Half-Baked Goes Up Island (in his mind)
Great idea, let's switch things up this issue, let's reassign the columns. Let's hear Half-Baked's perspective on up-island. It all sounded good until I realized that I am, for the most part, a shut-in who hasn't ventured outside of Esquimalt in a very long time. My first thought was to pack up a bag and leave my cave of comfort for an impromptu trip up north. Then I realized it's cold out. And who would watch the dog? Besides, I think I might be a bit too old for spur of the moment travel so I decided to take a trip down memory lane instead.
When I first moved to the island it was all so new. The ocean was everywhere! You could travel fearless of losing your way as long as you had the shoreline for reference. I was young (ah, youth) so I spent the better part of the first years thumbing my way up and down the coast. Without any destination in mind, it never seemed to take much time or effort to get to wherever I ended up. Getting back was always the greater challenge. Having somewhere specific to return to always took so much longer then getting to where you hadn't planned to be. However I was single, with flexible employment and, as previously mentioned, young. The island was my playground. A knapsack, a tent and a winning smile to charm the drivers ensured that I was free to roam wherever circumstance took me. I traveled so much during that time of discovery that I find it hard to remember one place from the next. I recall the highlights but have some difficulty remembering exactly where these events occurred.
Some adventures are easier to recall than others. For instance, when I accepted a position to set up a satellite office for an environmental group in Nanaimo, with a budget of zero dollars. There was virtually no game plan. I managed to get to Nanaimo, meet a few of the local eco-supporters and ended up living in a tent on someone's farm for quite some time. Work all day, enjoy a bonfire every evening and settle into my nylon shelter when it was time for lights out. Nanaimo has always been a wonder for me, everything seems to fall into place for me there. On a later trip I met some folks who had purchased an old fishing boat with the intention of converting it into a floating bed & breakfast. Most of the time the boat sat empty in the harbour so, for about a year, whenever I happened to find myself in Nanaimo I would be expected to make myself at home on the docks. Dozing off to the waves caressing the boat, enjoying the marina community, hanging out with the fishermen. Eventually we lost touch so I don't know if their plan ever played out. I wonder. In my experience, people in Nanaimo are so easy to meet, and just as easy to lose touch with.
Never knowing what to expect from the island, I managed to find adventure after adventure. Some rough. Others ridiculously comfortable. Like the time I somehow arrived at Yellow Point and enjoyed an unexpectedly serene break from travel in a cabin on the ocean. It wasn't planned at all which made the moment seem all the more complete. To this day it remains one of my favorite times. I have rarely been so at peace with myself. And the world for that matter.
The list goes on. Losing my dinner to that cougar while sipping martinis in the woods with a crazy bush lady. Hooking up with that group of American surfers. Surfers with a bag of mushrooms they were happy to share. Originating in a much colder climate, I was perfectly content to camp in Tofino, right on Long Beach, in the dead of winter. Somehow finding myself at Forbidden Plateau and bumping into a stranger who shared the various legends before wandering off. I was left alone to wonder until sunrise if I was to be the next person to join the Comox First Nations women and children who fell victim to evil spirits and mysteriously vanished without a trace as the story goes. And the reputed blood red snow. And the numerous sightings of sasquatch dating back as far as 1922.
So why did it end? When did it end? When did I put down roots so entrenched that travel became less a part of my life? I guess the dog grounded me, and work, and the house, and the partner, and, sad to say, my youth vanished in what seems like the blink of an eye. Maybe I subconsciously felt I had seen all I had to see, done all I had to do. Maybe the rough patches just wore me down. Like the time I fell off the cliff on the West Coast Trail. Dangling above certain injury, hanging on to a root jutting out from the side of the mountain waiting to be rescued. Or was it the time that my partner and I found ourselves stranded overnight without food or water on a beach we had somehow navigated our way to on a washed out trail in the worst possible weather. Going back in the dark wasn't an option, staying alive until sunrise was our only hope for survival. Makes for a good story after the fact, but to be honest, I wasn't sure we were going to see the morning.
A trip down memory lane can be fun but as we get older memories fade, so maybe it's time to hit the road again. Pack up the dog and the boyfriend and see if we can share some old fashioned adventures before we really are too old. Maybe incorporate the tiniest bit of planning to ensure that we won't have to face the tougher challenges of travel. Maybe some age-appropriate adventures. Or maybe I'll just make a fort out of couch cushions and convince the dog we're on a fantastic journey. After all, it is cold outside.
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