Princess Louisa Inlet, British Columbia
Pink mackerel clouds hung high against an ovoid moon while low gray clouds drifted across its face. Like cotton balls they were stacked in the U-shaped valleys until they escaped and drifted upwards to obscure glacial remnants trickling from mountain ridges. And then they were gone and blue sky dominated.
As the day began it seemed the world was dressed in royal robes of crimson edged in ermine. The Prince of Wales, Princess Royal and Queen were all present, at least in name, for every twist of Jervis Inlet led from one Royal Reach to another. Access to Princess Louisa was strictly controlled, not by palace guards but by a narrow and winding waterway known as Malibu Rapids. Those in the know carefully consult their tidal charts, positioning themselves strategically, poised to enter or exit at the momentary pause between the rushing of the current as it moves from in to out or vice versa. In the early morning the Sea Bird slipped through easily at high slack tide. Six hours later we decided the whole operation needed closer examination. Zodiacs loaded with observers headed out, pausing frequently to examine the exposed intertidal world where purple sea stars clung in thigmotactic piles creating their own moist environment until the waters returned once more. Following closely behind our fleet of rubber boats, the Sea Bird performed admirably amazing watchers on the shore who stared in disbelief that a vessel of this size could maneuver with such ease.
Sandwiched between these tidal events we came to understand the lines that Erle Stanley Gardner wrote: “There is no scenery in the world that can beat it. Not that I’ve seen the rest of the world. I don’t need to, I’ve seen Princess Louisa Inlet.” “One views the scenery with bared head and choking feeling of the throat. It is more than beautiful. It is sacred.” Glacially sculpted and spheroidally weathered granite cliffs rose a thousand or more feet on either side. Waterfalls cascaded from on high or seeped from hidden crevasses. At the head of the Inlet, the grandaddy of them all, Chatterbox Falls roared between tall conifer sentinels until it reached the sea. It was here we walked on the spongy soil hidden in the temperate forest where mosses and lichens dripped like rain from branches of deciduous and conifer trees alike. Here too we found serenity drifting quietly in colorful kayaks.
The afternoon took on a silver tone. Pewter clouds blanketed the sky and were reflected in the mercuric water. Binoculars in hand, we searched the cliffs for signs of people from the past. Our vigilance was rewarded but the stories told in bright hematite will remain unknown. Maybe they told of salmon or maybe killer whales. But times have changed and although our own experiences are many and varied no one could claim to read the writing on the wall.
No one would want to read the numbers on the scale if there were one to stand upon. Here we have no doubt that the message would be quite clear. Early riser snacks, a deck barbeque, build your own sundaes on the bow, a wine and food tasting fair and three square meals all in one day can only have one consequence. But we’ll ignore that for now. We are on vacation after all.
