Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)
Posted on September 3, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet
Trails and tales
Watching paint dry. Part 2
After a long day of travel, I arrived in Victoria. Metchosin to be more precise. My son, Peter, lives on a very unique property in the country. The land is very rugged surrounded by old growth forests and only a drive and a 5-iron from the marina at Pedder Bay. It was once a farm owned by a legendary woman who raised animals and had large gardens. She was called “The Cougar Lady”, as she hunted cougars who were killing cattle and other livestock at other farms in the region.
By the time I crawled into bed, I had been on the go for 22 hours. Just before I turned in, Peter asked me if I would like to go salmon fishing very early the following morning as conditions in the Juan de Fuca Strait were supposed to be ideal. To be honest, I wasn’t totally enamored with the thought of an early morning wakeup call.
As promised, it was a spectacular morning. As we pulled out into the strait, the fog was lifting over snowcapped mountains across the water in Washington state. There were dozens of other boats plying the waters, many of them very expensive with the best of modern equipment. Peter’s boat was a modest 18-footer.
We arrived at Beechy Head, one of the most popular spots in this part of the strait. You could tell that there was a lot of action as other boats were landing fish. Suddenly, one of Pete’s rods started to bend precipitously. “Dad. Grab the wheel.” I was now the skipper. After a healthy battle, Pete landed a 12-pound chinook salmon. His wide grin said it all. Not long after, he landed another chinook, this one larger than the first. Sadly, chinook #1, was lying lifeless at the back of the boat and with a one fish limit of this particular species, #2 was returned to the briny ocean tossed.
Five hours later, we returned to port with one chinook and three pink salmon. Pete said it was one of his most successful outings. I think it had something to do with the skipper! Pete prepared a delicious salmon dinner that evening.
I spent the rest of my time on the west coast going for long walks and having my morning coffee at the Pedder Bay marina.
After a week in paradise, I was heading for Northern Alberta. In 1978-79, I was the principal of a small, rural school in Whitelaw. The village was about to celebrate its 100 anniversary of incorporation and some of my former students had reached out to see if I might come up for the festivities. These students were 11- and 12-year-olds back then and many are now grandparents. Tempus fugit.
There was a lot of chatter in the media about a possible work stoppage at Air Canada. I was booked on that airline to go to Calgary and then Grande Prairie where I was to be picked up by a former student. I made it to Calgary and as I was waiting to board, I received a notification from AC that a strike was likely and anyone having flights booked in the next four days would have to decide what they were going to do. My return flight from the north to Halifax was on the 4th day.
If the strike happened and there was a prolonged stoppage, I thought that getting out of the north would be a challenge. Thirty minutes before my flight boarded, I rushed down to Westjet to see what a ticket would cost if the AC strike went ahead. They were asking $1700 for a one-way flight from Grande Prairie and that was if I could get a ticket 4 days hence.
I went up to the Air Canada agent at my gate and asked if there was any way that they could get me home that day. A very pleasant agent was on the phone to a colleague and 15 minutes before getting on my flight to G.P., I pulled the plug when I secured a seat on the red eye that night.
I flew to Toronto overnight and boarded my flight to Halifax the next morning. Several Air Canada flights were already cancelled. A mechanical problem (they had to replace the front tire) had us on the tarmac for 2 hours. I had my fingers crossed that we would get in the air before a strike was called, which it was later that day. During that 2-hour hiatus, the attendants worked very hard trying to keep customers happy. One of them leaned into our aisle and whispered, “This is why we’re going on strike. We don’t get paid for these two hours.”
I was a pretty happy camper to get back home.
However, the story doesn’t end here.
To be continued.
The paint is almost dry!
Have a great weekend.
