Rain is a good thing

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 29/01/2022 (1503 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Straddling the Strait of Juan de Fuca – named to get giggles from immature teens and me – BC’s Highway 14 from Victoria west to Port Renfrew and Pacheedaht territory surely lays out Canada’s longest solid-yellow line.

We excitedly maneuvered wild hills, sharp curves, single-lane bridges – and past roadside memorials. In the Renfrew Pub a sozzled chap later admitted, “I drive that road sober.”

Here, Canada’s coastal rainforest remains frontier. A website announces, “We in Port Renfrew have practiced social distancing for years.” No cell coverage. No Tim’s even.

But gawkers, land buyers, and cottage developments are lining up. A “Rennie” lamented, “They’re comin’ in here with their Mercedes and Jaguars.” A bumper sticker signals, “Tofino’s that way” showing an outstretched middle finger.

Nonetheless, residents are terrific rainforest ambassadors.

I booked a tiny roadside hiker hut. Outfitted with bedding and a Kleenex box, the bathrooms are near, although one night I faced luminous eyes of a deer.

Margie questioned this hut, asking, “It’s the $95 rate, right Gord?”

In Canada’s rainforest I didn’t expect, um, rain. Not 150 mm in three days. Two slugs somehow graced our doorstep. I expected a salmon to come knocking.

In Canada’s only province emblazoning a brilliant sun across its flag, we asked fisher, Freddie, “Do you ever get sun?” He laughed, “June 15. 3:00 p.m.”

Our pub pal defended, “Nothing’s worse than snow.” But we’d passed road signs saying Tsunami Evacuation Route.

He added, “It rains almost every day – but a warm rain, and Arizona’s wonderful.”

Tobans figure coast-dwellers suffer vitamin D deficiency – hair loss, rickets, dark thoughts, plus soggy feet. We missed Manitoba’s rays, yet never encountered or felt like heavy-hearted, hairless toads. And each day offered indelible moments.

We clumped the kilometer down to Botanical Beach to see its intertidal marine life. On that same trail, it’s five kilometers back up.

The trail’s muck meant hopping and slopping – however this wasn’t Manitoba gumbo robbing folks of their rubbers.

Past a cedar growing in a twisted circle, a tangled, snake-like species occupied the beach: washed-up bullwhip kelp. One jumped up at me.

Wink.

I urged leaping on rocks around a cliff. Margie insisted, “Not going. The tide’s coming. With those runners, you won’t get back.”

I asserted, “Tides don’t come that fast. Jeesh.”

Margie followed.

In five minutes, from somewhere stupid, tidewater submerged the rocks.

I quickly explained, “Once both runners have booters, you’re good! No more worries, or silly-walking.”

Margie said, “You should’ve seen your face.”

Port Renfrew claims “Canada’s Tall Tree Capital.” In a towering old-growth forest named Avatar Grove, they also claim “Canada’s Gnarliest Tree” and roped it off – as if someone would take it. But for gnarliest, relative to size, I still nominate that elm on Inkster at McGregor.

We agreed to visit Big Lonely Doug.

Doug is a 20-story Douglas fir, maybe 1,000 years old, saved from clearcutting by a judicious logger.

The stony, potholed logging road to Doug is one of the craziest in all my years, and I’m from Manitoba. Best commandeer a skidder. But seeing an approaching Mini encouraged us. A truck’s blown-out tire, not so much.

Amazingly, a couple cycled. They’d require replacement teeth fillings and I wondered about the state of genital transplants.

An SUV driver said he gave up looking for Doug. Margie warned me, “Turn around. Trust me. I know these things.”

This time I complied, and good thing because a truck showed. I asked, “Whatcha doin’ out here?” The guy replied, “Just dickin’ around. Huntin’ black-tailed deer.” He had GPS, duh, and announced Doug was minutes away.

Graffiti on a rock – having corrected the spelling of “Lonely” – pointed with an arrow to a turn-off. At the wonderfully-named Gordon River, a skinny bridge crosses a canyon. We screamed all the way. Avoid looking down more than five times. Actually, shut your eyes.

I walked back for a photo. On returning to our vehicle, Margie curtly said, “You brought the car keys! What if you went over? How’d I get anywhere?”

I replied, “That’d make you search for me.”

We trekked the last half-kilometer. Overcoming rocks, ruts, and rain, we discovered Doug isn’t so lonely. Two other giant firs remain within waving distance. Plus, familiar graffiti points to nearby Ugly Sister.

Doug is a shout-out to old-growth forest protection. We visited drenched Fairy Creek protestors and learned of their related, compelling cause. En route, a small bonsai-like fir adorably grows from a log out in Fairy Lake.

The Renfrew Pub offers top-quality dinners. Chicken tenders come with plum sauce. I asked about honey dill, bewildering six staff. That’s how far we were from Winnipeg. Plus – as if I care – they offer perfect Renfrew Red Ale.

A hot breakfast beckons at Tomi’s Home Style Cooking. Leaving, we noticed Tomi’s sign assuring she doesn’t discriminate based on sex, race, age…or whether vaccinated. On an unrelated note, Tomi’s never seemed busy.

Port Renfrew is at a tipping point, from fishing and lumbering outpost to rampant tourism. Conquer Highway 14 soon for this fleeting frontier.

Or, yikes, is that self-fulfilling?