Let's begin...
What started out as a canoe trip on the lovely lakes of Vancouver Island became a week-long car camping excursion instead. This in effort to spare Husband's shoulder which had become injured while knee boarding/rock-climbing/trail-biking/skydiving/river tubing/all-night badminton-ing or any combination of the above. It was decided that a quiet camping trip on Quadra Island would be an ideal chance to rest the injured shoulder and escape the daily grind as listed above.
Quadra Island is the largest of the Northern Gulf Island group in British Columbia. A fjordy place, which is not a word but should be, there is a sense of remoteness and majesty to it's lakes and peaks, even though the Pacific Range looms on the east and lovely Vancouver Isle sits to the west. Quadra is a special place without the dramatic neighbours, filled with eagles and salmon and peaceful-eyed locals who will happily sell you coffee and offer free advice on trails and routes.
Day One: Main Lake Canoe Route
Marriage doesn't come with a manual. It shouldn't, that would spoil all the surprises. Like secret fudge addictions or Husband's unfailing ability to attract bears. What seemed innocent enough, a day spent canoeing a route through Quadra's interior freshwater lake system, turned into the typical comedy of errors which has been and continues to be our version of wedded bliss these four years. The first clue should have been the vulture. In a land of eagles, surrounded by eagles, what do we see? Cathartes Aura, the Turkey Vulture. Majestic, yes. Impressively large wingspan, check. Goodwill ambassador of the avian world, not as such.
Still, wildlife is wildlife and I am a bird freak so after snapping a dozen blurry photos we paddled on. Lunch was spent watching dragonflies dance over the surface of the water, our paddle-sore backs pressed against a massive mature sitka spruce. Everything you need to know about the difference between Husband and I can be summed up thusly: I look upon such giant trees as vast fingers of memory, stretching far into our past. Husband declared, while munching his sandwich, that he could build 'a wicked little airplane' out of it.
This perfect day was capped by a dip in the waters of Main Lake. We leapt. We frolicked. I might even go so far as to say we cavorted (but ended up re-injuring The Shoulder so we had to stop) and it wasn't until we were toweling off in the the warm afternoon sunshine that I spotted IT. A big, steaming pile of IT to be precise. Bear IT. And, upon further investigation, it turned out that we were surrounded by lots and lots of IT, ranging from white and crusty and nearly dusty to fresh-as-this-very-morning's dew.
Husband who, on our honeymoon, selected a tent site in Algonquin Park which can only be described as ill-advisedly abundant in blueberry bushes (the Black Bear's natural breakfast food of choice) had once again demonstrated his bear-baiting prowess by parking me in Smokey's toilet.
