Arriving on Salt Spring Island

Just getting here was an experience.  I utilized nearly every form of motorized transportation to get to Salt Spring Island.  I took a bus out of Springfield to Logan Airport.  I could feel my body quivering in anticipation, a combination of nervousness and excitement.  Yet, I felt confident, even moreso than during my travels to Sherkin Island last year.  I may not know where I’m going or what to expect, but I’m fairly certain that I can handle it.  Though, I did get a bit nervous at the transfer point when the bus didn’t show for ten minutes.  I couldn’t have missed it and I wasn’t sure if there were other terminals for pick-up.  I asked around, but I wasn’t about to start feeling okay with this until the bus showed.  There was plenty of time before I needed to be at the airport, but I don’t seem to do well when there are glitches in my plans, especially when there’s something significant depending on it, like the non-refundable plane ticket.  I don’t recall what time the bus finally arrived but apparently its route begins in Providence and there was lots of traffic on the way to the airport, causing delays.

At the airport, I made it to my gate in plenty of time to sit and wait for a couple of hours, after which I flew to Chicago to wait some more.  I made the mistake of getting a hamburger and fries from McDonald’s, which I later regretted with a queasy stomach, as I can only recall three times that I’ve had chain fast food stuff in the past year, and it's been years since I consumed McDonald's food.  My body was definitely protesting that decision.  It got a bit better once I got to Seattle, but I was also incredibly jet lagged.  I seem to do well enough when I lose time transferring between time zones, but not so much going forward in time, which is quite strange.  I also started to realize exactly how heavy my pack was, while trekking to the Link Light Rail, wondering when I would ever get there, as one sign after another passed by overhead.  By the time I got to the train, I could have fallen asleep propped up against my pack, but I refrained from this, as I didn’t fancy missing my stop and riding around on the train for the remainder of the evening. 

I hefted up my pack once again to walk the few blocks to the Green Tortoise Hostel, which I found to be quite busy.  Everyone was friendly and welcoming, and I was fortunate enough to show up on free dinner night.  I was certainly thankful for some real food after the fast food episode.  The hostel is going for a hip, new age kind of look, really geared towards the 20-somethings, though everyone is welcome.  After dinner I set out to map my route to the Clipper ferry the next morning, deliberating with myself if I could manage the distance carrying my pack.  Being cheap and not trusting public transportation, I decided to just get up extra early, so that I’d have plenty of time for breaks on my walk over. 

Sleep seemed to elude me that night, as I woke up at least once every hour, even after my roommates stopped coming in from their night out on the town.  So I just got up even earlier, helped myself to free breakfast and headed out, but not before checking where my ferry would land in respect to the ferry to the island.  I had foolishly thought that the ferries would make berth in the same harbor.  Of course, they were an hour bus ride away from each other.  I figured I’d deal with that when I came to it. 

It took me about double the time to walk to the ferry with my pack, but I still had time to check-in, which I completely neglected to factor into the equation.  It was a full house and as I was scoping out the available seats, I started to remember that I haven’t always done well on boats, as I usually get nauseous.  But then I recalled the successful experiences with ferries and RIBs on Sherkin and the dizziness/nausea tolerance that I built up over the past six months of contra dancing and figured that I’d be fine.  I tried to get into the motion of the boat as it bobbed in the calm water.  As we got going, I just focused on my music and tried as best I could to watch the passing scenery from an aisle seat.  It was breathtaking to see snow-capped mountains again.  Since winter wasn’t very long before, the snow extended much further down the mountain slopes than when I visited two Septembers ago.  It was invigorating to stand on the deck outside with the wind whipping past and the sea spraying up behind the boat, leaving a white, foamy trail and a ripple of waves that gradually died away with the increasing distance. 

After three hours on the ferry, we arrived in Victoria and everyone rushed out to wait in line to claim luggage and go through customs.  I had no problems, as there were no computer system failures to deal with this time.  The next bus to Schwartz Bay was forty-five minutes from the ferry’s arrival time, so I was cutting it close after the time spent waiting in line.  I had studied the map on the ferry and the bus depot seemed to be in an easy to find location, so I hustled over there to inquire about the bus, and then, hiked further up the street until I found a bus stop with signs indicating that the correct bus stopped there with only minutes to spare.  The bus arrived on time and I enjoyed my quick, yet amazing tour of Victoria.  I’ve seen plenty of trees, hills, fields, and such at home, but it’s so much more thrilling seeing these in a completely new environment.  I appreciate the little things so much more and everything feels like a new adventure. 

I had e-mailed the rehabilitation center with my anticipated arrival time, but thought it would be a good idea still to call and confirm with actually being at the ferry terminal.  I tried dialing the number a multitude of ways on the pay phone, and finally gave up to try Skype, because of course there would be wi-fi, but the program was having issues.  The ferry was huge!  It accommodated three lanes of eight to ten cars plus passengers, and that was the small ferry, as I later learned!  I opted to withstand the chilly breeze, so that I could fully enjoy the ride and the view. 

Thirty-five minutes later, the ferry crawled into Fulford Harbor and I attempted the pay phone game again.  Of course, it wouldn’t work, which seems to be pretty typical, as the same thing happened last year.  I even talked to 411, but they confirmed that I had the right number and couldn’t do much else.  I was skeptical of the pay phones, so I inquired at a little cafe at the port about the wildlife center and I was able to use the phone, which actually connected to the facility.  I was told the manager, who I had been in contact with was on her way, so I stood out on the corner with my pack, waiting and watching for her vehicle.

The manager is a pleasant, friendly woman and quite chatty.  There was too much information to retain on the drive over, particularly as exhaustion and hunger were overtaking my body.  I heard tidbits about the island and got a tour of town, including the places that would be visited most frequently and the best coffee shops and restaurants.  I was blown away by how populated and bustling the island was, since after my time on Sherkin, I expected islands to generally be rather remote.  It is about a fifteen minute drive from town to the wildlife center, where it’s more removed, tucked away in the woods with cages hiding amongst the towering conifers.  All of the buildings are wooden and rather quaint looking, but the interiors are pretty modern. 

There’s not much happening yet, since the rehabilitation season seems to hit this area later than those nearby, but there should be more patients to care for within the next two weeks.  For now, it’s just prepping and cleaning, learning the ropes and where to find things, and getting settled.  I certainly appreciate the down time after all of that traveling.  I’ll write more as things start happening and I get myself out to explore this island life.