In 2013-2014, I worked as a relief lighthouse keeper for a year on the coast of British Columbia. I traveled by boat and helicopter into these stations and stayed for a length of time. Each station is different. There was always one principal keeper and I would be there to do the duties of the assistant keeper. We each had our own house. As romantic as it sounds, we did not live in the light;) This blog chronicles some of my adventures and the history of these remote locations.
A month ago I left on this adventure. I’d been wishing and hoping and planning for so long that when it finally happened I ran full tilt on adrenaline. But life has a way of slowing you down. Living at a lightstation is kind of like living at the cottage with all it’s amazing scenery and wildlife, seclusion from the rush of the world, and time to ponder and create. It also has its down sides. Since coming here I’ve been fighting a battle with cottage mustiness to which I am allergic, and I seem to be winning. The upstairs living area is habitable now, as I open up all the doors and windows all day long to let in the sun and sea air. I’ve disposed of several moldy culprits and washed down the place with vinegar. Also, a dehumidifier and air cleaner is on its way. Score one for the lightkeeper.
My legs, particularly my ankles, have been well munched by nasty demon flies that relish the fact that I’ve been wearing shorts and sandals in this glorious sunshine.The calamine lotion in our first aid kit did nothing but my lavender essential oil did the trick. Score two for the lightkeeper.
Finally, I strained my mid-back yesterday (thoracic, I believe it is). It started the previous day when I went exploring and kind of slid on the dry grass bumping and bruising my ribs along the way. I had something of a stiff back but it was not a problem. Then yesterday I picked up a large piece of plywood and OUCH--it literally took my breath away. Now, we are separated from the rest of the world by 25 km of nasty gravel road and trees on one side and sea on the other, but within an hour, a couple emerged from the dock and wandered up to chat. I’d gone to tell Geoff that I was injured, rather badly--I felt like I’d been skewered through the chest. Turns out, Brian and Darcy, are boating in their floating A-frame cottage, and it turns out, that Darcy has been a nurse for thirty years and is now a nursing educator on the coast. Thank you Universe! She explained that my back muscles were likely grasping and pinching a nerve, and told me to make an ice pack and apply it for 15 minutes every hour. An ice pack was simple to make by wetting a towel and freezing it in a plastic bag on a cookie sheet. RMTs, this worked amazingly well, as it molded to my back. So between ice packs and my heating pad, tylenol, and rest, I am much improved; at least, the skewer has lessened (though I know if I lift anything it will reappear).
The universe has a way of slowing us down. Today is a day for pondering the shapes in the clouds, the shades of smokey mountain curves, and the ripples in the sea. Score three for the lightkeeper.
Holy Smoke! I just figured out how to use my iPhone as a network to get wifi for my laptop. As I type this I am sitting on a rock overlooking the bay with my laptop on my lap and my iphone beside me on the rock. Contemporary Thoreau, no? Of course, this will only work while the weather is good--I can't be doing this in the rain and fog:) It's been an interesting week getting settled into Chatham Point and a movie will follow. Some highlights: I drove the boat. Whoohoo! We saw about fifty Pacific white-sided dolphins that same evening, travelling up and down the channel with the tide. I took some video footage and hope it will show a little of what we experienced. Saw my first black bear here last night. It was a calm evening and I was reading when I noticed the tree branches shaking just outside my window. When I peered out, there he was, standing up and checking out the plums for ripeness. I gather he'll be around often as the fruit ripens. There are several fruit trees here. We noticed this morning that he'd also been in the apple tree, as he'd torn a bunch of leaves and apples on his way down. All week we've been scraping and painting the zillion stairs from the station down to the boat dock in Navajo Red, which went well with the Tony Hillerman "Joe Leaphorn" mystery I was reading. I left my computer mouse at Cape Scott so I haven't made a movie or played with my photos yet, but I will get on that now that I can upload to my blog. Life is getting better.
Just a really quick post as it's been a very long day. Yesterday, I learned to drive the John Deere tractor -- very exciting -- and drove it down to dump my compost/kitty litter away from the station. At a station with so much wildlife and hikers regularly visiting we have to discourage them from foraging nearby. And after seeing that old bear, I wasn't much in the mood for another trek through the woods with my treasures in hand. What you see below is a Coast Guard strategy for transferring luggage to the helicopter--and guess who got to drive?
I love the Coast Guard, I really do. These are some of the nicest people you ever will meet. They make sure you are safe and well looked after without every making it seem like it's an effort. They're skilled and respectful and we should be proud of these folks who represent Canada. Wow. Where did that come from? It's true. I really am impressed.
Anyway, the fog burned off, thankfully, and it turned into a gorgeous day. I saw this fabulous white sand beach coming out of Cape Scott. Who knew BC had beaches like this? As well, we passed over a couple of fish farms out in the ocean and a large wind turbine project cut into the forest.
On the way to Port Hardy we stopped at two other light stations to drop off mail bags--I mean literally "drop" off mail. I love this shot -- here's Ivan catching the mail bag at Scarlett! It may not sound like much but when you live in a remote place, getting a mail bag is a big deal. Almost as good as groceries; maybe even better depending on what's in it.
Well, that's it for now. Tomorrow I'm off to another station -- my fourth station since July 1st. Chatham Point is about 40km north of Campbell River. If you look at a map of Vancouver Island, the farthest eastern point, where the land juts out into the ocean and Johnson Strait meets Discovery Passage across from Quadra Island is Chatham Point. I hear there may not be cell phone service or Internet, so I may be right off the radar for awhile. I'm scheduled to stay there for about three months. Someone asked me if I would bored. So far there's been no time to be bored. Lightkeepers are busy people.
Wow. It's Saturday. I lose track of days out here with nothing to mark them but differentiated weather. Is it still overcast? Yes. Is that fog or a rampant cloud? Funny, how soon I have adapted to life without people (except of course for my work partner here on the station). Yesterday, I had some yahoo hikers sitting outside that reminded me of life at the condo. Why do people have no respect for what's going on around them? Today I had to tell a woman, mid-twenties at least, not to perch on the uppermost rings of the light. "Oh, can't we climb up here? I thought we could climb on the lighthouse"? Yes. Well. Apart from routine duties and watching out for silly hikers, I've been working on my garageband and iMovie skills. What follows is my very first movie soundtrack--it's really just me playing around on a synthesizer (thanks again Ivan) and recording several tracks--but I needed to learn how to do that. It's called "Cape Scott Days" and really just chronicles my journey into this station and a little bit about what it looks like around here. There are two wonderful cats here, who I'm quite fond of, and who have convinced me that when I get my own station a feline, perhaps a Bengal, will be resident there. I talk to them and cuddle them and between the three of us, life is grand. One of my duties is to take a pail of their cat litter and my compost about a mile through the forest to dispose of it. Well, I went off the other day singing, "she's walking with her cat litter, she's ok" --it was something like a Monty Python movie loop--and all the while thinking that I was walking alone in bear/wolf/cougar country carrying a basket of goodies. I made it back, of course, but that same evening I had my first glimpse of a bear in the backyard. I was actually talking to Tara on Skype when I happened to look out the window and saw him standing up getting a drink out of the rain barrel by the greenhouse. I almost dropped my iPad and after much fumbling managed to get a snatch of video. The next day, I asked my boss to let me fire the bear banger, so I'd know how it worked and felt when it went off. Ah pyrotechnics! I don't want to be fumbling with the bear banger when he's standing in front of me. This lifestyle suits me. I feel it. Hurray.
PS. Due to uploading challenges, it's best to view this as is. Blowing it up affects the picture quality. If this keeps up I'll be needing a Youtube page:)
Yesterday, we were obscured upwards of a half mile by fog for the better part of the day--only finding some relief in the early evening when the sun magically appeared. If my writing sounds like a weather report, it is because I have become a keen observer of the elements.
Tonight, as I lie in bed, I cannot sleep, for the clear black sky scatters stars outside my window. I cannot help but stare out as they stare in at me. My bed lies along a north-facing window, so all I have to do is glance out to come face to face with Ursa Major AKA The Big Dipper. This flirtation continues for an hour or more. By 3am I concede, get dressed, grab my camera, and stumble outside into the darkness, startling a deer browsing by my front door, as she startles me. I assume, perhaps wrongly, that a deer will not browse in the vicinity of a bear, and feel some comfort in the darkness.
But my little camera is no match for the celestial heavens. For a time, I watch our light revolve in the night and wonder what it must have been like before there were lighthouses and technology, when mariners navigated by the stars. On a night like this, they would surely find their way, north at the very least. The two stars on the outer edge of the Big Dipper’s bowl point to Polaris, the North Star--a yellow-white Supergiant, it has 1800 times the luminosity of the sun.
An hour later, when I wander outside again to do my first morning marine weather, Ursa Major has vanished. Clouds have formed and a fog bank hovers over the channel. Later, tucked back in bed again, slashes of pink break the distant sea blue clouds and birds begin their morning music.
Leaving Scarlett again is sad. This is my third visit and I always love it here ... good friends, good music, and the scenery, well, how can it get any better? Yesterday, Laury and I went for our traditional hike to Grassy Point. I am something of a rockhound--am fascinated by the colours, the shapes, the striations, and the effects of the Elements, of Time and Sea. I've always been a collector, even brought rocks across Canada when I moved from Ontario to BC. But now in my very minimalist life, I'm leaving rocks where I find them, and just taking images along with memories. And so, of course, I made another movie:) You'll see here my fascination with shape and colour and all of the natural world. When I hit my frustration point, trying to add iMovie sound clips and make it all come together, Ivan came to the rescue and graciously offered one of his recordings, "A Lightkeeper's Lament". Composed and played by Ivan on mandolin, I think it fits very well. And, not only that, he gave me a wee keyboard to use with GarageBand, so here we go ... a foray into creating music. I've had to export the smallest size in order to upload it, so I hope that it works.
I'm not sure whether I love iMovie or hate it. I felt much the same way about knitting--and my filming is just about as good as my first couple of pairs of lumberjack socks.
Anyway, on Friday I flew 60 miles south by chopper from Addenbroke Island back to Scarlett Point, where I've been staying mainly since July 1st. Riding in the little helicopter is like sitting behind the eyes of a very large very red dragonfly. It looks something like this: And my film is a little shaky, but hey, filming in a wee helicopter is like that. Today, I'm packing up again, and then I'll be heading off to Cape Scott come Monday. I still have no phone service, so I'm not being unsociable, I'm just in a "no service" zone.
Wow! This is so exciting. At Addenbroke Light Station, apart from learning a whole lot of new light keeping skills, like how to do aviation weather reports and check engine rooms, I've also learned how to use iMovie. The Inside Passage is a haven for humpbacks. It seems that every time I sit down to do something, some whale has surfaced and is either talking or clearing his blowhole. This sends me running outside with my camera. The woman I am working with here is a filmmaker, among other things, and showed me a few things about using iMovie, and so, what you are about to see is my very first film. I will confess I am probably hooked. Of course, the animals here are photogenic and, for the most part, cooperative--although I got my moccasins wet more than once dashing out onto the deck to stand in the rain. Yesterday we had moderate rain showers and afterwards walking around in rubber boots was treacherous due to the overabundance of banana slugs. The first time you see one--they're about 3" long--you think you've landed in Jurassic Park. I also ran into this beautiful Stellar Jay--I know some people hate them, but look at the brilliant blue of his tail feathers.
And, here's a view of the channel from my deck, taken after yesterday's rain as the sun finally peeked through the clouds.
And finally, here's my video. If you enjoy watching it 1/8 as much as I did creating it, well, I don't know, just watch.
You can check out Tineke Veenhoven's youtube page to see more fantastic films about this part of the world ... watch Return of the Eagle for sure. And now, the weather.
This morning I had my first helicopter ride ever! Here I am just before leaving Scarlett, wondering what I'm about to experience. It's been cold up here. You can see how we're dressed for winter in July. Thank you Taiga.
Dave gave me the safety orientation and got me all suited up. The life vest is surprising heavy as it's packed with equipment like flares and even a personal EPIRB. The Coast Guard takes safety seriously.
Cruising over the ocean at 115 knots, it felt like we were floating ... just a bubble in a slow wind ... deep evergreens, black bogs, miles of blue waves passing beneath us, and the odd spectacularly deserted sand beach.
Still, it only took about thirty minutes to fly the 6o or so miles up the coast to Addenbroke Island.
One of the most spectacular things about Addenbroke is that it's prime humpback territory. According to the keeper here, a small group of whales cruise around the island all day long. We were lucky enough to spot this guy about 100 metres from where we were standing at the boat launch. Humpbacks are baleen whales--pleats allow their throat to distend like a balloon so they can gulp masses of krill, herring, and crustaceans. When the pleats contract, the whale uses his tongue to push the water out through the baleen, and anything trapped is then swallowed whole. Humpbacks feed here all summer long and migrate to Hawaii or Mexico for the winter--not a bad life, I'd say.
You can just see the tail flukes as this humpback dives down. Apparently, they are quite acrobatic. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled and my camera ready.
It is very frustrating to continually see this in the top left corner of my iphone4.
Particularly because when I was here before my phone DID work (in the far kitchen window) and because my friend's iPhone 4S works fine. She uses a booster but can get service without it; whereas, I can't even get service WITH it. Philosophically, this begs the question: why am I so tied to talking on my phone? I'm certainly not a big talker, not even a phone talker really, but I like things to work. I like to know I CAN talk if I want to talk and I want to talk to my daughter. Hey, this is DAY 9.
If anyone has any ideas please let me know. Meanwhile, I've emailed Telus to complain. Yeah, I know. We'll see how far THAT gets me! Meanwhile, one of "the girls" has decided it's time she got her bed back. Hermione spent a good portion of last night meowing and chewing on my hands. Bad cat! This began around 4:30am and continued until I managed to evict her and close the door. Now, she's sleeping peacefully, of course. Oh Hermione.
My friend, Brad, sent me this story, written by BC poet and writer Patrick Lane, just this morning, and I have to share it because it's so beautiful and so true.
Back in early December of 1958, I was 19 years old, living with my wife and baby boy in a two-room apple picker’s shack a few miles down the road from here. I had a job driving dump truck for a two-bit outfit that was working on a short stretch of highway just down the hill from where this university was built so many years later. I remember leaving the shack and walking out to stand by the highway in the wind and snow. I stood there shivering in my canvas coat as I waited to be picked up by the grader operator in his rusted pickup truck. The sky was hard and grey. Its only gift that winter day was ice disguised as a fragile, bitter snow.
As I stood there in the false dawn, I looked up for a moment and as I did an iridescent blue butterfly the size of my palm fluttered down and rested on the sleeve of my coat just above my wrist. It was winter, it was cold and I knew the Okanagan Valley where I had lived most of my young life did not harbour huge, shiny blue butterflies, not even in summer. I remember stripping off my gloves and cupping the insect in my hands, lifting that exquisite creature to the warmth of my mouth in the hope I could save it from the cold. I breathed upon the butterfly with the helplessness we all have when we are faced with an impossible and inevitable death, be it a quail or crow, gopher, hawk, child or dog. I cupped that delicate butterfly in the hollow of my hands and ran back to the picker’s shack in the hope that somehow the warmth from the morning fire in the woodstove might save it, but when I reached the door and opened my hands, the butterfly died.
I do not know what strange Santa Anna, Squamish or Sirocco jet-stream wind blew that sapphire butterfly from far off Mexico, Congo or the Philippines to this valley. I only know the butterfly found its last moments in my hands. I have never forgotten it and know the encounter changed me. There are mornings in our lives when beauty falls into our hands and when that happens, we must do what we can to nurture and protect it. That we sometimes fail must never preclude our striving. The day the beautiful creature died in my hands, I looked up into the dome of the hard, cold sky and I swore to whatever great spirit resided there in the dark clouds that I would live my life to the full and, above all, I would treasure beauty. I swore, too, that I’d believe in honesty, faithfulness, love and truth. The words I spoke were the huge abstractions the young sometimes use, but I promised them to myself and, now, more than half a century later, I stand here in front of your young minds, your creative spirits, your beautiful lives, and I can tell you that I have tried.
I told myself that year and in the subsequent years in the sawmill crews and construction gangs I worked with that I would become a writer, a poet, a man who would create an imagined world out of the world I lived in, that I would witness my life and the lives of others with words. The years went by filled with the tragedies and losses that all our lives are filled with. My brother’s early death, my father’s murder, my divorce and the loss of my children did not change the promises I made. There were times I lived a dissolute, irresponsible and destructive life. There were times, too, when I was depressed and wretched, but I continued to believe in spite of my weaknesses and fears. I wandered the world and as I did I wrote of the lives that shared my times. And I wrote of this Okanagan Valley, its lakes and hills, its stones, cacti, cutthroat trout, magpies, rattlesnakes and, yes, its butterflies.
What I have told you is a story. It arose from my life for where else but from a life can a story come? What I promise each of you is that there will come a day or night, a morning or evening when something as rare and fine as a blue sapphire butterfly will fall into your hands from a cold sky, a fearful child will climb into your bed and cleave to you, a woman or man will weep, will laugh, will sleep with you in the sure belief that the one they abide with is governed by a good and honest love. No matter the degrees you have earned and the knowledge you have accumulated, remember to believe in yourselves, to believe in each other. In a world as fearful as our present one, I ask that you not be afraid. Today is merely an hour. Remember in the time ahead of you to hold out your hands so that beauty may fall safely into them and find a place – however briefly – to rest.
Excellent surprise when I looked out the window just now. This is the first time I've had a really good look at this black-tail fawn ... and just enough sunlight. Seriously, could this little guy be any cuter?
The last few days here the wind’s been gusting. Yesterday afternoon, we estimated northwest winds at 25 knots--that’s the kind of gust that makes you grab for your hat when it hits. Technically, to be gusting, the peak wind speed has to be at least 15 knots with the fluctuation raising it by 5 knots or more; meaning that, those gusts were hitting us at about 30 knots yesterday.
The term “knots” originated from the use of actual coloured knots that mariners tied at 47.33 foot intervals into a length of twine. The end of this “log line” had a circular chip weighted with lead. Mariners cast the log line over the stern and allowed it to run free for 28 seconds. By counting the number of knots that passed over during that time interval, they could measure the vessel’s speed.
One knot equals one nautical mile per hour (60 minutes). This means, that if a ship is moving at a speed of 25 knots, like our wind was yesterday, it is travelling 25 nautical miles (NM) per hour.
You can see how hard I’m working to understand this concept.
Nautical miles are based on the Earth’scircumference. This is where latitude comes into play. Mapmakers have divided the Earth into360degrees of latitude, running east and west, with each degree equalling 60 nautical miles.
Wow! My head is spinning something like the Earth.
The equator at 0 degrees is the starting point to measure latitude--the North Pole is 90 degrees north and the South Pole 90 degrees south. Simplified, it looks like this:
Suffice to say, that if this fishing vessel is moving at a speed of 25 knots, she will travel 25 nautical miles in one hour.
Whew! Thank god, GPS has replaced log lines. Imagine having to throw a knotted rope over the side, count out 28 seconds, and the number of knots that pass over the side, and then having to haul it back on board again, heavy with salt water. Imagine doing that somewhere in a latitude north of 60 degrees.
Knots are genious. I have been knitting knots all this past week, creating a black seaman’s toque for Ivan.
Knit in bulky superwash merino wool, it will keep his head warm during those gusty winter winds. (The pattern’s available free on Ravelry for anyone who’s interested.) Knitting is really just using two sticks and a length of yarn to tie knots. Sailors, those lovers of knots, were shipboard knitters.
But enough for now, it’s time for me to do the weather report.
P.S. For a fascinating history of knitting, read this article by Julie Theaker.
An active morning for me (for awhile at least) as I learned to use the weed wacker! A period of shaky arms followed but has since dissipated; and yes, Michael, I did do the ball and noodle. I can see that I will need to actually exercise in order to do this job:) To recuperate, I went for a wander around the point and down into the sunny sheltered garden where I found this sweet sparrow singing his heart out in the salal. The waves and winds picked up this afternoon to a gusty 20 knots. Fortunately this little black-tailed deer found a sheltered place to rest by the foxgloves. Black-tailed deer are numerous on the islands all along the strait in Coastal BC--his tail is actually black with white underneath and a white tip. Wolves culled several deer from Scarlett last winter; but, left Pretty Lady who had a fawn this spring. I caught a glimpse of her wee fawn when I appeared from behind some bushes unexpectedly and surprised them. She keeps her fawn well hidden. Though this buck was having an afternoon siesta, I was able to entice him with some well placed carrots.
Jeanne is on Day 256 of her solo unassisted nonstop circumnavigation of the world. She is 70 years old and one amazing woman. Ivan is monitoring her on his ham radio and checks in with her every day. Yesterday, I was there when they chatted. Jeanne was a little frustrated with the calm winds off the coast as she's trying hard to make it into Victoria. You can follow her at this link: http://www.7163net.com Check out her story and her blog. She's hoping to arrive this weekend, so if you're around, keep an eye out for her sails. Jeanne is the oldest woman to solo circumnavigate. What an inspiration. Photo courtesy of-- http://www.sail-world.com/cruising/usa/Solo-sailor-Jeanne-Socrates---new-oldest-ever-record-on-the-way/98940
A pair of ravens (Corvus Corax) are raising their three offspring here at the lightstation. All day they careen by, shiny black acrobats, squawking and chasing each other like kids do everywhere. Right now, as I’m sitting by the window typing, a shadow catapults from the roof before me, and it’s one of the kids, and then another. They like to convene on the top of the light or perch above the canary yellow fuel tanks, which to Ivan’s chagrin, are now being whitewashed. I carried my camera around yesterday trying for a decent shot of this comedic troupe and eventually managed to get this:
Just look at this trickster.
What's he thinking? It’s easy to see why Raven would be known by the West Coast People for transforming into a hemlock seed, so he could be drunk by a beautiful girl and reborn as a small human. The world was all dark then. Raven knew the girl’s father had the sun locked away in a cedar box and he wanted that sun. Of course, Raven succeeds. But in his triumph, Eagle attacks, making him drop half the sun, which breaks and bounces into the sky to become the moon and stars. Eagle continues his pursuit until exhausted Raven finally drops the rest--and so the world lights up for the very first time.
Yesterday an eagle launched into the treetops where the kids were perching and sent them squawking. Luckily, none of them were clutching the sun. And so, last night we had the most beautiful sunset, thanks to Raven.
I am now safely stowed at Scarlett Point Lightstation, 25 kilometres north of Port Hardy. Coming in on the Coast Guard lifeboat we spotted humpbacks off the port bow. Me, standing on the flybridge, and thinking how I need to knit a new toque quick as my left ear is tingling with the cold below my ballcap. Yesterday, I sunburned my left arm driving the 385 kilometres from Nanaimo to Port Hardy. It was humid and 30 C there, but here? This is wool country. White clouds, like layered cotton batten, obscure the horizon. Rock cedar islands shifting in varying shades of green and grey that a thesaurus can't explain. No wonder the Coast Guard paints everything red and white.
We’d hadn’t yet reached the station when the captain brought the lifeboat to a dead stop. A small grey craft was making its way towards us from port side.
“We’ve got a huge wake,” he explained, “and that’s your ride.” My ride? And so, there in the middle of the channel, Laury and I, exchanged rides--she with her two small bags and me with gear for a month.
After having just completed my first marine weather report with the help of Ivan, I am sitting down this afternoon to read Instructions for Marine Local Weather Observations. Email is working but I've yet to find my phone service, so if I don't call or message you, that's why.
