Hilary and Theresa's Road to Nowhere: Bonnie and Clyde hit British Columbia

We love the Canadians. We have had nothing but wonderful experiences with every single Canadian we have met so far. They are charming, engaging, and really, really funny. However, the Canadian customs agents who met us at the border were none of those things when we disembarked the ferry that had taken us from Port Angeles to Victoria. Looking back, we are quite sure that we were met with suspicion and hostility before we ever opened our mouths. What? After all these years, did we still fit the "smugglers profile?" What? It spiralled downward quickly when the first customs agent we encountered (hereinafter "Canadian Bitch #1") took issue with our rather vague travel plans. When Hilary's response to "Where are you going while in Canada?" and "How long will you be in Canada?" was "We're not really sure," we were pretty much screwed. It turns out that "not really sure" was not really the best response. I seemed to make matters worse when I tried to clear things up by telling her we were thinking in terms of "week-ish" (you know, close to a week) as opposed to "month-ish." But when I blurted out that we were pretty sure we would be going to San Juan Island at some point during our stay (San Juan Island is in the USA not in Canada,) that was it. You'd think I'd just told her that I was there to shoot eagles. While all of the other cars from the ferry were waived through the various stations, we were directed to an ominous stall in the far corner of the parking lot and turned over to a second customs agent (hereinafter "Canadian bitch #2".) Hilary, still unaware that we were being sent to the gulags, asked Canadian Bitch #1 if she could recommend a place for lunch. Suspicion and hostility turned to incredulity. No, she had no lunch recommendations. Just move along to the the public enemy #1 stall please.

Not that appearances matter, but both of the Canadian Bitches looked like major league umpires. I'm not sure if it was unfortunate breeding or just large bullet-proof vests. While CB#1 had made us feel really stupid, CB #2 scared us. Sarcasm oozed when she asked where we would be spending "this, uh, week-ish of yours?" Geez, Lake Louise. They were not going to let my "week-ish" blunder go. CB#2 proceeded to interrogate us about our backgrounds, what we did now, what we used to do, who we used to work for, how it was that we were no longer working, whether we had criminal records, whether we had ever been turned away at a border before, etc., etc., etc. Our passports were taken and the umpires conferred amongst themselves for what seemed like a really long time while we sat in the "suspects" stall , sadly waving goodbye to the friends we had made on the ferry. CB#2 finally returned, handed us the passports and without saying a word she gestured toward the exit gate. We left without a recommendation for lunch.

The upside of our chilly reception of course was that things could only get better for the "Ugly Americans." We found lunch on our own, thank-you very much, and took in Victoria's picturesque and fairy-tale like sights. But we didn't stay long. The next day we set off for Tofino, a small town on the western coast of Vancouver Island in the Pacific Rim National Reserve. We were ready for some serious wildlife action. So far, our most exciting wildlife sighting was the cow vs. elk match in the Lake Quinault region of the Olympic Peninsula (we were surprised that it was the cow that prevailed; after a mock charge, the herd of elk beat a hasty retreat while the cow gave a couple of victory donkey-kicks and swaggered back to his pack.) Anyway, our mission on Vancouver Island was clear. We were going to find the bears that the Australians told us were eating salmon along the banks of the rivers on the wild western side of the island. The drive from Victoria to Tofino took us north along the infamous Malacot Highway, much like our Highway 1, and then west through rain forests and First Nation reservations. The water here is spectacular. There are lakes of every shape and size. There are rivers and there are creeks. And there are hundreds of waterfalls that trickled down the cliffs on our way to Tofino, and that gushed down the cliffs on our way back after three continuous days of rain.

We had planned on camping at one of the four star campgrounds - "Provincial Parks" as they are called here in Canada. But the rain put a serious damper (pun intended) on our plans and we were forced to upgrade to a small cabin on the ocean (alas, no Motel 6s in Tofino.) And given the weather, it was really nice to have a little "home" to return to after our increasingly wet and wild adventures.

We began to see eagles almost immediately - soaring in the sky and perching on snags - sometimes in pairs and sometimes alone. But the bears were the main attraction. And after our initial attempts at tracking were met with frustration, (as it turns out, they were not just sitting on the side of the road waiting to entertain us) we hit the bear lottery. Some of the locals directed us to the Thorton Hill Hatchery where we were told that bears were often sighted fishing for salmon in the streams. And that's where we found them. Looking just like a National Geographic special. On our first day we saw five of them. They waited patiently and then pounced on the fish that were desperately struggling to make it upstream. Apparently the salmon only "run" like this for three or four weeks out of the year as they return to their own breeding grounds to spawn. This alone would have been worth the price of admission. These salmon were actually launching themselves out of the river and up the waterfalls before our very eyes. We were very lucky to be in the right place at just the right time to witness this spectacle. We watched the bears for over an hour that first day and only left when my fingers went numb and I was afraid they would fall off. We went back the next day and there they were again. This time, three of them. Catching fish that were three feet long. Sitting on rocks to rest. Watching us from the forest above before they moved into the river. Moving in and out of the forest. And my favorite, standing with all four paws on one rock and peering into the water. I took hundreds of pictures, but none of them really captured what I saw.

You need to know that our adventure was not without a measure of danger. We were warned to move slowly when approaching the bears and to give them space if they started moving toward us. But there were times when I couldn't see them all at once, and all of a sudden one would be climbing out of the water 20 ft away. Yikes! Hilary was definitely braver than I was. At one point, he just sort of stood his ground as one of the bigger bears climbed out of the water with a huge salmon in its mouth and walked right in front of him. All I could do was hold my breath and hope that the bear was more interested in the fish than in Hilary. I did have the presence of mind, however, to ask the guy standing next to me to snap a photo if anything horrible happened. "That would work well in the blog" I thought to myself . I'd call that one "husband getting eaten by bear." Luckily, the bear was more interested in eating his salmon than eating Hilary and he took off into the woods without a sideways look. But man, is that an adventure or what?

On that second day, it was really hard to get back in our car and leave those bears behind. We knew we might never see anything like that again. Then I realized that what had made this whole experience so exquisite was that we knew that as we were experiencing it. We were fully present, watching those bears, in that river, at that moment. It was "zen and the art of bear watching," courtesy of the bears of Vancouver Island. And all we could say was "thank-you."