Coastal Adventure Day 2: Klein Lake/Earl’s Cove to Lund

Sunday, September 10th, 2023

I awaken to the sound of thousands of wasps buzzing overhead. A ginger look out my tent reveals that I’m hearing a forest full of wasp activity but none are close by. I am told that the extended drought has affected the wasps’ normal life cycle and now they are plentiful and aggressive and the forest offers a haunting echo chamber of their presence. In spite of this my morning proceeds pleasantly as I mill about preparing coffee and breakfast. I eat, wash, pack up and then head out to meet with and pay the camp host.

The previous evening I had been told that a night’s stay is $18 cash. A hole in my plan has revealed itself; it never occurred to me that we don’t now all exist with apple pay. The quandary which I had left that evening to be dealt with in the morning is now pressing and with few options I ask some campers a few doors down if they would give me some cash in exchange for an etransfer. Once again I am met with the faith and generosity of strangers. My phone decides in that instant not to connect and the gentleman offers to let me transfer him later in the day once I have cell reception again. I thank him for his trust and return to the camp host whereupon I am pulled into an engrossing conversation about the state of the lake, campgrounds and larger ecosystem. Only two days in to this trip and again, I am amazed at the abundance of beautiful people I have come across. In the case of this camp host, she shows me a growing collection of glass shards she has collected from camper’s trash that will one day be an art installation. We chat for a long time and then I take my leave.

Another beautiful discussion has apparently altered the course of my day. I realize upon arriving at the ferry terminal that the next sailing will be in two hours and this leaves me with little time to make the 60 kilometres to Lund to catch the last water taxi to Savary Island (my intended destination for the day). This source of irritation is parked temporarily by a stranger who comes over to look at my bike and we strike up an amicable conversation about travelling and staying off the beaten path. I don’t think too much of the exchange until after I have boarded the ferry and sit to lunch when the same gentleman asks to join me. Now I am offered a real opportunity to engage and again marvel at the stories and teachings that come my way. This man is an environmentalist, advocate of First Nations rights (and heritage) and has spent the better part of this life working as a filmmaker and documentarian to help spread stories and knowledge of Canada’s original inhabitants. We discuss ecology, politics, ethics and avenues for the rest of us to start building bridges with the land’s first people. It is a wonderful and eye-opening conversation that lasts as long as the boat ride and then I am off again on the road.

The weather is decidedly more moody and as I ride along the highway a front is rolling in to the west. The glower of storm clouds reflects my inner state as fatigue and the irritability of grand plans scuppered begin to weigh on me. I am now crawling towards Lund and the day is drawing to and end. After roughly 40 kilometres of indulgent self-pity I remind myself that time-tables and adventures are not good bed-fellows and decide to embrace the unknown. I’m sleeping in Lund tonight.

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed this, but ferry terminals always seem to be at sea-level and everything on the west coast either arises from one of these terminals or plummets down to one. So after more then 60 kilometres of nothing but up and down I am grateful to be hurtling down to the ocean again. Lund has charm in every corner and there aren’t many corners. The Boardwalk restaurant is nestled in the cove at the end of the harbour and once again I overestimate how much food I can take in, working down the last my meal and a disagreeable second beer. Between half-committed bites I ask the server if she knows of any spots I can pitch my tent this evening. She offers several options and I now find myself in one of these: a gazebo at the end of a small park off the road which looks like it has served both artistic gatherings and late-night coming-go-age moments (at least that’s what the sofa cushions suggest) over the years.

I’m hoping for more sleep tonight. Sleeping alone like this, always in a new environment is not settling and I have yet to get used to the rhythm of the adventure I so sought.

Until tomorrow.