It’s late April on the coast. Huge flocks of geese are finding their way north making a beeline from their stopping grounds in the Fraser River estuary and heading straight over our island as they follow the inlets and mountains on their journey to Alaska. The sea lions are still out there barking and normally their presence would be a sure sign of spring as they come in with the herring, dragging all the mammal eating killer whales with them. But this year has been weird and we’ve had a herd (pride? flotilla? complaint?) of sea lions in Mannion Bay since November. Several docks have orange storm fencing around them so the lions won’t take refuge on the floats, but a couple of absentee dock owners don’t and so these amazing creatures encamp on the floats down below our house and bark 23 hours a day.
The only thing that frightens them off is a killer whale and the news came this week that 79 of them have been spotted in the Salish Sea this month, including a new baby for J-Pod, the group of orcas that are resident to the souther Gulf Islands. A grey whale has been hanging around English Bay and the humpbacks will soon be back. The abundance of Átl’ka7tsem/Howe Sound, a combination of local recovery and globally warming waters, continues unabated.
This is a brief touch home, to try to get some crops in the garden, do a little maintenance work with clients and finish up some writing. My son and I were in England earlier in the month on a long awaited father/so soccer trip, and we had an epic time. We got to see our beloved Spurs in a rare patch of good form beat Southampton 3-1 and then draw Eintracht Frankfurt 1-1 in the Europa League quarter final. We also caught games at Watford, Charlton Athletic and Notts County before ending our trip as the guest of a friend at the Etihad in Manchester for an epic 5-2 victory for ManCity against Crystal Palace.
Getting to spend time with my 24 year old son is a gift and this is the longest we have spent together ever, just the two of us. I was able to take him around the places I lived in Herts as a kid, and we met some cousins and visited museums in-between football matches and early morning drives across the Pennines.
Soccer continued unabated, as we went to the inaugural match of the Northern Super League this past week, contested between the Vancouver Rise and the Calgary Wild. A couple of former TSS Rovers were in the squads for both teams, keeper Kirstin Tynan for Vancouver and defender Tilly James for Calgary. Our TSS Rovers women and men played on Friday night in a couple of disappointing losses to Langley United in League 1 BC, which is the second tier of Canadian soccer. Lots of soccer in my life these.
This has been a year of travel., so coming home to familiar things for a few moments is nice. A long awaited holiday in Italy awaits so I am savouring the coastal springtime as much as I can.
I’m here in Columbus, Ohio doing my annual gig with the Physcians’ Leadership Academy. Every year I get to run a half day complexity workshop for local physicians. It’s a fun gig and gets me a chance to see friends in this region and make a stop in Toronto on the way.
Today was a weird day to cross the border though. For the past month, and especially the past weekend, the conversation that almost everybody in Canada is having is about the US tariffs that came into effect at 12:01 this morning. Blanket 25% tariffs on everything that crosses the Canada-US border. The US tariffs instantly triggered a trade war and Canada retaliated with about two thirds of a full tariff schedule which will rise to 25% retaliatory tariffs on about 1200 US products. It’s anyone’s guess whether this is a permanent state of affairs or not. The tariffs were imposed – under dubious legal authority it must be said – through a Presidential executive order which is nearly unheard of in US governance. It is usually Congress that does these things, but the President has the power to impose tariffs for national security reasons if these are the result of a declaration of a national emergency. Donald Trump made 23 pounds of fentanyl and some unknown number of migrants crossing from Canada to the US into the national emergency that has allowed him to by-pass Congress and impose tariffs, and threaten the future of our country.
So naturally in Canada, everybody has been talking about this. It is the single topic of conversation. American liquor is being romped from store shelves. “Buy Canadian” website have popped up everywhere. Premiers are talking about cutting of electricity to millions of Americans. And while we have had trade spats with the USA in the past, Trump has also signalled his intention to annex Canada, if not militarily then certainly economically. You just have to watch what he is doing to Ukraine to see what the plan is.
But the moment you cross the border, nothing. No one is talking about this. Very few people even really know about it. A few might have seen Justin Trudeau or Doug Ford on CNN today but hardly anyone has any context for what they are saying or how it might affect them.
So it’s a bit like those weather moments when it’s pouring rain on your side of the street, but your neighbours are in full sunshine, enjoying the afternoon. I don’t blame Americans for this state of affairs. Unless you follow politics closely and these kinds of things interest you, your average Ohioan is probably not giving more than a few minutes thought to this. The President is giving a State of the Union address tonight, so it’s unlikely that any of the protestations from north of the border will show up in the news cycle.
This is a feature of North American society, by the way. Americans are no more ignorant or apathetic than Canadians when it comes too politics, economics or global trade. I mean, Doug Ford got elected to a four year majority mandate in Ontario with only 19% of the electorate voting for him. There is, however, an asymmetry to this situation that leaves us booing at the US national anthem being played in our hockey and soccer arenas in response to naked threats against our sovereignty, while Americans wonder what bee got into our bonnet.
Now my friends and colleagues here know I’m Canadian, and so our conversations are sprinkled with a bit of humour and maybe some teasing back and forth, but while I love banter generally, my heart isn’t in it. The existential threat is the thing that keeps it serious. And most of my friends here are either solidly progressive or at least thoughtfully conservative and hardly anyone thinks picking a trade fight with Canada or Mexico is a good idea. Still, the words I hear most out of their mouths are “I’m so sorry.” Despite what you read on social media, most Americans are not red-hatted MAGA dupes running around yelling nonsense into the void. Life just seems to go on.
It’s just that, for us, it feels like life has changed quite profoundly. we are certainly facing a recession, we may be facing many years of recession that leaves us economically vulnerable to annexation and it’s unclear if anyone in the US or elsewhere really cares about that. I don’t know what the future holds holds for us. So we wait, because there isn’t anything else to do right now. We are in the dumbest of times and they don;t look to be getting any smarter.
I’m on the road again, this time back to Ontario where I will be working with Jennifer Williams, Cédric Jamet and Troy Maracle in a reboot of our “Reimagining Education” Art of Hosting on the shores of Lake Opinicon in eastern Ontario. Whenever I work out east I build in time to visit family for a few days. I arrived in Toronto on Monday, and stayed with my brother, visited with one of our TSS Rovers women’s players, Maddy Mah, who plays in the fall season for the University of Toronto, and then caught a train to Belleville. Last night I stayed with Troy and Shoo Shoo at their home on the Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory on the shores of Lake Ontario. We head up to the site later today for some last minute design and set up.
There is no time like the fall to connect my soul with this place. I was born and raised in Ontario – and three years in the UK – and this time of year was always my favourite. If you’ve never been in the hardwood forests of the Great Lakes Basin in autumns, you can scarcely believe the transformation that happens as the sunlight grows weaker and the temperatures ease their way towards winter. The maple forests turn bright red and it is one of the true wonders of the natural world to see a brilliant red forest against a calm lake and a blue sky. There is a reason that the Canadian flag features a red maple leaf I think.
Fall is my favourite Ontario season and it is a very different experience than the west coast where I have lived for the past 30 years. Out there, atmospheric rivers and fierce wind storms are the typical pattern of autumn. The storms hit our coast in a chain of wet and wild weather usually from mid October through to the middle of December, when things grow a little calmer. After the calendar turns, and perhaps a bit of sea level snow falls, the rain continues, but gentler and less energetically powered by the residual heat of the summer sea.
Here in Ontario, this is the time of year the forests turn and November brings heavy and cold rains that wash the leaves off the trees providing the forest floor with a rich mulch to protect it against the killing frosts that are on their way. Already the ground grows a bit frosty at night and there might be a skin of ice on the Lake this week if the wind is calm. November in southern Ontario is a dismal mix of cold rain, wind, decaying leaves and increasing darkness. If you love inclement weather, as I do, it’s glorious. If not, it’s a depressing interregnum between the early fall and the snowy winter.
So this morning I find myself in a deeply familiar land and sound-scape, hosted by my old friends at their home in their territory. Orange trees, blue skies, silver sunlight glinting off Lake Ontario, the calls of Blue Jays and Chickadees in the shrubs. In as much as I have lived more than half my life on the islands and coastal edges of the Salish Sea, these sounds, and smells and sight awaken a deep sense of home in me, what the Welsh might call “cynefin,” a habitat of living, one of the places of belonging that has a claim on my soul.
A photo of the navigation system on my flight back from Hawai’i
Flying over the Pacific always conjures up the idea that I’m in a low earth orbit. It is a bizarre notion to climb into the sky and have the earth turn below you and then few hours later to drop one sixth of the world away.
On long haul flights there is very much a feeling of relativity. We are together, a couple of hundred of us, in a tube in the sky. There is very little feeling of speed. There are no cues to tell you where you are, especially at night and especially over the Pacific Ocean. Each moment is much like the others until you make landfall and suddenly land rises out of the sea.
The term “raising islands” comes to me though the art of Polynesian navigation. This past week I immersed myself in Sam Low’s book Hawaiki Rising which documents the first six or seven years of the Polynesian Voyaging Society who built a double-hulled sailing canoe called Hokule’a and, under the guidance of a Micronesian navigator called Mau Pilliag, sailed it from Hawai’i to Tahiti.
On the return voyage the navigation was taken over by Nainoa Thompson, and the book recounts two successful and one tragic voyages under his guidance between 1976-80
Polynesian navigation combines a deep and intense attentiveness to every possible source of information available to the navigator. This includes, principally, stars, swells, clouds and light. Getting from one island to another over 2400 miles of open ocean requires a navigator to be present and attentive for the entire voyage. You must know where you have come from in order for your present position to make and sense and in order for accurate decisions to be taken about your course. This means mostly staying awake for almost the entire trip of a month or more with only brief sleeps allowed
When land comes into sight it is said that the navigator has “raised it out of the sea. “ when your whole life takes place inside a small container for a month with nothing but open sea all around, there must develop a very intense sensation of being essentially stationary and instead turning the world below you.
I’m having that same feeling tonight, returning home. Noting that we are 24 minutes from landing and still out of sight of the west coast of Vancouver Island. If you were a Tshshaht navigator perched on an island in Barkley Sound for the night, in a few minutes you might catch our lights rising up over the dark western horizon. And although we will have started our descent, you might not hear us over the surf crashing on the reefs as we skim about 10,000 meters overhead landing in Vancouver which still lies 250 kilometres to the east. It is a journey that would take a week or more in a Tseshaht canoe. But now that we have raised Vancouver Island, we’ll be on the ground before you know it.
Coming home from Victoria this morning on the ferry through teh southern Gulf Islands to Tsawassen. This is a lovely ferry ride, and since the first time I rode this route back in 1994 when I did this as a regular once a month trip to Victoria, I have loved the way the ferries wind ther way around the islands of the archepelago, and thread through Active Pass out into the Strait of Georgia.
Active pass is a narrow, deep passage between Mayne and Galiano Islands, and depending on the tides, it can relatively calm and flat or churning and boiling with upwellings, eddies, and standing waves and powerful currents. It is often the point at which the southbound and north bound ferries meet, meaning that tow behemoths need to pass one another in the narrow confines of the pass. It is a low key thrill to watch the other ferry coming at you, hearing both ship whistles echoing of the bluffs and forest that are only 100 or so of the beam.
Because of the upwellings and currents, the waters of the Pass are rich in nutrients and so are full of fish and their predators, including large flocks of gulls, diving ducks, seals, sea lions, and occasionally the two apex predators of the region, resident orcas and human fishers. I have seen orcas in here once in 30 years, and once did see a human with a huge fish on the line refusing to get out of the way of a ferry until his boat mate gave up shouting at him and cut the line scurrying out of the way just in time for the Spirit of British Columbia not to crush them.
Whenever we travel through the pass, folks gather on the outside decks, or by the windows. The short 10 minute transit is spell binding and probably the highlight of the 90 minute journey. Once out in the Strait the horizon falls away and folks go back to their conversations or screens. Meanwhile, those of us who really know keep our eyes peeled on the water out here because this is where I have most commonly seen orcas, humpbacks and grey whales.