the mystery of mayne island
Mayne Island really is straight out of an Enid Blyton book. Here on retreat for ten days in a wonderfully cosy log cabin, we are perched right over the ocean & surrounded by woods - all we lack are lashings of ginger beer
When first he discovered it, Captain George Vancouver christened the bays and points of this small island after wives and daughters of his crew. We have extended the favour to a family of seals who live and fish beneath our window, who now rejoice as Georgina the pretty, Helen the plain, Edith the spotty, Laura the baby and George the big daddy (here he is saying hello)
Promise not to tell the bishop, but on docking here we were greeted by another good friend from our St. Mary’s congregation (those whom I’m dutifully to ignore throughout these 3 months of course) - who also somehow just popped up to say hello
It was thanks to Marion that we had been able so kindly to borrow the cabin from her old & best friend Carol, who raised her own family both here and near Vancouver. They also sweetly proceeded to furnish us with generous supplies from the main island store (which still looks poised & ready to provision boats heading en route for the Gold Rush … )
Then after a quick mini tour of these precious & unspoilt eight square miles (current population 1071) - they have now left us to solve The Mystery of Mayne Island all by ourselves …
One of the first great mysteries to solve has been how to get around the island, using its quaint voluntary “car stop” system
This entails 1. Standing very still for 10 minutes, listening hard for a solitary car to come so you can hopefully flag it down; 2. When nothing turns up, giving into your wife who says its only 30 minutes to walk to the next stop anyway; 3. Just as you start to labour up hill, promptly being passed by two pick up trucks, followed by three old ladies smiling & waving from their jalopies as they take their poodles out for a walk; 4. At next stop, repeating procedure from step one above …
In any case it is frankly tempting just to hole up in the cabin with our log fire, Carol’s excellent choice of books (her career is children’s librarian), and endlessly fascinating views of the wildlife, ferry & fishing boat traffic that plough the narrow ocean channel between us & Galliano island next door
In addition to our faithful seal family (usually diving or performing doggy paddle somewhere in view) we also welcome other visitors to fish right below our look-out. Dapper great blue herons (playing statues of old men in tails) and lolloping sea lions (snorting crudely & doing a vigorous kind of butterfly stroke without arms) are both regular daily dinner guests …
But two mornings ago I got rather over-excited by one particular procession of callers just passing through. I looked up from my book, & all I could manage next was to yell one single inarticulate word to Jebs, repeated loudly over & over : ORCA! ORCA! … ORCA!
Around 25 killer whales (we think in 2 family “pods”) were suddenly sawing rapidly down the channel. Their fins were rising & falling in majestic rhythm, a stretched line of curving black horses from a fairground carousel
I scrambled for my camera, which shook & refused to focus its zoom at just the critical moment - so now I proudly present you nonetheless with my very own spectacular orca portrait :
I thank you …
Believe me, they were awesome. Anyway, as I say we have in fact managed to tear ourselves away from our Little House on the Pacific just occasionally
Indeed, once finally arrived at a trail-head, the exploring on foot has been just so, so worth it … come rain …
Or come shine …
It is perfect that we arrived in time for Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, so that our first Sunday here was joining islanders for Harvest Festival. Hence the pumpkins in every direction we look, which do for pumpkin pie at the start of October as well as Halloween lanterns at the end. All neatly in season with our own hearts, just brimming with Thanksgiving too …
I close with a rather beautiful piece of prose by local writer Beverly Koski,
that I found in an arts café on our travels. It captures the autumn season here perfectly I think, with islanders all around us lighting bonfires & putting gardens to bed - and with fallow deer (worrisome recent invaders I’m told) raiding lawns & beds with gay abandon, as they too prepare for winter cold :
Only Shades of Green
The view of Mt. Tolmie was slightly out of focus. A bit of fog she thought, or maybe just urban smoke. Wood burning fires, raked leaves piled, their last smouldering gasps releasing thin white vertical columns.
Below her at a steep angle lay the lawn, cut close for winter. Rhododendrons, ferns, spreading junipers were easily spotted, growing in the encirclement around the grass. What were the others - those silver green, yellow green, blue green - thin spikes, flat leaves, wild branches, clipped limbs? No rose bushes here, she thought. No droopy daisies, or hydrangeas turning purple, no remains of bright blooms of summer - but for one chrysanthemum.
Even so, its golden brown flowers were about to go. A deer stood boldly confident. Bending to her supper, the garden lost its last bit of colour.
Green she thought, just green.
“Green, just green”. It does seem God’s favourite colour on the island. Unless of course you’d like some purple …
… Five go to the seaside : the sequel!