There were no undesirable bear disturbances at our Ida Lake campsite, probably because the bear realized we were too smart to have any food around. Aside from keeping wild animals away, this trick is also useful to speed up packing camp in the morning – with a healthy motivation to get to civilization and find delicious breakfast. Next stop: Telegraph Cove.
A former paper mill town, Telegraph Cove is now a gateway to marine wildlife watching tours, and a meticulously preserved historic site. We spent a couple of hours there enjoying the misty morning views, and getting acquainted with the town’s history. On the downside, we couldn’t find anything more substantial than coffee and pastries in the early hours, and had to continue to Port Hardy to get proper breakfast.
We had a number of errands to run in the north end of the island. There was a package from Amazon waiting for us at the post office, a few points of interest we wanted to check out, and provisions to get ahead of the long ferry ride back to mainland the following morning.
Coming out of the diner where we had breakfast, an older indigenous man chatted with us. He asked about our travels so far, and shared his stories of growing up in various parts of the island. Victim of the residential school system, aside from physical abuse, he lost his language and with it, the connection to the previous generations of his family, unable to communicate with elders who did not speak English. He noted that many of his peers were unable to cope with the trauma and isolation, and lost their lives through substance abuse. Miraculously, he found peace in religion, and noted that Christianity gave him the tools to better deal with his anger, ability to forgive instead of despair. I suppose sharing his story with people coming from far away might make him feel less and less isolated. Travel has a way of making the world seem smaller, as the circle of one’s connections grows bigger and bigger.
One of the points we were hoping to visit was San Josef Bay. Several people, including the old man from Port Hardy, mentioned that it’s a scenic road and an even more scenic shoreline. It’s fairly close to Port Hardy and we thought it would be an easy ride. Unfortunately, once we have traversed 50 km of dusty gravel road to Holberg, we had to turn around due to bridge construction work. Yes, our bikes are quite off-road capable, and we did look for alternative routes, but it all pointed to active logging and construction operations.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how this may compare to the long gravel roads in Yukon and Alaska. Deadhorse is such an infamous destination – along with Tuktoyaktuk, which is so much more fun to say aloud. Yet the dusty roads are not particularly fun to ride, and the commercial traffic presents a more formidable inconvenience than the slow mellow vans and RVs along the more accessible scenic routes. Having to deal with it for hours on end, possibly days – it has to offer something significant to be worth it.
Somewhat defeated, we headed back to town. The sadness subsided with the help of Korean fried chicken.
We roamed around a local grocery story, looking for things that don’t require refrigeration but closely resemble normal food rather than something canned or freeze dried. I have heard mixed reports about the food aboard the ferry to Prince Rupert. We settled on a package of cooked rice (ready to throw into a microwave, which are standard equipment on the ferries), some tomatoes and locally processed smoked fish. That will have to do.
Next was the short ride to Georgie Lake – another gorgeous BC Recreational Site. We enjoyed the peace and serenity of it, until around 10 pm or so, when a quiet group of campers nearby was joined by their much more energetic friends. They played music, discussed their lives and gossiped at the kind of sound levels one can only do in the middle of the woods, certain that the subjects of their discussions were 20 km away or more.
We were ready to hit the road the next morning before 6 am. Although we couldn’t secure the tickets ahead of time, it was no problem to fit our small bikes on board. Unlike in the southern regions of Pacific Northwest, motorcycles in Port Hardy are not VIPs. We boarded last, not first, which meant we waited to board for over an hour and a half in the rainy parking lot.
Once on the ferry, I dropped by the purser’s office to check if they had any cabins available. They showed as sold out online, but apparently, they did have some. It added another 150 CAD to an already expensive fare, but gave us comfortable beds and a private shower with great hot water pressure. The weather outside was moody and foggy, so it seemed we didn’t miss much by snoozing inside instead of attempting to catch a glimpse of whales outside.
The food aboard? It is served in the best traditions of airport cuisine: edible, but mediocre and overpriced. Packing your own is definitely wise.
