July – August, 1985. I left Paul Song’s OrcaLab on Hanson Island to try my hand at hiking the West Coast trail. Paul gave me a ride across Johnstone Strait in his trusty outboard motor, and I alighted in Alert Bay. These were the days before GPS and cell phones, and I had no idea how far the northern terminus of the trail was from here. I stuck out my thumb, and to my chagrin found out that Bamfield in Pachina Bay, was a 6 1/2 hour drive away. And these were rather remote places, so trying to catch a ride could be an all day affair. I had to string together several auto stops to make it to my destination. And I was beat. I had the two skills necessary to a successful hitchhiker: the ability to listen and the gift of gab. And I don’t mean vapid commentary. As a curious human, I’d acquired a fair bit of knowledge in my 23 years, and could speak on many subjects. It didn’t hurt that I’d been an expert debater and extemporaneous and improvisational speaker in high school. My own version of Toastmasters.

These were the early days of the trail. In 1985, reservations, fees, and mandatory orientation did not exist. I assumed there would at least be a ranger station. Nothing, not even a sign saying trail this way. I spied an indigenous man and asked about getting a ride across the bay. He generously complied, and dropped me off on the other side near a sign. Wow. This must have been how so many white settlers had survived in places like this. By the kindness of strangers. Specifically, indigenous ones. I reflected on how central that was to the story of the bumbling blue bloods who knew nothing and wouldn’t have survived.

It was cold and had just rained. I started walking, knowing I needed to find a spot to sleep for the night. I didn’t even know how long the trail was, or that I would have to climb over 100 ladders and traverse rainforests, deep mud, and tidal beaches. I have memories of walking along sandy beaches edged by tall cedar forests, not knowing when the tides would turn (I was ill prepared to say the least); scrambling up and down some very rickety ladders; sinking up to my knees in mud; and being thoroughly soaked from the nonstop rain. I hadn’t even prepared food for the hike, and ended up subsisting on dried cereal most of the way. Good thing I was 23 and athletic. I guess I wouldn’t have undertaken it otherwise.

I didn’t meet a soul until the last few miles, when I met a man and his son hiking north. The man exclaimed that I was an Amazon, perhaps because I had hiked the 47 mile trail in 4 days, while most people take 6 to 8. I had grown accustomed to rugged trail, rain, and the thick tangle of devil’s club and salal in the rain. Unbeknownst to me, 10 years later I would end up hiking 1200 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail. Another unplanned outing.

But there were also spiritual moments on the trail. I find that whenever I am exploring relatively wild places on the earth, my spirit starts talking to me. Perhaps it’s the lack of outside stimuli, other than the living beings around me. They are quiet enough to allow me to hear myself. It can be quite existentially lonely too. I told a friend that I went on these trips to whittle away my loneliness. It’s something I’ve struggled with since I was young. Perhaps immersion could bring me some peace.

When I reached the southern end of the trail at Port Renfrew, I took a break, then stuck my thumb out again. Asking some locals, I discovered I had to head south to Victoria, as there were no roads across the island to Nanaimo. I’d met a guy on the Green Tortoise, which I’d taken from San Francisco to Seattle, who’d just come back from 4 months in Thailand. He lived in Nanaimo and invited me to visit. So I headed south, and somehow ended up on Salt Spring Island. Forty years later, I can’t remember how or why I ended there. Just that I did. There I made friends with a wonderful woman, Elly Litvak, a wild woman and artist who loved to laugh and had a wry sense of humor. How we met I can’t remember. But somehow we did, and our lives interwove inexorably for a time.

Part of my reality as a college student was that I had little money, even for food. My memories of Elly cement around an incident at the health food store in her neighborhood on Salt Spring Island. I wanted some cheese, but couldn’t afford it. We were in the store together, but I was ashamed to ask Elly for a loan. So I took the cheese. And was caught as I walked out of the store. Luckily Elly was just outside the door, and saw what happened. She advocated on my behalf, and I was allowed to do community service. For a week or two, I worked in an old Victorian house sorting clothes. I loved it, as I’ve always had a penchant for wardrobe creativity, and felt like I’d been given my dream job. I felt gratitude for the way I’d been treated with such kindness and dignity. I had already been considering Canadian citizenship. This gave me one more reason to apply.

Elly introduced me to some of her friends. In this way I met Harry Harold, a wonderful indigenous man who was guided by great spirit to carve, even though it had been over 100 years since a carver originated in his family. At the time I was working at an organic farm and being paid by the crate to pick potatoes and carrots. It made me appreciate how hard it is to work in the fields. I stayed with him for several weeks, and would home vegetable rejects from the farm. He would bring home salmon and together we would prepare a feast. Each day he would continue his work on the totem pole, which was lying on its side in the yard. After dinner he would hand me a flashlight and tell me to walk the pole. I was horrified that I would desecrate it with my feet. That cracked him up more than you can know. He made me feel like family.

By way of Elly I also met Pat, a very quiet and gentle man who lived in Comox. He was visiting Elly and gave me a ride back home, no mean feat as it was 5 hours north and included a ferry ride. He had always wanted to hike the Comox Glacier in the mountains west of town. When he heard I’d done the West Coast Trail, he asked if I’d be interested. I was enthusiastic. We prepared our gear and took off the next day past the large Comox Lake and valley, and up the steep canyon to Century Sam/Comox Glacier Trailhead. It was a steep slog, and I was wiped when we arrived at a spot for the night. Only a quarter mile away, a pack of wolves was chasing an elk, who jumped in the lake and started swimming to evade them. One of the wolves sat 50 yards away from our tents, and watched as we set up camp. I wondered what it was thinking. I was intrigued yet alert. Being so close was awe-inspiring. The wolves calls enveloped me as I slept. I felt humble and small, yet graced to be amongst such majestic creatures.