Tofino and the Strange Day–But They're All Strange, Right?

I spent one night in Tofino. I was lucky enough to find a small campsite on the beach, large enough that I could spread my elbows if I wanted to, but just barely. That's what you get working on last-minute decisions. Still, I was excited to wet my boots in the Pacific Ocean; gobsmacked to gaze out at that silvery horizon; the ceiling for so many fish! I was puzzled over how the rest of the campers were not sitting, staring westward, jaws in the sand with awe. 


My neighbours were blasted– quietly so; two couples in trailers who were at that stage where booze might ease the sting of the deeply-rutted routines of cohabitation. In the time before I put my earplugs in (the sea is loud), I overheard playful verbal jousting with that telling layer of truth folded in. I wished them well, and fell asleep in a blink.


 I woke up shortly after five-thirty. I could see water droplets on the outside of my tent and readied myself for a grey morning. All was quiet except for the surf, and the thuggish, West Side Story crows scavenging the campsites. I emerged from my high-tech, bubble of engineered comfort to a breathtaking art project by some kickin', coastal god:  

The sun, reaching over the higher tree line behind me, basted its' light on the forested islands off shore, and nailed the balance of details with a rainbow to stage right. Here. Look.

This is the kind of shot I wouldn’t have been surprised to find on the cover of a self-help book, or perhaps an inspirational office poster with the line:

The true gifts are laid out for you. Just get out of bed, idiot. 


There were only a few of us up at this time; perhaps four people out on the beach, and everyone was marvelling at the show.  I made my coffee and breakfast as quietly as I could, so not to wake the neighbours, then headed out on a walk along the beach. I figured that there was little that could top the morning’s rainbow, until I came across a contingent of sea anemones, exposed along the rocks at low tide. 

I was conflicted by them. 

In one sense, they looked to be something almost proctological, so there was thumb-numbing horror, 

but there was this most amazing colour that, I’m sure, no real asshole could manage, so, yes, there was remarkable beauty too.


The rest of the day was strange. I went in to Tofino, the town, and though it was nice and picturesque, my dream-like, meditative high was shattered, unceremoniously by raves of hipsters. They were crawling out of the sidewalks like carpenter ants. I went into one coffee shop and while I stood waiting for my order, watched the blemish-free,  eye-rollingly healthy and no-doubt plugged-in barrista’s tend to the machines, while in the kitchen, the hungover dude cooking, played the role of, hungover dude. I wondered if my friends and I were that irritating when we were in our twenties (Did I mention the sea anemone?). Of course, I could just be pissed that I'm over fifty. 

Probably. They were quick, and polite. Sigh...


I checked out the surfers in Cox Bay, left for Ucluelet, and kept going.


 I was restless. 


I had heard about Victoria, and found myself in the middle of it at rush hour.Yes, I drove all that way. Three-hundred and sixteen kilometres. 

I know. Mind your own business. 

Victoria was stuffed with construction and traffic to the point where my overloaded senses, pushed to the brink, made me leave. Never shock your system by taking in Tofino and Victoria on the same day, at least, not without booze.

I ended up sleeping in a slightly, Twin-Peaks-ish motel in Nanaimo. That's one-hundred and ten kilometres from Victoria. 

Go ahead and add up the numbers. I know, I know already. Sue me for being impetuous.


I’m writing this post in Cumberland, an old mining village between Qualicum Beach and Campbell River. I still have no solid idea where I’m sleeping tonight, although the amazing lady at the B.C. Tourist info office on the way here, gave me some excellent suggestions. One of them is another beach front camp site. No-brainer, really.