I. Heading West

I didn't expect to be on a boat today. Yet here we are, adrift on one of BC Ferries' steel hulls at 8:15 PM on a Thursday, two hours from our destination of Nanaimo. Soba whines in the background, a familiar sound in this context. This is his second time on a boat and he hasn’t fully grasped the point of sitting on a deck and waiting for time to pass while surrounded by a bunch of others and their dogs.

Yes, you expected to be in Nanaimo on Saturday. You said that just a few hours ago. But something has shifted in how I measure the world. My perception of distance has been fundamentally altered by several cross-country trips. Everything now seems like it takes one to two weeks to reach. Not this. Calgary to Nanaimo unfolded over four days, broken into manageable chunks: work during daylight hours, driving only two to three hours each evening. We learned to move slowly when we can. We don't know how long we'll stay here. The island itself holds no firm timeline. My brother (who lives on the island) warned us about the heavy diesel prices, but we found cheaper spots tucked into small towns. The cost slowly grew the further and further we drove away from the oil-rich province of Alberta.

II. Delayed Arrivals

Sitting in the van at one of Port Alberni's many harbours, I count: we've been on Vancouver Island for five days now. We arrived late Thursday night, after a labour weekend spent with my parents (already here for a week) and my brother and my sister-in-law (freshly settled in their new Nanaimo apartment). The original plan had been different. We were supposed to drive down alongside my parents to help with the move. But Soba needed a check-up at the vet and I’m not about to neglect my dog’s health to get on the road. So we stayed in Alberta over the weekend. Once the appointment was done and Soba was all checked-up, we headed west toward Ghost Lake.

Four days to the ferry at Tsawwassen. Four days of rising, working, then driving. We were told it took us long enough. They were waiting for us to eat fish and chips, visit certain outdoor destinations. They didn't end up waiting (obviously). They had their fish and chips without us. Which is fine by me. I'll have mine some other time (in Ucluelet). There's a grace in letting others live their timelines while you hold to yours.

III. You Should Go Now

My sister-in-law recommended that if we want to visit Tofino (on the island's wild western side) we should go now. Before the weather shifts too cold. She explained that the ocean influence creates a different climate there: colder, even snow. Not so much in Nanaimo, which is why this island draws van lifers like us when Canada turns its face away from warmth. We'd like to stay as long as possible with no plan in mind. We're aiming for the whole fall season, for now.

So Tofino it is, for the next days. I haven't been since childhood, so everything feels new. Trent has never been on the island at all. Everything is new to him. We’re going to be experiencing it through fresh eyes.

IV. Hey, do you want a beer?

Goal: make van life friends along the way. Buy a six-pack of beer as a meeting tool. When my photojournalism improves, I'd love to approach van-lifers and ask them about their rigs. Walking down the parking lot in Long Beach, everyone has a van-esque vehicle backed in toward the water, doors open to the breeze. You can peek into all the vans, see what happens inside those small spaces. These rolling homes are intimate, a confession of priorities laid bare in the way things fit.

V. Cool Name

Pacific Rim is a cool name. So cool they made a movie. Pacific Rim sounds like the edge of something vast, like standing on the continental shelf watching the deep begin.

VI. The Surfing Ritual

We observed a couple parked next to us get out to surf. But first they hung out for two hours before hitting the waves. They came back, smoked weed for a few hours, and left. Their pacing was ritualistic. The waiting, the afterward, the communal pause between salt and shore. The surfing is only part of it.

VII. Lushness Beyond Measure

The vegetation is incredibly lush. So green and mossy that it feels prehistoric. Ferns cover creek-lined mountainous valleys. Berry bushes invade everywhere. Little slugs, and bigger ones, roam the trails at every step. My brother and sister-in-law are especially helpful with this kind of stuff. I can describe the intricacies of design, its philosophies and ethics. But my brother can point out any plant, bird, fish, or insect and tell you its name and some fun facts about it. I'll find a mystery bush and point. "What is that?"—"Oh, it's this and this and this." Very cool. I’ve been taking a lot of pictures of mushrooms because of it.

VIII. Sea Wolves Small and Large

We call Soba a little sea wolf. He looks like one but without the size. At Long Beach, they had closed off some areas to dogs for the sea wolf habitats. But we were good north of Long Beach. Unfortunately, we didn't see any actual wolves. Trent's dream of seeing one will have to wait for another opportunity. Maybe we'll become wildlife photographers and camp out for days with the hope of seeing one.

IX. Ten Minutes to Everything

There's something really nice about being able to drive ten minutes to get to a hike. Hike all morning. Drive ten minutes into town for matcha. Finish it off with another ten-minute drive to the beach. It's a blessed lifestyle.

Technically we could do the same thing in Montreal (we didn't have a car then, so we walked). Both are on islands (one 66 times the size of the other). We lived a ten-minute walk from the fleuve, then ten minutes to any café, then a bit longer all the way up Mont Royal. The fleuve Saint-Laurent and the Salish Sea are very different, but both nice in their own ways. The matcha is hands-down better in Montreal. We have yet to find a competitor outside of our beautiful city. And the hike by the Salish Sea is much longer, but not considerably more elevation than in Montreal (depending on the peak). I can’t help but compare, sometimes there’s no point.

X. Nicknames Are Affection

Ucluelet's nickname for the town is Ukee. That's the cutest name. Everywhere we go, we try to say things the way the locals do, so it's Ukee now. Language folds into place.

XI. One of the Many

I asked Trent what he had to say about the waterfall in Englishman River Park. It took him a good minute to remember which one this was. We've seen quite a few since arriving on the island, and his memory wasn't cooperating. The consensus for this one came down to: "It's a waterfall." What a beautiful caption that would make. Simple and elegant.

XII. The Taste of Trees

'Cedar is a very different flavour of tree,' the distillery worker said when I asked if cedar tastes anything like pine. He didn't look impressed by my question. But I kept talking. I'm not going to have a nonchalant man stop me from asking. We made common ground when we bought a bottle of rose hibiscus gin. He warned us that it's bitter, that most people expect it to be sweet and fruity. But I said, it is two flowers after all. He said that's what he says too.

XIII. The Space Between

We always talk about, Trent and I, what city or town we like best in an area. But when it comes to the west coast of the island, we found ourselves loving not a town but a beach between Ukee and Tofino, Long Beach. This spot led us to become part of surfing culture without ever surfing. To talk to locals who come every weekend in their vans to enjoy the waves. You find that you have nothing in common but your passion for your van. You fall in love with the people, their inherent charm. The community of movement that gathers at the water's edge.