13-16 July
13 July
A long but ever so worthwhile drive up to Cluxewe Campground. I’ve never been here during peak season before. The campground isn’t entirely full, but no doubt will be come the weekend. Despite high occupancy, it’s quiet.
I’m camped in what is likely one of the less desirable sites, one of three lined up side by side with no separation. It still has a fine view of the estuary.
I’ve heard shorebirds tonight. There is a province-wide ban on campfires, so I cooked dinner on my portable propane grill—a small steak and a salad. It was excellent, and a superb venue for dining.
An early and peaceful night.
14 July
Slept in until 7 am. More shorebirds—I think dunlin, from their behaviour. A lazy breakfast.
I was uncertain about grey water disposal at this site, so I asked a woman who was cleaning the washrooms. She didn’t know, and suggested I ask the guy in the office. Immediately an old guy camped a couple of sites over intervened and said loudly and very confidently that I’d have to take it to the sani-dump and pay five bucks. I was fairly certain that this was classic mansplaining, but didn’t bother to argue. Five bucks for a jug of soapy water? Nah.
I walked along the shore to the office. The nice guy there said, “no problem, if it’s just grey water just dump it below the tide line.” And showed me a neat recent photo of a leucistic robin. (I was carrying my bins and camera.)
Coming back along the shore I could hear birds well offshore—put Merlin (a sound ID app) on them and was told they were marbled murrelets. Wow. Put my camera at its peak zoom, not great photos, but yep, they look like murrelets. This is great.
I’m so glad I made the trip up here.
The view across the Straits of the lighthouse is classic.
A long walk along the beach —not quite as clean as it was in February, but only 4 pieces of rubbish in 2 km’s walk. Not bad for peak tourist season.
There was a raft of scoters offshore at the mouth of the Cluxewe River.
As I reviewed the photo of the scoters, I found that there was a red-throated loon among them--a lifer for me. (The other bird is a scoter.)
It's a beautiful spot.
I met a man who was fishing off the shore, who said, “You spent a long time at the river mouth. It’s a very spiritual spot.” It was an odd comment, I guess, but in fact, it was. Then he said, “Have you been to Alert Bay?” I said I was headed there the next day. He said, “It’s a very special place. You’ll see.”
A quiet afternoon until just now when a mob of folks moved in to the adjoining site—speaking what I think is Ukrainian—sounds kinda like Russian, but not quite. They seem to have no sense of space and keep wandering past my table, where I’m grilling a chunk of chicken.
It’s kinda chilly and breezy, but sunny. I’ve set my alarm for 6 am, so that I can catch the ferry to Alert Bay tomorrow. (I hope.) I also hope that this thundering horde shuts up at a decent hour tonight. (Good grief—they’re towing with a Lincoln SUV!)
I’m going to have my dinner, do the washing up, and dump my grey water as per the office’s instructions. I fully expect to have someone tell me off. I’ll try to be polite. And then I’ll pack up as much as I can, to facilitate an early departure.
...Nope, no problem with the grey water. A great view while dumping below the tide line. And the thundering horde were quiet by 10:30. Quite reasonable.
15 July
An early morning, an easy time stowing my camper, and a quick drive to the Port McNeill Ferry Terminal. A recently fledged eagle posed at the Ferry Terminal.
He sat so still that at first I thought he was sculpture.
I wondered if he’d been hired by the Tourist Board. He seemed almost iconic for the trip.
A noisy tour bus full of elderly Americans was also on the Ferry, and then at the U’Mista Cultural Centre and then, alas, at an amazing event that I hadn’t anticipated. I had a sense that the tour group was actually uncomfortable with the cultural encounter that they faced. It's possible. Much of it was quite alien. Actually, not even slightly alien--in fact, in its home--but definitely not part of the day to day world of your basic European origin folks. It always startles me that First Nations folks can be so pleasant towards those of us they call "Settlers."
It is a very beautiful crossing, even with noisy fellow travelers.
The town of Alert Bay is kind of run-down, has a fishing fleet and a general store. The visitor centre had a water tap with paper cups and a notice that said, “Drink our water. It’s unfiltered, tests as pure and the best water you’ll ever drink.” I tried it, and yes, it was truly delicious. Kind of an odd invitation, but the whole place seems somehow different.
Lots of signs in Kwakawala’ Lots of totem poles and other monuments.
The old burial ground has many totem poles, and signs asking visitors to look at them from the road, out of respect for the dead.
The U’Mista centre is all that it’s cracked up to be and then some.
Beautiful stuff, mostly part of their Potlatch tradition, that was taken from the Kwakwaka'wakw by various official evils. Very well presented. U'mista is a word applied to members of a village who had been taken captive by enemies and then returned. And now it applies to this collection, much of which was kept in museums and galleries.
It's near the site of the residential school that was demolished some years ago. There's a sign commemorating it.
The Big House itself feels like a cathedral. There are ranks of seats around a central area of sand and a cedar fire in the middle.
The event was well attended. To me the most impressive thing was the young boys as Hamatsa Dancers. They moved so well, and did marrow-freezing raven shrieks that echoed the ravens I’d heard outside the old burial ground. The Hamatsa tradition tells of a young man who is transformed into the Wild Man of the Woods. He is governed by a raven, but eventually tamed by young women. I tried to video the event but failed. Darn!
It was also remarkable to see the regalia that the group wore, which were, with one exception, authentic.
Beautifully worked cedar bark, genuine ermine on the head-dresses, sea lion whiskers on the head-dresses, too. They apparently draw the line on eagle down, which used to be packed into the tops of these headpieces. When the dancers moved their heads the public were showered with eagle down--a blessing. This time it was some kind of synthetic. Fair enough. They did have real eagle feathers for the salmon dance, itself no slight thing.
And this incredible mask is also real, and a heritage item.
It was just a kid, maybe ten years old, wearing the mask and dancing. Mask must weigh a ton! They explained afterward that they always have a guide with them when they wear the masks (the woman in black in this case) because the masks don't always have eye holes in the right place. I find it impressive that they will entrust items like this to kids, and that the kids can measure up.
They ended with a "Friendly Dance," in which we were all invited to join in. Many people did, but I'd been having knee troubles and, regretfully, didn't join the dance.
I've neglected to mention that the singing and drumming was really powerful.
So, yes, the trip to Alert Bay, which I've wanted to make for years, was a truly fine experience. I'll go back.
Back at Cluxewe, a good dinner of sausages, potatoes, and onion, wrapped in foil and grilled. And a stunner of a sunset.
So that was my trip to Cluxewe. (Which means two things--one "where the waters meet", and the other "place of refuge.") It's been Kwakiutl land (one branch of the Kwakwaka'wakw people) since the beginning of time, they say. They've kept it well, and share it generously, no doubt remembering that among their Nation, wealth isn't measured by how much you have, but by how much you give.
PS If it's of interest, there's a good website for U'mista. https://www.umista.ca .
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