Wild Pacific

Perched on the top of a tree, it looked down at the bay below. A pair of powerful talons gripped tightly onto a leafy branch, as its white feathery head turned and scanned the surrounding world. I inched closer, so close I could see the combed feathers of the mighty bird's coat, yet the eagle did not stir. Perhaps this traveller in a bright blue hoodie was not interesting enough.

Shrouded in mystery, veiled in mist, the light morning breeze was dense with dew. Water and the air merged into one, a curtain of gray that stretched into the distance and consumed the space all around. Surrounded by the faint figures of evergreens that swayed in the wind in the distance, and the low rumbling of a boat engine, there was a strangely attractive feeling of wild desertion.

Desolate and deserted nature may be, yet in the midst of it all, surrounded by the sounds, smells and emotions evoked, was often an unspoken sense of romance and liberation. A feeling that I, save for the clothes that I bore and the camera that I carried, have returned home to the wilderness from which we all came.

On the brochures that had originally lured me to the isolated little town of Ucluelet were breathtaking scenes of majestic mountains and green forests mirrored on tranquil water. Instead, for two days it seemed as if I had suddenly left the scorching summer heat of downtown Vancouver and been transported into the dead of a damp, blistery winter. Yet beauty, and especially the unblemished and raw kind, outs itself in different ways in different temperatures, and does not necessary need the sun to accentuate it.

Originally I had planned this stay in the far-flung western coast of Vancouver Island for myself, but seeing that my cousin had just moved to Canada, I thought it might be helpful for him to get to know and understand this country by seeing more of it. So at the very last minute I took him along. Together we packed lightly and set off, unsure really what to expect. But two days of hiking and biking brought us closer to nature. And closer together too.

Parts of the trail were dark and broody. Jagged and untamed rocks spread pierced out of the water. Waves ebbed and flowed into estuaries, and lingeringly twirled around in whirlpools. Lost driftwood, and at times even more lost bottles, struggled to keep their heads above the immense volume of water all around them. Other parts were green, and alive with vegetation and slugs that languished over the pathway beneath the footsteps of infrequent hikers. At times wild deer would graze on the roadside, then shyly step away to make way for the human intruders. Numerous signs adorn the pathwath that warn people to be wary of big hungry grizzlies, who
like to scavenge of leftovers.