SW-Sees-Seals.

Ice cubes.

Howe Sound, BC – The cold smacks like an electric shock as we flop into the waters of Howe Sound.

Pulling away, our Sea Dragon Charters vessel belches a tobacco-like puff of smoke that tints the air before circling back with the next group of swimmers. Howe Sound may be one of Canada’s southernmost fjords, but it’s April and the water’s still only 10 degrees.

I’m thankful for the wetsuit, even as my hands begin to curl from the chill.

We’re eyed by black oystercatchers, whose long red beaks peck at the mollusk-encrusted shore. Others caw their warnings as two bald eagles drop from their perch with a thunderclap. It’s obvious a couple minutes later some form of prey didn’t heed the warning.

By now sharply awake, we glide around the corner of the rock with a gentle flick of our flippers. Countless purple, orange and white sea stars cling to surfaces above and below the water. Kelp sways into tangles at our feet.

With a splash, we’ve been spotted.

Seal's-eye view.

A herd of harbour seals shimmies awkwardly over the rock, barrelling into the sea in a series of thud-like splashes. The quake leaves a wake.

On land, these animals will never be confused as graceful; in the water, however, they’re definitely balletic.

Spotted white, brown and grey babies scamper on their bellies, unsure of where to flee the sudden intrusion. Their family members spread out into a security perimeter around us, heads bobbing in and out of the waves like maritime prairie dogs.

We bob the same, watchers being watched, all taken by the same beauty of nature: animals in an ocean playground untainted by development – just jagged, prehistoric rock scarred by the season’s snows, set against a cool blue sky.

Majestic.

Clothed for the Season.

No beach bums today.

Vancouver, BC – The shiver set in as my bones chattered, my eyelashes long with drops.

The rain hasn’t stopped all day.

We rented a car and headed across the city to the University of British Columbia, which is perched atop a hill. Thunderbird is certainly an appropriate mascot.

I had planned to find a comfortable spot to sit with a coffee, but opted instead to open the curtains of the storm. Wandering first through the Mall, I decided I couldn’t resist taking the trek down 500 leaf- and pine-needle-strewn steps, slick from the morning's deluge.

After all, how many university campuses have nude beaches on their fringes?

Wreck Beach is not only Canada’s busiest beach, it’s North America’s largest naturist beach. The university campus peeks over the hill with a half-closed eye at bathers below.

Not today – not with this chill.

A lone, grey heron stands at the shore, feathers slicked, before evaporating into the mist.

I can’t wait to get these wet clothes off.

Just not here.

Ashore Thing.

Bet you didn't see the hard place.

Vancouver, BC – The sea comes to bear on the land, beneath clouds seemingly low enough to fleece: swatches curl in broad strokes as the sea roils.

The air is briny – pickled and punctuated by pungent wet cedar. If only I could bottle this moment as a cologne. Still, the Stanley Park Rose Garden bursts with end-of-season colour and, with a whistle of wind, spruce-tipped mountains unveil themselves to us.

As we return to the Stanley Park Seawall, blue washes over the sky. White caps, however, continue to gnash at our feet. The day's breath lurks coolly in the shade, melting in sunlight.

Nearby, a rainbow forms in front of Lions Gate Bridge.

It's thirty-thousand steps around the park before curtained skies welcome us back from the edge of nature and the heart of bliss.

And, inadvertently, onto to the set of the television show, iZombie.

No, I’ve never heard of it.

Two Vans.

You seem to be missing a W, Internet.

Vancouver, BC – Near Hastings and Cambie, artists set blue tarps against the drizzle.

Most is much less art than it is livelihood.

Tired chain link, unlinked, leans before moping gardens, the morning grey only mildly resisting the haphazard curls of spray cans.

Ashen faces are etched hollow by addiction. Many barely conceal their activities: a man, hunched over in a wheelchair, shudders with his hand outstretched.

Instead of coins, pills offered fall into it.

And yet, here I sit, tucking into a delicious Ruben Eggs Benedict at Jam Café. Delicious, but a reminder of my good fortune. Around the corner, the Gastown steam clock – one of the few remaining in the world – spouts a merry tune.

My journey carries me to Chinatown, where colours are both visual and olfactory: neon – although not what it once was, apparently – blends into dried seafood, lemongrass and fry oil. With an incense chaser.

Heading home, people and buildings alike are missing teeth, their makeup spray-painted. Reaching the west side a couple blocks away, I'm struck again by the contrast: high cheekbones set in glass.

Two Vancouvers.

Falling for Vancouver.

Pick your Flights.

Vancouver, BC – Free in the greyness of a silent morning, the sea air provides enough of a wake-up coffee.

I’ve always loved mountains and the ocean, even if my affinity for Vancouver hasn’t aligned. Heading toward The Seawall in Stanley Park, however, I am left to my own thoughts, slowly breaking like the day. Bliss.

Set against a sky cross-hatched by sailboat masts, the sun rises in golden shards. Leaves lay like stained glass: seasons shattered in my palm.

Past the totem poles and under Lions Gate Bridge, where the corn chip crunch of barnacles and banana peel viscosity of kelp welcome my footfalls. It smells of past-due pumpkin. On to Prospect Point and Slhx̱i7lsh, where the land melts into the vast expanse of the sea, dotted by bulking freightliners.

As I make my way over the bridge to Granville Island, the sun puts up its dukes against the morning chill. The sun, dare I say, has made it hot. Could this day get any better?

Such peace in beauty; such beauty in peace.

An Abridged Version.

Suspension of Disbelief.

Vancouver, BC – Even with a translucent mist brushed over the hills, Lions Gate Bridge opens her maw to a majestic view of the ocean as we emerge from Stanley Park. The weather offers a simple reminder we are entering a rainforest.


The driver of our free shuttle to Capilano Suspension Bridge Park maintains a steady patter, punctuated by oddball humour that keeps us giddy. It may just be the lack of sleep.


Making fun of unaware pedestrians, he exhorts us to stay off our phones, and to obey bike lanes, which are plentiful throughout the city: “I saw this crash with a cyclist, and it wasn’t funny. Well, it was funny to see the pedestrian’s arm all caught up in the spokes.” We shouldn’t laugh.


But.



Natural Light.

Capilano feels like an overpriced theme park ($45), despite its natural beauty, famous suspension bridge and cliff walk. Connected bridges throughout the canopy make me feel like an Ewok. Mammoth, 200-foot Douglas firs, meanwhile, loom like dinosaur femurs, bark bleached and topped by a fistful of branches.


From below, the bridge resembles a spine that connects both shores shouldering the Capilano River. Tourists sway across it.


Back in the city, sailboats stand sentry before mountains smoked in by dusk as we amble toward dinner at Lift with a couple colleagues. My mind, craving sleep, has come to resemble the rattle of crisp, fall leaves overhead.


Having awoken at 3 a.m., the three-hour change in time zones has by now rolled in with the tide.

Mount, Douglas.

Victoria, BC – Brighter than some of the faded leaves folded onto the ground, orange pumpkins lined Mount Douglas Parkway, their carved faces drooping more grotesquely at various stages of decay.

As we rose away from the road and into the forest, though, silence descended upon Mt. Douglas this morning.

We were surrounded by green lichen – a frilly dressing that enrobed the spires of looming fir. The forest floor was covered by dew-covered ferns, exposed root systems as designed by a Spirograph and pine needles that sutured the mud. Microscopic mushrooms, like seashells, clung to mossy bark. Beading holly welcomed the festive season, a little early.

All the while, our footfalls popped damp pinecones as if they had been tossed into a fire.

But we summited on the first sunny day I have had here, opening a spectacular panorama of the city.

Trailing the Juan de Fuca.

Victoria, BC – Empty, shiny shells shattered under our shoes, bejewelled, as we wandered around and over massive logs washed ashore like matchsticks on Botanical Beach this afternoon. The lumber was smooth, like softened leather.

The percussion of thunderous waves vaulting over submerged rocks created dissonance with the silence of the forest as we hiked part of the Juan de Fuca Maritime Trail. Ball kelp bobbed for cover, like mini speed bags, as soaring wings of water curled forward onto the smoothened shore with might. A ribbon of jagged peaks tinted the backdrop.

The crescendo: droplets expelled from the greater family, like glass tossed into the sky, only to rejoin the crushing pools below.

Such peace in the violence of nature.

Submitting to the Summit.

Victoria, BC – Seagulls rested, poised, as dying salmon struggled upstream to spawn.

Each breath brought another push, or another bite at an offending fish, as Chinook, Coho and Chum made the final push through the shallow waters at Coldstream, their bellies scraping against stones. Occasionally, there would be a great splash as a silver dart would summon the strength to sprint several feet, its tail slapping several others in the head. With its declining thrust, the current would reduce the salmon’s efforts by at least half and it would be dragged back to slower-moving pools.

It was often tough to watch these large fish, already picked-at and missing chunks of flesh, struggle so mightily. But Mother Nature’s resilience was also evidently on display – with no energy to push another foot farther, a salmon would lash out with sharp teeth at one trying to take its resting place. Survival of the fittest, children.

We were at the beginning of the trail to the top of Mt. Finlayson for the day’s hike. It rained and was relatively cool as we wove through steep treed sections and bouldered over waterfalls as we approached the summit. Some of the narrower, wet footholds with steep drops below reminded me that heights are not always my favourite thing.

We had a great view of grey when we reached the top of the two-kilometre climb, but as is so often the case, the hike was more about the journey with good friends than the destination. The sun decided to shine through the trees as we took the safer way down the mountain – an eight-kilometre stretch weaving past waterfalls, homes and fog-filled valleys.

At times, though, I felt I was moving as slowly as some of the salmon we had seen earlier.

Victoria, Victorious.

Victoria, BC – Five days, 4,436.8 kilometres, nine American states and two Canadian provinces later, we have arrived in British Columbia’s capital.

With the journey, I found new pleasure in Combos snacks and the west coast’s microbreweries’ winter beers. We saw far too many deer left on the sides of roads, but plenty more scampering about, with antelope, bison and big-horned sheep. The topography changed too many times to count. Mountains and oceans are happy places for me and I am in awe, still, at the Badlands of South Dakota. I continue to love Seattle, though the gorgeous weather lasted only until Washington, and rain greets me here, now.

But we have arrived. And Montana is finally behind us.

Vitals:

• Time: 13 hours (including ferry, waiting)
• Distance: 552.9 kilometres
• Weather: Rain, Cloud, Moderate
• States/Provinces: Washington, British Columbia
  
• Wildlife: None

Go West, Young Man.

Juan de Fuca Strait, BC – Driving through Washington this morning, the Earth yawned – its cavernous maw threatening to swallow us in an unexpected instant. Its breath hung in the canyon that opened below us, the glistening Columbia River flowing down its throat.

The air was crisp and fresh, and I stood in awe – mouth similarly agape. The world is so often capable of infinite beauty.

Continuing through the state, white-capped incisors bit the sky, the napes of hills blanketed in fall trees that resembled rust-tinted, upturned paint brushes. Weaving through the range’s curves, we encountered our first rain of the trip. Welcome to western Washington.

Arriving at Pike Place Market in the state’s capital, however, the bland palette of Montana was comp- ensated for with near- sensory overload from the bright colours of fresh vegetables and dried chillies, the pungent smell of herbs, confections and fish. Artisans created beauty from copper and leather, while neon signs winked as we passed.

A great lunch included fish tacos and Dungeness crab cakes. We climbed some of the country’s steepest streets, visited the first Starbucks and briefly saw the Space Needle.

Despite the persistent rain, everything seemed so fresh, so alive. However briefly, I rekindled my love affair with Seattle.