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In the rear view mirror are twenty-five hundred kilometers, a great deal of which were earned over the last two days while traveling through the untamed mountains and sweeping valleys of Northern BC. Before that, 35 hours on ferries, sailing past islands untouched by time, where the unhurried rhythm of the voyage invited both peace and gratitude for this boundless country we are so fortunate to call home. Home is never more beautiful than after a journey. To know both the joy of wandering and the peace of returning is one of life’s rarest gifts. This is a privilege I will never take lightly.

Back on the Continent

The Hecate Strait Witch got her revenge last night. Although we were optimistic about boarding on time in Skidegate, the first clue was the announcement that access to the car deck would be restricted to a one-time visit early in the trip. The unspoken message was: grab what you need, then settle in for a rockin’ good time. I was glad we had reserved a stateroom, even though the only one left had four bunks. That meant I had to sit like a hunched-over pretzel to avoid knocking myself senseless during a nocturnal visit to the loo. I shouldn’t have worried. Sleep? What sleep? The ship rolled, groaned, chattered, complained, and occasionally let off gunshot-like bangs. In the bunk opposite me, Dave snored blissfully and later commented, “It was like being rocked to sleep.” I, on the other hand, felt as though I was in a cement mixer, my feet braced against the wall to keep me from launching through the porthole, while my Hail Marys were clearly audible to all. Eventually, I managed to drift off. Maybe six minutes later, the stateroom lights abruptly snapped on and the robotic BC Ferries voice announced that it was time to get up and start the day. Awesome. It was 4:30 a.m. Happy to report, however, that unloading was relatively speedy, and by 5:00 a.m. we were heading east on Highway 16 through a landscape draped in mist that gradually gave way to brilliant sunshine. Somewhere just west of Smithers, we came upon a beautiful viewpoint and pulled over to capture the glorious valley above, framed by its surrounding mountains. It was too early to check into our lodging, so we meandered through this charming little town, stopped for a refreshment, and eventually arrived at our beautiful retreat at the base of Hudson Bay Mountain in the Bulkley Valley. Feet up, World Cup on, and cheering Canada on against Qatar. 3-0 so far.

Leaving, Becoming

As the ferry slips away from these islands late tonight, I am carrying far more than memories. I leave with gratitude, renewed curiosity, and the quiet excitement of knowing that this journey is not really ending at all. It is simply becoming something new. Over these past days, a spark has been steadily growing into the first pages of my next book - a subject that has been patiently waiting for me, one that feels deeply important and profoundly personal. Sometimes inspiration doesn’t arrive like lightning. Sometimes it gathers, almost unnoticed, until one day you realize it has become a flame. Here is the greatest gift that travel can give us. It is not simply to show us somewhere new, but to give us the space and the spirit to discover what has been quietly waiting within us all along.

Some Days Stay With You

Twenty-six miles down an excellent gravel road north of Masset lies the environmentally protected wilderness of North Graham Island—about as far north as you can travel without bumping into Japan. As usual, we were the only vehicle on the road, and our speed slowed to a crawl as we entered the most striking rainforest we have ever seen. Words cannot begin to describe its density, its lushness, or the wild extravagance of nature as it unfolded in layer upon layer, each generation growing, decaying, and giving life to the one that follows. The moss on the trees was beyond description. It hung so heavily from the branches that it formed fanciful shapes and figures high overhead. Monkey moss. Halloween trees wearing ballgowns. Upside-down sloths. Creatures with furry tails. More than once I was certain I had spotted a bear in a tree, only to realize it was a massive cloak of moss creeping along the branches and draping itself into perfect paws. It was a Hobbit forest, full of magic and imagination, and I know I will never forget it. Not far beyond, we found the trailhead to Tow Hill and the Blow Hole. The trail, although a bit daunting with hundreds of stairs to reach the summit, was a meticulous example of forest management. Elevated boardwalks carried us over the sensitive bog areas, protecting the fragile ecosystem while still allowing us to experience it up close. With my quadriceps reminding me at every stair that my seventy-first birthday was only days away, I paused often to breathe the clear ocean air, refill my lungs, and carry on. The view from the summit was worth every step. We took a long pause to bank it in memory. The day had already become one I knew I would remember, and the descent was surprisingly easy. Agate Beach offered a different kind of wonder. The waves rolled ashore with a gentle rush, but it was their retreat that captured my heart. As each wave slipped back into the Pacific, thousands of smooth pebbles chattered together, tumbling over one another before being drawn once again into the sea. The sound was rhythmic, primal, and utterly enchanting. I could have stood there for hours, listening. The beach was scattered with treasures. Honey-coloured agates, red jasper, beautifully veined stones, weathered shells—and, hidden among them, my favourites of all: wish rocks. I have always loved wish rocks. The best ones wear a single white band that circles them completely, as if the sea itself had tied a ribbon around them. There were so many wish rocks hidden among the agates and the red jasper that I had to pause frequently and lock a special wish in my heart for every one of my loved ones. I hold each rock tightly, think of someone I love or a hope I cannot carry alone, then turn my back to the Pacific and throw it over my left shoulder. Whether the wish is granted seems almost beside the point. The real gift is learning to release it.

Slow Exploring to the End of the Road

It was a grand day of slow exploring. The farther north we drove, the brighter the sunshine became - unexpected and most welcome. Near day’s end, we arrived at the beginning: Mile Zero of Highway 16, at the northern tip of Graham Island in Masset. We celebrated the moment with a well-earned beer at Daddy Cool’s Public House pub. Our drive revealed one treasure after another - Balance Rock, beautiful totem poles, windswept beaches, whale skeletons, and countless evocative viewpoints. There was barely any traffic, the road was in excellent condition, and it was an absolute pleasure to drive. One of the day’s highlights was spending nearly 20 minutes quietly watching a large black bear enjoying a meal of fresh swamp grass. Completely unhurried and blissfully unaware of us (safely tucked inside the car, I might add), he had the glossiest coat I have ever seen. It must be that seafood diet. And speaking of seafood, we wrapped up the day at the fish processing plant in Skidegate, where we enjoyed delicious, freshly caught cod and chips. It was one of those days that asks for nothing more than your time and attention, rewarding both with unforgettable moments around every bend. We ended the day feeling grateful - for the sunshine, the scenery, the wildlife, and the simple joy of discovering a remarkable corner of the world at an unhurried pace.

Haida Gwaii - Island of the People

Haida Gwaii greeted me with soft mist and the vibrant lushness of an ancient rainforest. It is now early morning, and the rain is tap dancing on the roof. No matter. There are no clocks or calendars for the next few days. The ferry trip to get here was an invitation to simply surrender to those things beyond one’s control. There was a long delay before boarding, caused by the need to ensure there was enough food - specifically French fries - to feed the straggly crowd. Two hours of waiting became three as we watched the brave drivers perilously reverse down an impossibly long and angled ramp onto the Northern Explorer. This included massive 18-wheel transport trucks, along with an assortment of recreational trailers and boats. The procedure was glacially slow as the crew methodically guided, encouraged, and then cheered on each driver until every vehicle was finally nestled into place. The crossing itself was calm, despite the daunting reputation of the wild Hecate Strait and the abundance of barf bags placed everywhere. Several hours and one nap later, the unloading followed with the same mystifying sense of (dis)order. I sat in the car, played Solitaire, and ate liquorice until it was finally our turn to roll ashore. Our Airbnb hosts texted as we drove onto the island. Would we possibly like to join them for some freshly caught Dungeness crab? Would we ever. After quickly unpacking and settling into our comfortable little cottage, we joined them on their rustic patio and swapped tales while noisily cracking our way through at least half a dozen large, sweet, perfectly cooked crabs, washed down by a few glasses of Prosecco. I'd say that's a darned fine welcome.

Strike up the band!

Certainly the highlight of Prince Rupert’s annual Seafood Festival is the parade. We joined the eager crowds along 3rd Street, bums on curbs and anticipation running high. It didn’t disappoint. There were enthusiastic marching bands, cadets, flower-bedecked floats, and a wonderful variety of cultural entries, including a crowd-favourite Indigenous representation. Kids lined the streets, absolutely delighted with the treasures tossed their way—not just the traditional penny candy, but key chains, freezies, stickers galore, and all manner of little surprises. Happy faces were everywhere. Next up was the Show ’n Shine in the Safeway parking lot. I waded bravely through a sea of testosterone and eventually managed to drag Dave away from the Alfa Romeo—but only after reminding him that the beer garden was now open. It took a false start or two (or three), plus a couple of weary excursions down the wrong steep hill, but we eventually found the brewery, where we rewarded ourselves with wood-fired pizza and a well-earned beer. Last on the agenda was the bandshell concert in front of City Hall. After another short wander and a brief listen to what could only be described as a painfully valiant musical effort, we decided to call it a day and headed back to the suite. It’s our last night in Prince Rupert. Tomorrow, we set sail across Hecate Strait, arriving in Skidegate in time for dinner. It’s only 93 nautical miles, but those miles cross some of the most unpredictable waters anywhere on the coast. Pass the Gravol, please.

Eighteen hours on a ferry

Chiming in from scenic Prince Rupert, blue sky overhead. We arrived at 2 a.m. this morning, tiptoed down the hall to our suite and keyed in the code, only to burst in on a rather confused and very asleep family. It was one of those Kafka'isk moments where you keep re-reading your instruction paper over and over, somehow expecting the words and numbers to change. A moment of complete loss of faith in my brain power, and I was not at all surprised given the past few days of travel. But! Turns out the issue was the hotel's, and after a somewhat frantic call to support staff, we managed to find ourselves tucked into two very different, but blessedly quiet and comfortable rooms. I feel surprisingly chipper despite entering day three with very little sleep. Must be the holiday endorphins. The voyage from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert was exquisite, as was our stately ship, the Northern Expedition. Waterfalls spilled down steep cliffs and every bend revealed another breathtaking stretch of the incomparable Inside Passage. It was a slow immersion into one of the most untouched places on earth, all the while being gently rocked and cradled by the ship. There were comfortable reclining seats facing the windows that were easily accessible at all times, but we spent nearly the entire time on the sundeck, wind in our hair and the sweet sea air filling our lungs. We're both windburnt. Later on, our little stateroom was nicely efficient and just the right spot to disappear to when darkness finally embraced us at nearly 10:30 pm. After a couple of delectible 'wiches crafted by the sibling chef, we were able to get a few hours of sleep in our tiny bunks before being chimed awake with the news we had landed at the terminal on Kaien Island. And now, it is time to introduce ourselves to Prince Rupert and all of his regal charms.

Haida Gwaii - At the Edge of the Coast: The Journey Begins

ETD: Two days. A bucket list trip that begins with a four hour drive to Port Hardy followed by twenty hours on a ferry that drifts into Prince Rupert at 1 a.m., in time to grab a few hours of sleep before the Seafood Festival kicks off for the weekend. Then, another seven hour ferry ride to Haida Gwaii: Misty, mossy, ancient lands holding promises of agate beaches, rainforests and the kind of cultural richness that only thousands of years can create. Stay tuned!