Mysterious Forest

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Where there are trees and wilderness there are eagles.
Where there are trees and true wilderness there are eagles.

In a recent post I considered dedicating one blog entirely to the forest in this region. Here it is.

I am intrigued with the forest that grows here. With thin soil, often bare rock, long months of gloom and darkness, pounding wind and incessant rain it is a harsh life for any living thing. Yet the coastal geography is lush and verdant. These trees have adapted to this climate and cover the steep country with an often impenetrable jungle. They survive endless cold and wet, snow, fog, droughts, insects and the rape of humankind. They live on.

There is mystery in everything here. How can forests grow like this? What is within the thick underbrush? How did the native peoples find sustenance here? What’s around the next point? It all goes on and on. This is where the vast North Pacific Ocean meets the hard edge of a continent that runs eastward for thousands of miles

An ancient one
A sacred elder. In the background, a family of loons practised their lonely calls.
All that beauty as well as the mystery always around the next corner.
All that beauty as well as the mystery always around the next corner.
These branches catch the wind and rain as it arrives from the open Pacific
These branches are some of the first to catch the wind and rain as it arrives from the open Pacific.
The stone dodo. With a little imagination, this monolith looks like a giant stone bird looking out from the shoreline
The stone dodo. With a little imagination, this monolith looks like a giant stone bird watching outward from the shoreline.
Landfall Walter Islet, near Port Blackney. The forest manages a firm grasp every place possible. This islet is in Port Blackney and is only a few metres from a cove where Captain Vancouver careened his vessel and took on a deck load of spars.
Landfall
Walter Islet, near Port Blackney. The forest manages a firm grasp every place possible.
This islet is only a few hundred metres from a cove where Captain Vancouver careened his vessel and took on a deck-load of spars.
Beneath a Sitka Spruce at the edge of a beach. Hot out there is was cool and lovely in the shade.
Beneath a Sitka Spruce at the edge of a beach.
Hot out there, is was cool and lovely in the shade.
Deep in the forest, a tiny meadow, filled with fragrant ferns was a refuge where deer came to rest and feed.
Deep in the forest, a tiny meadow, filled with fragrant ferns, is a refuge where deer come to rest and feed.
'Seafire' anchored in the distance at the back end of Blair Inlet.
‘Seafire’ anchored far in the distance at the back end of Blair Inlet.
Battle Bones After a long war with the sea for a bit of border, this cedar died to leave its beautiful bones on display
Battle Bones
After a long war with the sea for a bit of border, this cedar died to leave its beautiful bones on display.
Mutant Warrior Tree
Mutant Warrior Tree
Where a giant fell. This rotting stump is the evidence of the glory of the old-growth forest. The notch is where a springboard was inserted to cut the tree above the hollow base. Then with axe and saw, men worked like termites to bring the monster to the ground. Then the tree would be cut up, by hand, into manageable logs which were winched to the sea where they could be towed away to distant sawmills.
Where a giant fell. This rotting stump is evidence of the glory of the old-growth forest. The notch is where a springboard was inserted to cut the tree above the hollow base. Then with axe and saw, men worked like termites to bring the monster to the ground. Then the tree would be cut up, by hand, into manageable logs which were winched to the sea where they could be towed away to distant sawmills.
No burial here. This log left as economically unviable. Under the moss, the old cedar is still useable and makes excellent shingles.
No burial here. This log was abandoned as economically unviable. Under the moss, the old cedar is still wood is still sound and makes excellent shingles.
In the quiet of the fallen forest, there is a sense of life and a feeling of being watched.
In the quiet of the fallen forest, there is a sense of life and a feeling of being watched.
A Troll's Den. Is this a portal to a dark underworld where gremlins and trolls and nasty creatures lurk?
A Troll’s Den.
Is this a portal to a dark underworld where gremlins and trolls and nasty creatures lurk?
Limbs Grotesque Mutant and struggling, new trees try to replace their ancestors
Limbs Grotesque
Mutant and struggling, new trees try to replace their ancestors
Weird Woods. Some nights, under the light of the moon, and with a moaning wind, the trees and creatures with glowing eyes came out to chant and dance. Those who dared to trespass there on nights like that were never seen again
Weird Woods.
Some nights, under the light of the moon, and with a moaning wind, the trees and strange nocturnal creatures with bright eyes swayed and chanted and danced. Those who dared to trespass there in those hours were never seen again.
The rain slowly becoming forest and ocean. The rocks slowly becoming forest and soil. The ocean slowly becoming rain.
The rain slowly becoming forest and ocean. The rocks slowly becoming forest and soil. The ocean slowly becoming rain.
Each day the sun rested after infusing its energy into the transformation of the elements of ocean, wind, rain, land and forest.
Each day the sun rested after infusing its energy in the transformation of the elements of ocean, wind, rain, land and forest.
The escape
The escape
 Which way is up?

Which way is up?
A voice whispered, "Plunge into the sky."
A voice whispered, “Plunge into the sky.”
And so they did, soon finding themselves in a beautiful new world.
And so they did, soon finding themselves emerging into a beautifully different world.
Finally one day, the guardian said, "There are things which must be. I must stay, you must leave."
Finally one day, the guardian said, “There are things which must be. I must stay, you must leave.”

Cruising has two pleasures. One is to go out in wider waters from a sheltered place. The other is to go into a sheltered place from wider waters.” ……. Howard Bloomfield

Author: Fred Bailey

Fred is a slightly-past middle age sailor /, writer / photographer with plenty of eclectic hands-on skills and experiences. Some would describe him as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over. He is certainly reluctant to grow up and readily admits to being the eternal dreamer. He has written several books including two novels, 'The Keeper' and 'Storm Ecstasy,' as well as 'The Water Rushing By', 'Sins Of The Fathers', 'The Magic Stick', as well as an extensive inventory of poetry, essays, short stories, anecdotes and photographs. His first passion is the ocean, sailboats, voyaging and all those people who are similarly drawn to the sea. He lived aboard and extensively cruised the BC Coast on 'Seafire' the boat he refitted to go voyaging, to explore new horizons both inner and outer. This blog was about that journey and the preparations for it. Circumstances prevailed which forced the sale of his beloved vessel. Now on a different tack, the voyage continues. If you follow this blog your interest may provide some of the energy that helps fuel the journey. Namaste Contact me at svpaxboat@gmail.com

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