Island Life and Exploring the Seashore

It is strange to be on an island that is surrounded by so much land and activity on the sea with a rather severed, indirect connection to the ocean.  It seems to defy the concept that has been molded into my mind as to what an island really is.  There seem to be various types of islands, based on their formations over the course of geologic time, the climatic conditions that they experience, the natural resources covering the land, the size of human populations and the intensity of their development, the nearness to land, and the closeness of exposure to the raging temptress of the oceanic depths.

Although, I am technically on an island, it is still a whole new culture shock.  I was expecting to and given the impression that I would “get away from it all” here.  To a certain extent I have, particularly since home is at the opposite side of the continent, but civilization is only a fifteen minute drive away, where I am over-stimulated and still quite confused by the hustle and bustle of town life, which is complete with traffic, constant chatter, and thriving commercialism.  In the summer, during the peak of tourist season, the island population is supposed to double to something like ten thousand people.  The center of town, every tourist trap, and the island’s natural beauty attractions will be crawling.  I anticipate spending much of the summer hiding away in the woodland haven of the wildlife center. 

Yet, for now, I can immerse myself in the beauty of the island and give in to the allure of the seashore.  I still find it to be quite exciting and magical, as I cautiously step from rock to rock, unsure of my footing on slippery seaweed, and having become unaccustomed to such a balancing act, while simultaneously being distracted by familiar and new seashore treasures alike.  I imagine that there are at least creatures of the same genus as those found along the Irish coastline, as they are at a similar latitudes and experience similar climatic conditions. 

As I first stepped upon the stony shore of Ruckle Park, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, the scattered movement of several tiny critters.  Crabs covered the shore, racing for cover below rocks, between crevices, and underneath patches of fucoids.  I must watch where my feet fall, in order to preserve these precious lives, though it is quite challenging to determine exactly where they are hiding.  I descended upon another stretch of shore and was struck by the size of what I believe to be a Porphyra species, which is a papery, yet tough, reddish-pink seaweed with a glint of iridescence.  I found it to be double, maybe even triple the size of any plant that I had come across in Ireland.  From the grassy edge above the sea, I noticed a stretch of feathery looking seaweed, billowing in the current.  I could not be sure exactly what these plants were from such a distance and I felt the urge to find out.  I managed to navigate my way down and much to my dismay, as I approached the water’s edge, I became certain that the invasive Sargassum muticum has also found its way to the shores of British Columbia.