In Praise of a Gentle Adventure

Sitting on a sun-warmed rock on St. John Point, Mayne Island and gazing meaningfully out to sea, it strikes me I might be a travel drama queen. I mean, who else would think I’m “gazing meaningfully out to sea”?

Since moving from Toronto to Victoria five years ago, I’ve been on a mission to get to know this beautiful part of the world better. I’ve backpacked through Strathcona Provincial Park’s dramatic alpine terrain, along Nootka Island’s dramatic shores and up the Sunshine Coast’s dramatic Tin Hat Mountain. I even spent a month learning to sail in BC’s (wait for it) dramatic Desolation Sound.

I’ve loved every minute of those adventures – even as I contemplated collapsing on the way up Tin Hat and letting ravenous ravens peck out my eyes. But it dawns on me as I sit on this Mayne Island rock that I’ve been missing out on something essential: a gentler but no less satisfying experience.

As I watch the sun cast sparkling diamonds across the water and wonder idly what that noisy bird is, two fit-looking women in their 60s hike towards me. They’re happy to fill me in. It’s kingfishers and they’re probably hunting. Mystery solved, the women give me a cheery wave, set off again and I’m once more alone with what I’m starting to think is one of my favourite BC landscapes – rugged coastline where mature forest suddenly gives way to rocky bluffs, little beaches and big views.

Hold my beer

This summer, I came to the island for the first time with my partner JD. He’s a West Coast guy and predicted I would like the place. Mayne has a soft, rolling topography and a small village feel, he said. When we discovered it also has a brewery in the forest, we made that our first stop.

Mayne Island Brewing Company is one of those small Gulf Island businesses that feel more like a bygone hippy experience than a conventional brewery. Michael Garratt and Annette Witteman established the place in 2016 in a wooded area roughly in the island’s centre. Michael worked in the BC wine industry for two decades, but has a passion for home brewing and claims the brewery was the result of a mid-life crisis.

Well, his crisis is our gain. We enjoy a flight of ales and lagers in a lush forest of Douglas firs, cedars and ferns, buying two of our favourites to take home.

A childhood playground revisited

Later that afternoon, we drive to Campbell Bay on the east side of the island where JD visited as a child. He wants to see how it has changed. Captain George Richards named the bay for the surgeon aboard the HMS Plumper around the time of the crew’s 1860 survey of the Gulf Islands, although I suspect Mayne’s earlier W̱SÁNEĆ Nation inhabitants have an older name for it (with apologies, one that I’ve been unable to find).

Facing toward the Strait of Georgia, it’s a narrow, sheltered bay of sand, pebbles and exposed rock known to locals as one of the island’s better swimming spots. But the ocean here ranges from cold to downright hypothermic so its ranking as a good place to swim is relative.

We find that some of the modest cabins are still dotted around the shore but there are also more substantial new houses. Still, the bay manages to retain the quiet, wooded character JD remembers and I enjoy wandering around the beach as he points out the remarkable honeycomb-like sandstone formations he once played in.

“I wish I could have lived here,” he says. “It was magical in those days. It still is.”

Lighthouse sunset and an elusive orca

Another bit of magic awaits at Active Pass Lighthouse on the island’s northwestern tip. The 13.7-metre (45-foot) tall structure was built in the “apple core” design, popular on the West Coast when it was completed in 1969. It’s the third lighthouse built here to mark the eastern entrance to Active Pass and helps guide marine traffic – including BC ferries – safely through its strong currents and tide rips.

Also known as SḴŦAḴ, Active Pass separates Mayne and Galiano islands and parts of it are so close to shore it feels like a river. (Note: SḴŦAḴ is now most often used to refer to the whole island. More details here.)

Sitting at a picnic table at sunset while eating yummy takeout from the Montrose Local restaurant, I’m reminded that it’s definitely not a river as a young couple jog up to ask for an orca report.

They spotted one heading this way a few minutes ago and raced over in hopes of a second sighting. We look out across the water for about 10 minutes, but the orca doesn’t appear and that’s ok by me. I’m beginning to think this will be one of many trips to Mayne Island and perhaps more opportunities to gaze meaningfully out to sea.

About the Author

Sharon is an award-winning journalist whose work has appeared in The Globe and Mail, Maclean's, Canadian Geographic, New Scientist, CBC, and other publications. She has more than 25 years of experience and is a recipient of the prestigious AAAS Kavli Science Journalism Award. Visit her website for more information.