Aug 2 - Aug 9

The Queen Charlotte Islands are an amazing place. They are called the Canadian Gallapagos because parts of them missed the ice age and they have species that supposedly aren't found anywhere else. If you go make sure to bring about $1,000 cash and two weeks free time so you can take a float plane to one of the remote areas--an ancient village covered with old totem poles, for instance-- and kayak around for awhile. Since Eric and I added the QCI to our itinerary as an afterthought, we didn't have two weeks to spend. And we certainly didn't have lots of cash for float planes. But we had a blast anyway.

On the ferry from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert, Eric befriended three bicycle tourists, a taxi driver named Chris from Germany, and a Canadian couple. When we got into Prince Rupert late at night--11 p.m. or so the night of Saturday Aug. 2--those three went out drinking and Eric and I hunkered down in a nearby campground.

The next morning, the same three cyclists showed up on the 6-hour ferry ride to the QCI. By the time we got off, I guess Eric had agreed we would travel around with them. In the ferry terminal, Chris took our picture. He called it the beginning of the journey. The Canadian woman smiled at me nervously. Then, the light turned green and they all got on their bikes and headed up over a small hill. Eric was fiddling with something on his bike and I waited for him. By the time he was done we had missed the light.

I was glad. I hate following people to begin with, especially if I don't know where they're going, and I haven't thought too much about where I'm going. Eric thought it would be fun to get to know them, but I was leery. After all, the Canadian couple had raced up Vancouver Island in three days--wheras it took us two weeks. They sounded like speed demons to me. I didn't want to try to race to keep up with them.

To make a long story short, those guys headed to a campground near Queen Charlotte City, and we decided to go the opposite way, to Skidegate, a native community where our friend Rob the fisherman said we could find his wife's daughter, working at a gift shop. The gift shop was closed, so we ended up camping quite close to our lost trio. We later found out they were at a state park; we ended up at a more remote campsite down a long dirt road.

Kagan Bay is gorgeous. It was totally remote, with a great view of an island separate from us by tidal pools, and an awesome beach loaded with clams and kelp and shells. We ended up staying there two nites, Sunday and Monday (Aug. 3-4). One day I dug up a bunch of clams, anticipating a clam fest like we'd had back on Hornby Island. But we didn't have something we needed to cook them--maybe it was time--so Eric put them back. One day we set out to hike a nearby small mountain called Sleeping Beauty, but we couldn't quite reach the trailhead. We thought we could walk to the trailhead, but after 45 minutes, we turned around to get our bikes. Then we tried riding to the trailhead, but the road was steep and uphill and I was tired of working. I just wanted a break. Eventually we turned back and hung out at Kagan Bay, reading and lazing.

Tuesday we decided to ride towards Massett, about 120k from our campground. We rode slowly, for maybe 5k, stopped and had breakfast in Queen Charlotte City, the island's main town, and then rode another 2k and stopped through Skidegate again. We stopped to develop photos. This time we found Rob's step-daughter. He had said she would treat us "good as gold" if we mentioned him. She didn't treat us badly but she certainly wasn't particularly happy to see us. First she had to ask who "Rob" was. Then she said, "Oh, Rob. My mom's boyfriend." She called him "Old Rob." Eventually she said nice things about him. So much for that lead.

We rode quite slowly up the east coast of the island, and saw more bald eagles, more close-up, than we've ever seen before. These eagles just hung out on the side of the road, unflustered by passing cars. We managed to get a couple close-up photos.

The beach ride was beautiful. We stopped a few times and walked on the beach, and then, about 45k into the ride, I spotted something that gave me great encouragement: another bicyclist, pedaling slowly along. We were going faster, and in a few minutes, we'd actually pass her! Since I've never passed another bicyclist while touring, I was really excited about the prospect of this first pass. In case ya'll don't know, I'm a very slow rider. Once, while Eric and I were riding around Lake Tahoe, my speedometer clocked me at 1 mile per hour. Eric asked if I could go any slower. Of course I was thinking about this as I sighted my prey. But just as we got close, she started zigzagging back and forth across the lane, and suddenly pulled off to the left. A few minutes later we reached the same spot and turned off, too. It turned out to be Dress for Les, a combination clothing and ice cream (more)store.

And so, instead of passing my first bicycle tourist, I got to talk to her, while we both ate Sundaes. (Eric got a float). She was a Canadian park service worker on a three year assignment to QCI. She had ridden from Queen Charlotte City (about 45k), and was going to ride back after her treat. So there would be no chance to pass her. She loved living on QCI.

While we were talking, three more people walked in. Here's where the small-world theme comes in. Two of them were a German couple whom we had sat next to on the 15-hour ferry ride from Port Hardy to Prince Rupert (they were also on the same ferry to the QCI). They were with their host, a woman who it turns out grew up in Golden, British Columbia, apparently a very small town, and knew the family of Russ Franson, our jacuzzi-man, bear-story host from Victoria. This woman didn't know Russ personally, but she had gone to high school with one of his older sisters, Joann. (RUSS: I think her name is Terry Lynn but Eric is sure it's Lynn Taylor).

That night we camped at a nearby campground in Tlell. The next day we set out for a hike to the Persuta, a shipwreck on the beach. We just walked to the beach, turned left, and walked and walked. We had been walking for hours when we saw it, but it was across a narrow but raging river. We didn't see any other way across so we finally forded it. This wasn't easy. We had a daypack, with that damn Newton in it, and our fanny packs, with wallets. It turns out the river was waist high so we had to lift everything up while crossing. Meanwhile the river was raging around us, pushing us. And of course, our Teva straps came loose and threatened to come off. Eric and I held on to each other's hands in the middle of the stream, trying to stay upright. The water was really really red. (from copper? from iron?). There were a few moments there where I thought we would both go under, Newton and all. But we made it.

The next day we headed North, stopping in Port Clements, a tiny little town that is best known for an albino raven that hangs out at the only gas station, waiting for customers to feed it from a bucket of doggie kibble set there for that purpose. The raven wasn't shy at all. Huge trucks pulled into the gas station, and the raven calmly stepped aside.

After that the road turned hilly, and all day, the weather was wet. By the time we rolled into Massett, sometime around 7 p.m., we were total wrecks. At least I was. I was exhausted and tired and I was starting to shiver uncontrollably. It wasn't even that cold but I guess the dampness had finally gotten to me. We rode around a bit and decided to splurge on a cheap b&b called the Harbour View. It had a sauna! We were in heaven. For the next two days, we lazed around the b&b, walked around town, took a few short bike rides, and watched the Family Channel at night. Great Bogey movies. You may ask, why go to the Canadian Gallapagos to watch Bogey movies? But we couldn't help ourselves. We needed a break. We should have ridden out to Rose Spit, a beautiful spot on the tip of the island, but it was a 54k ride, and it was raining and we were enjoying being lazy, culture-less slobs.

However, we did make it to an interesting eatery. It used to be called Sugar Mama's but we can't remember the new name. The inside was all decorated like Haight Street circa 1960s. Lots of beads and tie dyes. The woman who served us was into living on the land, with her kayak-guide boyfriend. Their friends drifted in and out while we were there. One of them said he was going to go to Morocco where he'd have an endless supply of women who would be amazed by his light-colored hair, which apparently wasn't getting him far on the QCI. Another guy insisted that we stay on the island long enough to see an African band that would soon play in Queen Charlotte City. "We'll all be smoking fatties," he promised. It sounded like fun but we wanted to move on to Alaska.

We were hoping to get a float plane from Massett to Ketchikan, since the Alaskan ferries still weren't stopping at Prince Rupert. Turns out this is possible, but it costs: you have to pay the plane to fly from Prince Rupert to Massett, and then from Massett to Ketchikan. Total cost: U.S. $500. What a bummer. We even tried bumming a ride on the docks, since sometimes boats stop by Massett on their way to Ketchikan. No one was going and the Canadians laughed at us. We ended up having to ride the whole way back from Massett to QCI in one day. That was 113k. We boarded the ferry that night, and ran into our lost trio! Turns out we had tracked their path exactly, but one day behind. Chris asked: "What happened to you?"

The ferry left at around 10 p.m. Friday (Aug. 9) and arrived at Prince Rupert 5:30 a.m. the next day.

NEXT: We finally reach Alaska.

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