Gribbel & Princess Royal Islands
The intensity of the rain varies, as does the intensity with which we watch the shoreline of Gribbel Island. At times it is pouring, at times just a drizzle, as we watch in a relaxed way, gaze intently, search, seek, or simply look. We are circumnavigating the island, paying special attention to likely streams and beaches, looking for wildlife. Perhaps it is a chance to give some effort, karmic payment for those days that were full of sunshine, when the wildlife seemed to come to us. There are ample rewards here too, however. This is the wild Inside Passage of British Columbia, the Great Bear Rainforest, and we are entranced by the waterfalls, the rocky outcroppings, the steep slopes covered with trees.
It’s a place with very few signs of human habitation. We can count the boats we see all day on our two hands, and have a finger or two left over. There are no settlements, until we visit the abandoned cannery at Butedale, an early 20th century operation that once was large – cannery, reduction plant, cold storage, ice manufacture. It has been closed for decades and now is slowly returning to the forest. Interesting how picturesque this process can be: trees growing from now-mossy roofs, weathered signs that say “ice cream” and “rooms.” There is someone still living here, an intact cabin or two, wash hanging on a line, and a big orange cat that strolls nonchalantly, as cats do, down the ramp to sit on the dock and contemplate us, contemplating her.
It is lively on the bow after lunch. We’re cruising the narrow fjord between Princess Royal Island and the mainland, and we’re a little giddy. Maybe because the rain has stopped, and there are breaks of sunshine, spotlights on selected mountaintops and ridges, on the water; even, from time to time, on us. There are even more shades of green on the trees around us, if that is possible. Delicate Bonaparte’s gulls escort us from time to time. And it is one waterfall after another, each different, each beautiful, but in sufficient quantity that one can get a laugh just by calling out, “Waterfall! Port side!”
We ease by Boat Bluff, a small ship-shape Canadian Coast Guard station, snapping pictures of white buildings with red roofs, connected by stairways on a steep point, surrounded by green. Nearby is Klemtu, the first village we have seen all day, and we ease past a new ferry dock, a small harbor, and a First Nations Big House decorated with clan crests. We call them out, showing off knowledge we have gained along the way: Raven, Eagle, Wolf, Killer Whale. It doesn’t take long, even at a slow speed, to pass by; this is a small place. On the outskirts of town, ravens are cavorting, as they do. One flies by with – was that a donut? – in its beak. Four more are foraging in a muskeg, or peat bog, probably on berries. Could these ravens be eating crowberries? And how did we get such an unusual number of witty people on the bow?
There are humpbacks in our day too. We spot two before Klemtu, and another as we are leaving. They are just fine, as humpbacks go. But then two show up who seem to take an interest in us. We are in wider water by now, and the captain has us “clutched out,” at idle. We watch a few breaths and some dives, then these two whales, side by side, come our way. They swim under the bow. They turn around, and come back, and do it again. They swim completely around the ship, starting on one side, rounding the bow, and ending up on the other. One of them spyhops, lifting its eye out of the water to take a look. It almost feels like we have made new friends.
It seems like a fine finale but the day has one more show for us before it’s done. A perfect rainbow. Isn’t that meant to be a promise? I wonder what tomorrow will bring!
