the life and times of a girl who does stuff
And *this* time, I didn’t drop one on the floor as I got them out of the oven.
However, one did drop off the countertop; luckily I was sitting directly underneath with my mouth open. Hence there are now 11.
Earlier on in the year, I had cause to reflect on the things I value and try to always pack when I’m on the road. I’m trying to look beyond the obvious suspects of passport, pocket knife, and the eternally popular pashmina. In the last few months, I’ve had one item which has been enormously valuable, although I didn’t bring it with me – I got it here.
The international calling card has been more valuable than I could have anticipated. When I went to Australia in 1999, I relied on these and regularly bought a $20 card for calling home, to supplement my sporadic but lengthy emails. Although more than 10 years have passed, they still have a use. I’ve successfully skyped family and friends from the comfort of a hostel room or the living room of the flat, but there are always occasions when things go awry and technology lets you down. I also had a torrid few weeks of hamster decline and eventual demise which necessitated a number of calls, not only to Auntie Melanie and Uncle Edd the hamster sitters, but also to flight companies, banks and various other UK-based folks. The call charges on this particular specimen are very reasonable (about 3 cents a minute to a UK landline, making it feasible for $10 to last for ages), it’s available from the 7-11 (which isn’t open 7 til 11 – go figure!) and it can be used from any landline, by calling a freephone number. No need to hunt for change, insert a credit card into a dodgy phone box or plead for understanding from the landline owner. Bonanza.
The steady drizzle soaked gradually through the knees of my jeans. The cover on the ski lift reached down only that far as we descended into Blackcomb village. Our trip up to the “Alpine” (I find it strange to call a place with no Alps ‘alpine’) had started that morning in Whistler with the news that, although posters were advertising the hiking opportunities, all of the walking trails were still under 15 feet of snow and inaccessible for some time to come. Disconsolate, we took a ride in a gondola up to the Roundhouse station, slithered across the slushy snow beside the Inukshuk, marvelled at the thick cloud through which we travelled on the Peak to Peak, and then descended.
As we approached the intermediate lift station, the gloom temporarily lifted and we flipped up the lid, ready to disembark. And then, looking down, we had our first bear encounter.
The black bear was only 30 metres or so from the bustling mechanical hub of the lift stations; it carefully and deliberately browsed on the long grass, chewing, contemplating and then moving a little further on. It seemed unperturbed by the lift lines running overhead, the noise of the machinery and the casual banter of the lifties. We stood, watching intently as the fog and cloud ebbed and flowed around the bear, giving it an eerie, unearthly quality. It turned, studied us. Returned to its munching.
The black bear encounter marked the start of a two week visit by my mum, which provided a chance for Dave and I to show off what we’ve learned about Vancouver and Vancouver Island; it also gave us what little excuse we need to plan some fun, and to explore some new places as well!
Over the first few days, spent in Whistler, we saw many other black bears, emerging to feed, frolic and make their presence known. We hiked, somewhat gingerly, up the Singing Pass trail out of Whistler, crossing Fitzsimmons Creek, where bear spore was liberally scattered on the trail – in some places, still steaming. We saw evidence of bears all around the Whistler sliding centre, including at one of the corners where the crowd barrier had been rocked from its foundations and was leaning drunkenly towards the track.
Bob the Bear who lives by the sliding centre, helpfully illustrating that there is indeed bear activity in the area. Needless to say, Bob’s a girl bear.
Whistler itself did its best to hide its charms under a thick blanket of fog, occasional rain and low cloud. It proved a somewhat stereotypical introduction to Canada’s west coast – what, it’s raining, you say? – though thankfully the rest of the fortnight broke the mould. In any case, it was fascinating to see a ski resort outside its traditional season, filled with mountain bikers and families taking a break amongst the mountains.
Only *slightly* terrifying to be in a cable car with no visual reference cues at all. A complete blankness in all directions, including through the glass panel in the floor.
When my mum visited Vancouver, some years ago now (I’m sure she won’t mind me saying), time was short and a trip to Vancouver Island wasn’t on the itinerary. Add to this the fact that during our trip to the island earlier in the year, we really enjoyed it – and you’ve got the ingredients for a trip over the Georgia Strait. First stop was the ‘camp for grown-ups’, Yellow Point Lodge. South of Nanaimo, this retreat provides an oasis of quiet and calm. Dave and I played tennis (or rather, how many times can we hit the ball back and forth without me striking it wildly into the bushes) while Mum strolled the grounds; then we all braved the saltwater pool that sits right on the point, for a refreshing pre-dinner dip. I got hammered by both mother and husband at darts, ping pong and scrabble, and the following morning, weather was braved to take a kayak out for a spin. Yellow Point is a really special place and, if nothing else, it always feels good to be the only tourists in the place.
I left the kayaking for another day. This meant I got to feel both sympathetic and smug when it started raining.
On our trip to Vancouver Island in March, we’d stuck entirely to the northeastern coast of the island, which hugs the Sunshine Coast. Apart from our brief foray up to Cumberland and Mt Washington (and the fabulously named Forbidden Plateau), we’d not crossed the island. During the three days we spent in Ucluelet, we listened to the eerie clank and honk of the buoys off the coast, enjoyed the deer which ambled daily across the garden of our B&B, and took a trip out to Hot Springs Cove (watched by some reclining sea otters), with a somewhat choppy view of some basking grey whales and distant, leaping humpback whales on our return.
Sea otters looking on unimpressed at our whale watching trip.
Mmm, hot springs. Gooooooood.
Humans begin to wonder whether the deer was here first.
With lungfuls of sea air, we took in the bright lights of the big city. Well, we went to Victoria. After a week or so of outdoor pursuits, Victoria provided an injection of culture and civilisation, although Dave and I side-swerved this to spend time at Cattle Point watching the grey whales spouting offshore and the harbour seal investigating the shallows around the boat launch. We also followed up an earlier recommendation to check out Elk/Beaver Lake, spending a glorious few hours at Hamsterly Beach.
View from the coast outside Victoria
A somewhat unlucky jellyfish.
Our last encounter with wildlife was during the bike trip to Granville Island and Kitsilano that we took during the last few days in a hot and sunny Vancouver, when a harbour seal was momentarily surprised to surface in False Creek and find a bikini-clad woman stand-up paddle-boarding next to him. Vancouver repaid the debt of Whistler and did its best to charm, whilst keeping the predatory animals at bay!
Don’t peck me, giant sparrow!
And the final question – to be honest, bears poo wherever they like. On the slopes, in the woods, on the sliding centre track…
Answer: there are 3 pancakes, rather than 6. And there's fruit. Wow, it was delicious!
We've been away - more of that later.
Day 12
