Island Trek - Part 2

I've just spent the last hour or so going through the many photos I took on my recent trip to Vancouver Island, reliving memories before they fade. I can almost hear the crashing surf, feel the ocean breeze on my face, the sand under my bare feet, and inhale the wonderful smells of the wild west coast.

Crescent moon over Mackenzie Beach.

I visited the Pacific Rim National Park for the first time when I was 16. At the time I was awestruck. It was easily the most beautiful place I'd ever visited despite having grown up in a part of the world where natural beauty abounds. I was hugely impressed by the place itself and also by the wonderful amenities of the park. It was like entering a bubble dedicated to not only preserving a unique and precious ecosystem but also to educating visitors and enhance their appreciation of it.

Some aspects of the park have not changed, namely its timeless beauty, but others, to my sadness, have deteriorated. It's been five years since my last visit, and I was immediately struck by the shabby feel the park now has. Judging by the amount of peeling paint, the signage has not been changed in the 30-odd years since my first visit, and a stop at one of the public washrooms contributes to the overall feeling of neglect. All park users must pay a fee to enjoy the park, whether they're there for an afternoon walk on the beach or a longer stay, and it's well worth it - particularly if those dollars go directly to the park's maintenance budget. However, I'm disturbed by the fact that this wonderful park that draws visitors from all over the globe doesn't appear to be better cared for. I'm certain Federal Government cutbacks to the national park system are the root cause, and I have to question the logic of these cuts when tourism is such an important aspect of our economy. In my mind, tourism is about more than the private businesses it supports - the five-star hotels and eco-tours - it's about showcasing our natural wonders and allowing visitors to experience them in a meaningful, accessible (i.e. inexpensive) way.

I suppose that whether the Pacific Rim Park is well maintained or not, visitors will come, but I personally would like them to leave with a sense of just how much this precious park is valued by our country's citizens and that we demonstrate our pride by properly caring for it. It makes me more than a little ashamed to see it so rough around the edges.

But all that aside, my stay there was everything I had hoped for, even though the shorebirds I had dreamt of seeing were scarce. This little plover was one of the few who put in an appearance.

 

The bird's typical pose is reminiscent of a silk painting of mine of another plover - a killdeer - that was an award winner a couple of years ago.

No trip to the west coast would be complete without a glimpse of the region's iconic bird, the bald eagle. This one posed majestically on a branch of a weather-beaten snag visible from the Wild Pacific Trail near Ucluelet.

My coloured pencil drawing of a bald eagle.

I was also pleased to catch a glimpse of one of my favourite birds - a species at the opposite end of the avian spectrum from the bald eagle - a tiny Winter Wren (aka Pacific Wren) that scooted out from the underbrush just long enough for me to capture a quick photo.

 
 
 

 

My coloured pencil drawings of a
trio of Winter Wrens.

 

Good things must come to an end and all too soon it was time to pack up, leave the cabin and head back to the mainland. Waiting at the Duke Point ferry terminal, I leaned against the railing in the sunshine and gazed across the inlet towards the bluffs of Gabriola Island. Below in the water I spotted the familiar head of a harbour seal. But I could not have dreamt I would witness the following Wild Kingdom drama play out:



A harbour seal - and what's that in its mouth?

It's an OCTOPUS, and a big one at that!



Down the hatch... sort of



Getting there...



Just a couple of inches of tentacle to go.

A seal with a very full belly.

While that particular sequence of photos isn't likely to inspire me to produce any artwork, it was interesting to observe and reminded me that these "cute" seals, with their big, sweet, soulful eyes, are actually fierce predators capable of killing, dismembering and devouring a giant Pacific octopus.

And what better way to end the journey home than with another glimpse of orca whales from the ferry. It was at quite a distance but I was still able to make out the dorsal fin and distinctive markings, and the signature puff of spray from his/her blow-hole.

A fitting conclusion to my Island Trek.

Island Trek - Part 1

For a few days this month I let myself out of the studio for some much needed R&R. It's been a busy year, one way and another, and despite my diligence the list of projects and tasks to be completed doesn't seem to get any shorter. However, sometimes it's necessary to turn off the lights, shut the studio door and walk away.

Artistic inspiration is not something I normally have much trouble finding, but there are certain paces in the world where it is generously abundant. Vancouver Island is one of them and given it's easily accessible from my own part of the world, it's a place I naturally turn to when I need a break. Even the ferry ride from mainland to island can offer excitement, as it did when a pod of orca whales were spotted just half an hour from our destination.

 

Busy feeding on salmon, the orcas put on an impressive show, even if it was at a bit of a distance from my vantage point on the ferry. As I was clicking away, I had my camera pointed at the right place at the right time: the exact moment when one of the orcas leapt from the water in a behaviour known as breaching:

 

In a lifetime of making the crossing between the mainland and Vancouver Island, I have seen orcas only twice before so this was a special way to start a vacation and I took it as a good omen of things to come.

The next day I visited Strathcona Park and undertook one of my favourite hikes. It traverses Paradise Meadows on a lovely 8km route circular that passes through the beautiful alpine meadows and offers stunning views of Lake Helen Mackenzie and Battleship Lake.

One of the cheeky Grey Jays who mooched nuts from me.
They took turns landing on my hand.

A gorgeous view of Battleship Lake.

A silk painting of Lake Helen Mackenzie based on a previous visit.

But one of my absolute favourite parts of Vancouver Island was still a few hours away. A half-day's journey across the island brought me to Pacific Rim National Park located on a peninsula on Canada's extreme western shore and flanked by the sea-faring towns of Ucluelet and Tofino. An ocean-front cabin on Mackenzie Beach, located part-way between Pacific Rim Park and Tofino, was the place I called home for several blissful days.

The weather was, for the most part, spectacular: clear and warm and very unusual for this coastal rainforest region where fog, mist and rain form the normal weather pattern. There have been some gorgeous moments. This was the view from my cabin:

 

I also observed this golden sunset:

 

 

And on nearby Wikaninnish Beach, glorious crashing waves glistened in the sunshine:


 

Shorebirds were scarcer than I expected, apart from plenty of gulls, both juveniles and adults. 

Happily on one early morning trek around Mackenzie Beach I saw my favourites: a family of Pacific Oystercatchers who posed on some rocks.

Oystercatchers are fascinating to me, with their bright red beaks and eyes, and the weird whistling call they make to one another. They often find their way into my art and given this experience I'm certain they will again soon!

An oystercatcher in coloured pencil.

A silk painting of a pair oystercatchers.

There were other beach-goers that I believe had something to do with the lack of shorebirds: the region appears to have gone to the dogs!

Dogs were absolutely everywhere on Mackenzie Beach where several campgrounds, cabins and hotels accommodate canine companions. Since my last visit, it has basically turned what was a quiet stretch of sand into a beach-front dog park. I also observed many dogs in other beach areas inside Pacific Rim Park, very few of them on leashes despite signs warning about the sensitivity of the shorebird population and the fact that dogs have more than once been attacked by the bears, cougars and wolves who populate the region.

Everyone knows I love dogs, but I was disappointed to see such large numbers of them running freely in this pristine place. As is often the case, not all owners were diligent about picking up after their dogs, nor were they sensitive to the fact that other human beach users may not care for dogs, and most were completely oblivious to the fact that what looks to them like harmless fun when their dog chases shorebirds might mean life or death to birds exhausted from long migratory flights or to young birds still gaining strength, not to mention the disturbance dogs cause to ground-nesters like plovers and oystercatchers. I hope that some energy can be put into educating the dog owners and to restricting off leash activities to specific areas. Everyone should be able to enjoy this wonderful place while respecting other users and the region's wild creatures.

I have more photos and thoughts to share from this Island trek, so stay tuned for Island Trek - Part 2 in the days to come. 

Dog days of summer

It's been a long, mostly dry, warmer than usual summer here in southwestern British Columbia. For weeks, long stretches of lovely sunny days have been interspersed with the occasionally cloudy day and brief shower. As August draws to a close and we enter the last dog days of summer, the weather has begin to shift and oh-so subtle hints of fall are now in the air.

My old collie Riley has been enjoying many summer afternoons on the front lawn in the shade of my favourite tree: a honey locust that was planted by my mom nearly 30 years ago. Riley has become such a regular feature in the front yard that I've begun referring to her as my living lawn ornament.

Who are you calling an ornament? That deserves a cookie!

It's the perfect place for an old dog. It's breezy and cool. A great spot for napping...
 

...or for observing the goings on in the neighbourhood...

...or for doing more napping...

Throughout her life, Riley has always enjoyed spending time on her own outdoors most days, weather permitting. Now that she's a very senior dog, I think the front lawn is a better spot than our fenced and secluded back yard where I can't easily keep an eye on her. The locust tree where she likes to hang out is just outside my studio window so I'm able to watch over her, take her frequent snacks, refill her water bowl as needed, and chastise her if she gets too excited when the mail is delivered (for such a mellow dog with failing vision and hearing, there's something about the mail carrier that never fails to get her worked up).

The bird feeders are out there too, so the steady sound of squabbling chickadees and the occasional peeping nuthatch provides background music, interspersed with raucous squawks of visiting Steller's jays demanding peanuts and twittering flocks of tiny bush tits that swoop in for a snack a couple of times a day.

A red-breasted nuthatch at my bird feeder.



A coloured pencil portrait I created of my
neighbour's black lab some years ago.

Another nice thing is that Riley's neighbourhood dog friends sometimes stop to visit when they're out for their walks. There's the old black lab who's Riley's age and just about as lively (not). At one time Riley didn't much care for this dog but as they've both grown older Riley has warmed up to her.

Then there are the two spaniel boys who just moved in next door. They're a much more energetic pair who are adapting well to their new neighbourhood and have completely charmed Riley. No doubt they reminder her of her cocker spaniel friend Roxy.




Occasionally human passers-by stop to sit on the bench to pass the time of day with Riley. Our long-time nonagenarian neighbour (96 years young) often comes to visit. Riley was once good friends with his German shepherd who passed on a few years ago.

All in all, it's a pleasant way to spend summer afternoons if you're an old dog with a thick double-coat more suited to ancestral Scottish Highlands than BC's Lower Mainland. And I love seeing her there outside my window, sometimes observing her feet twitch as she dreams of the squirrels she used to chase with such enthusiasm, or of racing with her kin at a past collie meet-up.



Riley's the tricoloured collie bounding along near the back of the pack.

I introduced Riley to my blog readers just about a year ago in a post entitled The Ageing Princess. At that time I was noticing significant signs of age in my dear old dog. A year later she's still a happy girl but the physical deterioration has been steady. For the past six months I've had to carry her up the flight of stairs to the living area of my two-storey house several times each day (no easy feat, given her 50+ pounds). She can still mange to get down the stairs but only thanks to a harness that allows me to support her weight as I walk beside her. The harness also allows me to help her on other occasions when her old legs just don't work the way they should. We still go on very occasional, very slow strolls in Campbell Valley Park, and every day without fail we take a couple of meandering walks around our neighbourhood together. I know this is likely our last summer together and I'm treasuring every moment.

My coloured pencil portrait of Riley.

But for now, she really does make a lovely lawn ornament, doesn't she?

 

Have art, will travel

A few days ago I arrived home from Vancouver Island where I was presenting my work at the Filberg Festival - an annual outdoor event in scenic Comox, BC. It features a range of high-calibre artists and artisans, lively music, cheerful crowds, and is usually blessed with balmy long-weekend weather. This year was no exception.

Regular readers of my blog may remember my description of the chaos in my studio while preparing for last year's Filberg Festival in "Creativity Equals Chaos" (July 2012). This year I thought I'd change focus and talk about what it takes to physically get from Point A (my studio) to Point B (the festival site).

Packing for an outdoor festival the size of Filberg is always daunting. Not only must I consider the work I'll be presenting - the paintings, drawings, prints, cards, and other items - and ensure I have the right amount of stock on hand, I must also factor in the canopy tent, display panels, lighting, and all the odds and ends that comprise my mobile gallery setup. I have to get it right because a two-hour ferry ride and a couple of hours of driving separate my studio from the festival site, and that means there's no way to nip back home for any forgotten items. Not only that, but I must do this in a state of semi-exhaustion after long days of festival preparation. However, I've become a veteran of this type of work and have systems and checklists in place to help ensure nothing crucial is left behind. 

Before packing the car, the stuff to be transported was collected in various boxes and containers.
  

Calendars and other items packed for transport.

 

Precious paintings shrouded in bubble wrap and
carefully placed into sturdy boxes.

 

Display panels, containers of this-and-that,
and various other crucial items.

Somehow it all gets crammed into my car - an amazing Honda Element which, with the rear seats removed, turns into a spacious transport van. It also has a handy roof-top rack that accommodates the canopy tent, card rack, and other bulky items.

 

Waiting at the ferry terminal

Even so, once everything is packed there isn't an inch to spare.

 

 

The popularity of these versatile cars among the artist/artisan community was obvious when I parked on site at the festival next to not one, but three other Honda Elements.

After being escorted to my assigned spot by one of the army of festival crew members (the majority of which are volunteers) who work tirelessly to ensure the event runs like a well-oiled machine, it wasn't long before the jumble of stuff crammed into my car was magically transformed into an elegant, outdoor mini-gallery. This is thanks in no small part to my "road crew" that consisted of my husband and also my sister and brother-in-law who happen to live not far from the festival site. As the saying goes, "many hands make light work", and when it comes to erecting canopy tents, assembling display panels, setting up tables, etc., this is particularly true and I'm grateful for their assistance and support.

Over the four days of the festival, my art was well received and a number of paintings and drawings found new homes. Among them was my award-winning silk painting "Urban Flock: Mallards":

And this coloured pencil drawing of a nesting barn swallow:

Four glorious summer days later - days packed with conversations about art, and animals, and all kinds of other topics, and enhanced by the live music drifting from the nearby stage - it was all over and it was time to pack again for the return journey home. The festival site, with its temporary community of artist, artisans, organizers and volunteers dissolved in merely a couple of hours. Goodbyes were said, hugs were shared, and pledges to "see you next year" were issued. Various vehicles, from rental vans, to veteran Volkswagen campers, to small hatchbacks and, of course, ever-popular Honda Elements were re-loaded and dispersed - some to locations just down the road while others faced lengthy journeys home to other provinces.

 

Happily my own journey home involved lighter load and more space in the car, not to mention a lovely coastal drive and a scenic ferry ride. However back at the studio the unpacking process has evolved slowly and I find, days later, I still have boxes to sort. The busy weeks of preparation, the packing and travel, the long days at the festival, and then the re-packing and return trip have taken their toll and I'm tired! I've been taking a bit of time to rest and recuperate, and then I'll regroup for the next summer festival: Arts Alive - a lively one-day street festival that takes place a few days from now, just down the road in my home community.

 

Every festival, large or small, near or far, involves sorting, packing, transporting, set-up and, at the end of a hopefully sunny (and profitable) day or weekend, the same process in reverse. It's tiring work but it's gratifying. It offers opportunities to share my art and the stories behind it, and to personally connect one-on-one with those who appreciate it. It forms an important part of my life as an artist - a life I wouldn't trade for any other.

 

My newest neighbours

For a few days I've been hearing a lot of unusual bird sounds in my back yard. The cats have been hearing them too, and even though they're confined to second floor, cat-proofed sundeck, they have been particularly interested in observing what's going on down below in the garden.

My shady, secluded back garden has a number of big, old rhododendrons and other shrubs of similar size, and at this time of year lots of foliage has grown up from below in the form of ferns, hostas and the like. It's a perfect habitat for birds who prefer the lower levels of the forest rather than being high in the canopy. This year, to my delight, I have discovered that a family of spotted towhees has taken up residence!

The first hint was the regular sound of this beautiful adult bird calling out to announce his presence every morning and evening.

I also observed him raiding my lone blueberry bush. It's a prolific one and most years it provides me with several pints of berries to enjoy with my breakfasts. This year, however, it seems I'm sharing them with my new back-yard "tenant", not that I mind.
 

Selecting just the right berry.

Looking at me as if to say, "You didn't want this one, did you?"

 

Then I began to hear steady peeping. At first I couldn't identify the source, despite lots of peering into the greenery. However, I could hear fluttering in the undergrowth and the adult birds were being very attentive so I suspected there was a family being looked after. Over the past couple of days I kept my eyes open and my camera handy, and I finally I manage to catch a few fleeting glimpses. Some not-very-good photos were the outcome:

 

In the cherry tree.



Under the shrubs perhaps wondering "Dare I venture out?"

Among the leaf litter below an old rhododendron.

And then this morning, as I was watering the garden with my camera in hand (trying not to water my camera in the process) I got this wonderful shot:

 

Baby towhee, full view!

Perhaps not the most beautiful bird in the world, but in my eyes, he or she is gorgeous!

 

I also captured this lovely interaction between parent and fledgling:

 

Watching and learning.

 

Rewarded!



A trio of tiny towhee drawings.

Towhees are common birds here in southwestern British Columbia, but not everyone's familiar with them. Despite the fact that they're a good-sized bird, just a little smaller than a robin, and that they have striking markings with their black, white and rust coloured feathers and bright red eyes, their reclusive habits make them less likely for the casual observer to notice.  However, I often see them when I'm roaming in Campbell Valley Park so they have found their way into my artwork more than once:
 


A small drawing of a spotted towhee.

 
And I even use an image of a towhee for one of the coloured pencil workshops I teach. It's a perfect subject on which to learn about birds and their textures.
 

 
With this delightful little family living right on my doorstep, I'm sure there will be more towhee inspired artwork to come. In the meantime, the cats and I will look forward to being serenaded by the towhee's evening song tonight.