the last. For the short hop from Vancouver to the coast, I’ve told him to tie the straps on his hat tightly under his chin, and then his head will stay warm. He knows I’m going to write “LAND HERE” in the sand, so that’s also reassured him…
If anything interesting occurs, it’ll make it onto here at some point, but two middle aged gentlemen falling over a few times isn’t all that exciting. I’ll write about it even if relatively little occurs. I know, I know, the suspense is too much…
Brief, as promised. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
I’ve never read it. I believe it is a favourite of Old Ma PlaidCamper, and I remember seeing this title on the bookshelves when I was a child, but was never tempted – I thought they’d misspelled wolf. Oh dear… It had a gloomy cover, and Ma told me it was not really about a lighthouse. Now I’m older, and almost ready to read a story that might not be about a lighthouse, maybe I should give it a go? Also, I’m ready to believe Virginia wasn’t a wolf.
In between the rain showers and strong and stormy winds earlier this week, we went for a walk to the lighthouse. Our walks don’t always have a point, other than to enjoy being out, but this one did, Amphitrite Point! Who wouldn’t want to visit a location named for a Greek sea goddess? For once, it was the destination, not the journey, man.
Initially, the lighthouse wasn’t the reason for the walk, but it turned out all the trails and little beaches on the ocean side of Ucluelet were closed due to heavy seas washing onto the shore. Oh no! What to do? There’s a dog needing a walk! So to the lighthouse we went, to take in the view, if not the trail.
Well, we were fortunate. As it sometimes does on a day forecast to have incessant rain, the skies cleared, and sun emerged for over an hour. We could see the clouds amassing to the southwest, and a grey wall was creeping towards us from way out west, but that didn’t arrive until we were ready to depart. It wasn’t really creeping, as we found out when the raindrops hit us later, hard and fast, and we would have been soaked had we stayed any longer.
Did I mention the trail was closed for safety reasons? Don’t tell anyone, but we did head south of the lighthouse, for barely a hundred metres, to a rocky outcrop high above the busy ocean. From there, you can lean out and peek back to the Broken Islands, and across to the lighthouse itself. Again, don’t tell, but there is a bench off a short side path, and it is completely hidden from the main trail and sheltered by trees and shrubs. Facing west, it is a perfect little sun trap, and often warm even on overcast days. There we sat, protected from the buffeting winds, admiring sea birds battling the weather, and watching the waves crashing against the rocks. A bald eagle flew just over our heads. For a few seconds it seemed almost motionless, hanging there, facing into the wind before disappearing behind the trees further south. (Sharp as ever, I pulled out my camera and took a fabulous picture of the trees it flew beyond…)
The colours shifted from blue to grey as the afternoon wore on, and the heavy weather started to be felt. It was a real treat to sit and watch the changes. I tried to zoom in and capture the glints and curl of green inside a wave before it collapsed under its own weight and onto the shore. The constant heave and swell of the water further out was mesmerizing and unpredictable. Just when I thought I’d figured out a wave pattern, the ocean shifted and remade itself, tidal pull and undertow, crashing in and washing out with a roar, the booms and hissing audible above the rush of wind.
It was an exhilarating hour or so, full of natural energy, and sights and sounds to thrill the observer. Drawn to the ocean, my gaze barely went to the lighthouse, but it is quite the sight. Small and stocky, planted firm among the black rocks, it isn’t a grand construction, but it looks purposeful, doing an important job on the point.
We left when we realized that it was more than ocean spray getting our faces wet, and when the sea had no more hints of green or blue, but was as grey as the wall of cloud just offshore. The wind had never died down, and was now beginning to shake the trees with increasing ferocity – time to wander back, picking up the pace, but with one last glance back to the lighthouse. Perhaps I’ll give the book a go, now it is on my mind. Have you read it?