As you are aware the recession is over. Myself and most of my friends are unemployed but apparently we are not that necessary to a healthy economy. So the sea. I decided to venture to the Northern Gulf Islands of British Columbia. I loaded my 35 year old sailboat and on a windless morning I motored to my first stop at Lasqueti Island. Lasqueti is unique. The citizens of this special outpost voted against electricity. BC hydro offered to provide power but the curious folks on this pirate island said no thanks. This says a lot about who lives here. On my visits to this area I have heard many stories of rum running, gold hoarding cults and the general rejection of conventional forms of social order that existed on the Gulf Islands of the 30s and 40s. While most of the Gulf Islands have become hobbies for retirees who enjoy a good committee, Lasqueti seems to continue in the spirit of the originals. Original they are. There is no car ferry but there are cars. Most of the cars on the island look like they were imported from a Mexican village that used wood as a main aftermarket component. Wood does make a good fender.
As any sailor knows the best days of sailing are those spent hitch hiking on remote islands in search of the ship boneyard which you hope will have something resembling the part of your boat that just broke. At the boneyard you will meet a man named Jim or Jake. Jim or Jake will climb out of some hulk of a fluid oozing vehichle to greet you. The greeting ritual will consist of ignoring you for as long as possible. Jake or Jim cannot count to ten using his fingers. Eight, nine and a half tops.
So yes I had a major breakdown on my first stop. Being at the mercy of a local and unknown community is a good way to measure a place. You are easy picking, the low fruit dangled in front of the mechanically inclined. I met most of the wrench wielding philosophers on Lasqueti. Never was I asked for a penny. Indeed I was invited to everything and felt like an unexpected guest more than anything else. I saw a woman walking down the road with a wheelbarrow full of hard to identify items and asked if the wheelbarrow was the island equivalent of the the downtown eastside shopping cart. Her wry response "everything I own is in here". No paucity of wit on this island. You will also find a bakery that is a kiosk of cookies with a cash box running on the honour system. Make your choice and deposit your coinage. Several fruit and egg stations work the same way. I was drawn to one vegetable stand by the plaintive wail of old time country music being played on battery powered radio. A note informed me that I must leave the radio on and tuned to this deer repelling station.
I was glad to discover a small rebel island in my midst and I hope to return with a new engine aboard. My mechanical issue insists that I visit a bigger place with a shipyard.
To do that I will have to solve the employment issue.
Next up: A trip to the interior desert to pay for the time at sea.
