Cluxewe

 This must be one of the most amazing birthdays of all 73 (omigawd—REALLY?  73?).  Beautiful, kind of heart wrenching.  

Yesterday, really my birthday, there was a forecast of constant rain and wind, and I’d actually considered cancelling my reservation.  I’m glad I didn’t, because the morning was glorious.  

The drive up seemed long, but was certainly worth the time spent.   There are more rest stops along the way than I've ever seen anywhere.

I suspect that these maples were brought in and planted--I didn't see any like them elsewhere, but they fit in to the setting.

  My campsite was right on the beach, and even if the campground had been crowded, which it wasn't, would have been spaced and private.

I can't remember camping anywhere with more wonderful views.

The light on the morning of the 29th was spectacular.

There were a few walkers along the beach, but it certainly wasn't crowded.

Much of the campground runs along a spit, dividing the Strait from the Cluxewe Estuary.   "Cluxewe" has two meanings in the Kwakwala language:  "Place where the river's mouth changes", and "Place of refuge."  It's apparent that the estuary has moved about.  

I'd anticipated that the estuary would be more birdy, but I gather the season is drawing to a close in the north end of the Island.  Nevertheless, it's a beautiful, wild spot.  

And the Refuge?  Well, yes, it's very peaceful...

Except when there are 110km wind gusts, but those settled down by midnight on the 29th.  I'd been kind of worried, but my camper handled the wind well.  

The 30th was the first Day of Truth and Reconciliation in Canada.  It's been set federally as a day commemorating the "lost children and survivors of residential schools, their families and communities."  Many First Nations bands organised walks and events marking the date, and there was such an event in Port Hardy, near the resort.  Despite the COVID precautions, I decided I needed to take part in this, and am glad I did.  Perhaps because indigenous populations have been hit so hard by the virus, people kept a distance, and we were cautioned to do so often by the MC of the event.  There was a walk from the local high school to a park on the shore, then speeches in English and Kwakwala, songs, drumming, and dances.  In what seemed reminiscent of the Potlatch tradition, everyone who attended was given food as well--just hot dogs and hamburgers, and sacks of fruit, but the spirit was there.

We were asked not to photograph much of the event as it apparently was part of a religious observance, but here are a few photos which were permitted.

I found the contrast between children today dancing in beautifully made button blankets and this:

...somehow heart-wrenching.  The children participating day before yesterday looked cherished.  

These aren't the most polished replicas of traditional costumes, but again, the youngsters apparently had a hand in their making and had the chance to show what they'd made.  

It rained constantly all morning, and at one point, when a mourning song was being sung, there was really loud thunder as an accompaniment.  The MC commented that the Thunderbird was clapping his wings.  It did feel a bit like that.

I can't offer recordings of the singing and drumming, but I usually find the singing of the Northwest people very beautiful, and although these were just ("just"?!) community guys, the songs were magnificent.

The rain never did let up, until late afternoon.  

The next day I packed up, and made my way back to Parksville.  There was a fine little herd of elk near Sayward.

I bought oysters at the Baynes Sound Oyster Plant.  Delicious.

Despite the long drive I'll make my way back to Cluxewe.  It's open year round, and although it will be colder in winter, it's still a relatively mild climate.