“We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return.”
– Henry David Thoreau
At the end of the day I moved into the yurt, I had but one question remaining for my new landlord Christo: “Can I walk to the coast from here?”
Salt Spring Island instantly reminded me of Vashon, where I stayed in February, in that both islands are bigger than I’d expected. Both islands, once you’re on them, don’t exactly feel like islands, even though you can only reach them by ferry. Here in the yurt, surrounded by a ring of redolent pine and fir trees, I could be anywhere.
While I can tell myself I’m on an island, there’s a difference between knowing it and feeling it. There’s a difference between being in the woods and sitting on the coast, the shore, the edge, and coming to the end of the land you’re calling home.
And so on our way back from a quick trip into town that first afternoon, Christo drove past the yurt and turned right off the main road running the length of Salt Spring. The side road was unpaved, leading us past open fields edged with layers of forested hills, until up ahead, I could see a horizon of blue on blue and knew we were nearing the water.
“This is Burgoyne Bay,” he said. “It should take you less than an hour to walk here.”
Christo left the next morning, his departure perfectly coinciding with the arrival of eighteen inches of snow. For days, I forgot what it was like to walk outside without shuffling through icy shin-high slush, and for another week after that, if it wasn’t raining, it was bitterly cold.
I was beginning to doubt we’d ever get walking weather – and, curled up in the lambskin-covered chair by my wood-burning stove, wasn’t entirely sure I’d mind.
Two weeks went by before I had a chance to venture out to Burgoyne Bay. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the warmth of the sun was strong beneath a cloudless, crystal blue sky. Keys jingling in my pocket, I carried nothing but my camera and set out down the road, feeling a welcome swing in my step. I called out hello to a flock of sheep and waved to a few workers at a nearby vineyard; smoke hung in the air from their flaming piles of pulled vines.
I took pictures of everything, feeling myself enter that state where the world has been made new again and your sole desire in that moment is to capture every tiny but significant detail of it.
* * *
There is a surprising amount of traffic on Salt Spring. Cars passed me frequently on the main road, and I wanted to ask them where they were all going, driving so determinedly on a Sunday afternoon. But as soon as I turned onto the side road leading to Burgoyne Bay, so too did the traffic fall away.
Now it was I who was doing the passing – I walked past an old stone house dated 1901, past those same open fields and verdant shoots of daffodils. I was planning to turn back at the bay, but once I got there, I spotted a hiking trail into the forest, one that seemed to hug the bay’s coastline. I didn’t have a clue where it would take me, but decided to follow it. I passed several couples, all of whom were either being towed along by eager dogs or kids, and each time I was tempted to ask, “Do you know where this ends up?” But it felt a strange thing to inquire, and so we exchanged brief hellos and kept walking.
And then I got my answer. After fifteen minutes, or maybe it was half an hour – time seemed to hold little relevance here – the trail brought me out to a headland. I’m not sure if headland is really the accurate topographic term, but it feels right. The forest and its profusion of ferns and firs fell away and I was finally, joyously standing right on the coast, climbing over mossy rocks to thick boulders. I was breathing in the sea, taking off my coat, setting my camera aside, and lying on my back, beginning to understand why seals spend so much time prostrate on stone before the sun. It is actually divine.
After a few minutes, I sat back up and stared into the water. As though I were taking an eye test and two lenses had been clicked into place, bringing my vision into sharp focus, I suddenly realized what I was looking at. The various orange spots below the surface weren’t merely variations in the boulders’ coloring, they were sea stars – the same large, almost sturdy sea stars I’d first glimpsed at Shi Shi Beach last summer in Olympic National Park. Not the delicate starfish I used to find on vacations along the East Coast, but a kind that seem designed to withstand harder storms and stronger currents.
I took a picture of the sea stars before starting the journey back, thinking as I walked about my decision to come to Salt Spring. As I’ve shared here before, I’d also contemplated holing up in cities such as Saigon or Istanbul for a few months. Ultimately, though, I had decided against moving to a new culture I would want to be constantly out exploring. I chose what I thought would be somewhere a little quieter, a little more familiar.
But it was then, on that Sunday afternoon near Burgoyne Bay, that I realized I hadn’t quite achieved that either. I hadn’t come to a more familiar culture – I had come to a place wholly outside culture, before culture, transcending culture. In many ways, Salt Spring feels entirely timeless. Apart from a couple of banks, supermarkets, and the post office, there are no chain stores or brand names. There is not much to remind you of what era you’re living in.
There is only sea and sky and air and light and space. There is only the falling of rain on your roof and the calling of owls at night. There is only the feeling of eternity. Those who reside here year-round seem to live with an awareness of this fact – that this place has existed for far longer than we have. That it is we who seek permission from the land to dwell here, and not the other way around.
That these vermillion-colored sea stars now clinging to the rocky shore at low tide have done so for centuries, and will remain here long after we’ve left.
* * *
And yet – and yet – there is among the permanence occasional fleeting moments that are yours alone.
Two days after my first winter walk on Salt Spring, I made a second trek to Burgoyne Bay. Again I passed the stone house and the open fields and the daffodils, now in full lemony bloom. Again I took the trail – this time knowing exactly where it would lead me. And again I prostrated myself before the sun on a boulder along the coast. It was so bright I was wearing sunglasses – quite a change from my first few weeks on the island.
On the way back, just before I reached the stone house, I noticed a flash of movement out of the corner of my right eye. I turned, raised my sunglasses, and found myself locking gazes with an owl, who was sitting on the branch of a tree not even twenty feet away. We stared at each other for a full second, his luminous, yellow-ringed eyes meeting my own baby blues, before he took flight. I stood there watching him glide through the forest before settling on another tree quite a distance away.
I can’t remember if he took flight in my direction and then swooped back around into the woods, or if he did some sort of mid-air maneuver and immediately flew away from me. I have only two distinct memories – that of him perched on the branch, and that of his outstretched wings as he sailed away.
Glimpsing the owl was nothing short of astonishing. It filled my eyes with tears and took my breath away. I was unable to move from that spot for several moments – not so much waiting for him to reappear, but simply honoring our brief and fleeting encounter. Because there in a forest that felt altogether immortal and eternal, there had been a moment so ephemeral it could only belong to me. I can return to Burgoyne Bay every day while I am here on Salt Spring, but the chances of that owl returning to that branch while I stand in that spot are incredibly, impossibly slim.
It immediately reminded me of a conversation I’d had in town the week before. I had missed the bus and decided to treat myself to a drink while I waited for the next one – a mere two hours away. And while I sat in a bar called The Local, hockey games playing on TV and poker tables being set up around me, I got to talking with a couple of guys who have lived on Salt Spring for decades. One of them was named Jonathan, who had a short, scruffy beard almost gingery in color.
“You’ve picked the perfect time of year to be here,” he told me. “During the summer, we get lots of boats, lots of money, lots of parties, but now—”
He trailed off and stared into the distance, leaving me hanging, increasingly desperate to know what it is we have here now.
After a long pause, he looked back at me. “But now? Today I saw these two trumpeter swans—”
Again he grew quiet, and when I felt enough time had passed, I said, “They sound beautiful.”
“They were beautiful.”
We soon resumed a more jovial, less reverent conversation, but what Jonathan had said – and more importantly, the moving look in his eyes while he was still searching for the words to say it – stayed with me for days. Because how do you explain what it means to you? How do you describe the momentary beauty of two trumpeter swans or a Great Horned Owl or an eagle that never returns?
Here on my current quest for slow moments and intentional living, I’m beginning to realize that you can’t – not perfectly, anyways. But what we can do is move through each day with an awareness that invites them – whether on winter walks or long commutes or train rides through distant countries.
We live in light of the eternal and universal, all the while staying alive to moments that break us open to the present. We live outside time; we live in the here and now.
PS – I’ve been reading as much Thoreau as I can get my hands on recently, and wanted to let you know several of his essays are available as free Kindle downloads on Amazon. Walden, anyone?
These are beautiful sketches, and beautiful descriptions of moments that seem simply wonderful. There’s something intrinsically special about feeling like you’ve stepped out of time, of being alone in nature, and of finding a sort of peace there – and you describe it beautifully. Salt Spring Island seems like the sort of place I’d love to visit (in off season!), and I’m glad that i’m falling in love with it through your words.
Thank you so much, Lindsey! I couldn’t agree more with you about stepping outside time – it’s really a sensation I haven’t felt before coming here to the yurt, so I’m immensely grateful for the experience. And just from what I’ve read on your own blog, I have a feeling you would absolutely love it here on Salt Spring – especially in the spring 🙂 The sun has been beautifully strong and warm these past few days, and I’m really looking forward to sharing more sketches here soon!
Candace, your stories always make me feel like I am right there with you. You create such a portrait, and being a visusl learner, it is perfect for me. My favorite sketch this time is your legs with your feet crossed. I can truly envision all of you leaning against the boulder, and it makes me feel like I can see you. Love that because you are missed very much!
Thank you, Susie!! I’m always excited to share new sketches with you – and I so do wish that you and the family were here with me right now. I’ve just spent the last couple of days exploring a few new corners of Salt Spring, and it’s been just lovely! I love and miss you very much, too, and can’t wait to see you all again in a couple of months 🙂
Amazing sketches as always, Candace. The sun FINALLY shown today in Vancouver and it was so beautiful. I can’t wait for days on the beach without the extra layers. x
Thank you, Hayley! And hasn’t the sun these past few days been incredible?! I’ve spent as much time as possible outdoors both yesterday and today and seriously can’t get enough of it 🙂 Hope you’re doing well in Vancouver! x
An incredibly lovely set of slow moments. I love the drawings here, especially the little details like the tags in the ears of the sheep. Enjoy your time out there in the North West. Do you know what you will do once your yurt lease is up?
Thank you so much, Anwar! I’m so happy you loved the details – those are always my favorite things to include. I was talking with someone just the other day about how sketching really feels like a series of decisions…deciding what elements and details to include and what to leave out, and that those decisions really help shape the story each sketch is telling. So I’m glad you enjoyed them!
And plans are slowly falling into place for life after the yurt – although I’m still in denial that I’ll have to leave! – so I’ll keep you posted once I know for sure 🙂 Hope you’re doing well!
Well there is also the option of perhaps finding a few local willing Yaks and taking the Yurt to go 😉
Very true, I always find it interesting to see the things people decide to include as much as what they decide to exclude from stories, artwork, etc.
Haha, that would be an epic option 😉 And I like what you said about including/excluding details from stories as well as artwork – that’s so true. Thank you as always for reading, Anwar, and have a great week!
I haven’t had to live through a North American winter in almost a decade, so long that the snow, ice, and bitter winds have faded from my conscious memory. But your story reminded me of one beloved aspect of winter that I had forgotten – that small window of time when winter’s ferocious bite has retreated and become nothing more than a nagging nip in the back of the neck.
In those moments, the bright sun would inevitably beckon me outside, and I would feel more alive that I’d felt in months, as though I were emerging from a long hibernation. Everything around me would suffuse me with an almost supernatural energy, and I would understand what the sages meant when they said that all things were connected, that all was one.
I haven’t thought of that renewed sense of life that late winter can bring in a long, long time. But through your words and art, I remembered. Thank you!
Brittany, I can’t thank you enough for your beautiful comment! It was wonderful to read and connects so perfectly with a conversation I had just today. I was hanging out with a couple of new friends on another beach here, and they were both talking about how they feel like they’re coming out of hibernation right now, as the spring sun has been shining gloriously strong these last few days. Like yourself, I haven’t had a proper winter in several years, and I’m re-discovering all sorts of forgotten benefits to it…that after all the snow and bitter cold, the arrival of spring means that much more, you know? There’s this gorgeous sense of everything coming back to life right now, and it absolutely brings with it that energy you described. Thanks for sharing that memory here!
Thanks for another inspiring collection of beautifully told moments. Life on the island sounds so peaceful. Gorgeous sketches, as well – I particularly love the sign for Burgoyne Bay. It gives me a sense of “Canada”-ness, funny though that might sound.
Also, thanks for the heads up on the Thoreau essays!
It truly is incredibly peaceful, Lisa! And I think that when the time comes to leave in a couple of months, one of my biggest goals is to carry the peace and simplicity I’ve found on Salt Spring with me elsewhere 🙂 But I’m so happy you enjoyed the sketches, and I love what you said about the sign – I’ve always been a bit obsessed with signs everywhere I go, so naturally I had to include it here!
Candace, Beautiful Burgoyne…you’ve done a superb job…and especially on the evergreens! Lovely!
Thank you, Corinne! Your kind words mean so much, especially about the evergreens 🙂 I hope you’re having a great week so far!
Candace
Fantastic! Your descriptions of the road, the trails and the beach, on the island, Put me right there with the Owl, the sheep and reaching for the sun, smelling the Salish sea.
What a great place to be reading Thoreau too.
Thanks once again.
Hello, Todd! I was delighted to hear you’d enjoyed the watercolor wander to the coast, as I truly loved working on these sketches – especially the owl 🙂 And yes, the Salish Sea is swiftly winning me over heart and soul – I was just hanging out with some friends at a different beach on Salt Spring today, and can’t wait to keep getting to know the island. I hope all is well with you in Seattle!
Lovely sketches and descriptions Candace. I feel as though I am there with you.
I wish you *were* here with me!! Seriously, there are so many great trails on Salt Spring that I know you and Brian would just love. But! I am so stoked the presentations are going well so far, and couldn’t be happier for you guys on this new adventure! xo
I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!
THANK YOU, ANDI!! I hope all is wonderfully well with you 🙂
Absolutely love these water colours!
Thanks, Adam!! That means a lot 🙂
Dear Candace,
As the daughter of an artist, I love your art and as a writer and traveler, now living in India, I particularly appreciate your blog.
Many thanks for the beautiful images in writing and watercolor.
Liz Iler
Thanks so much for saying hello, Liz! I really appreciate your kind words, and it was especially great to hear that you’re currently living in India – whereabouts are you based? It’s now officially been a year since I was last there, and I am desperate to get back 🙂 I’d love to hear more about what you’re up to there!
This is such a beautiful collection of watercolors! I love the one of your feet stretching out over the water especially.
Thank you, Laura! I’m so glad you enjoyed the sketches, and that feet one happens to be one of my favorites as well 🙂
Dear Candace,
Just spent an hour on your website tonight being inspired by your work and diligence. Just got to South America with so much to sketch but needed a moment to derive inpration from you.
Thanks!
Lotus in Peru
Lotus, your comment brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for taking the time out of your own journey to read what I’ve shared here, and it is a true honor to think that I’ve been able to bring some inspiration to you! I’m hoping to get to South America for the first time this year, so I loved hearing that you’ve just arrived there yourself – I so look forward to keeping up with your trip, and of course look forward to all of the beautiful images to come from it 🙂 Sending lots of love and sketching energy your way!
Candace, your posts are such a delight to read. I feel completely transported every time I sit down in front of your blog. This is so beautiful.
Jade, I can’t thank you enough for what you wrote here – that means so much to me! I’m absolutely thrilled to hear that the stories and sketches resonate with you, and I hope you continue to enjoy the mental journeys to lovely Salt Spring 🙂
Candace, I cannot get enough of reading your beautiful words
And how you describe everything you are seeing. I almost feel
Like I am there beside you. What an experience all of this writing
And sketching you are seeing and feeling in your young life. What
Can I say but how fantastic that all of this is your choice. Who
Would have even thought this for you when you were a little
Person always eager to learn. WHAT A GIFT… I miss you and
Have so much LOVE for you and always have. How could any
Grandma be more PROUD of her grandchild than I am.
Your safety is always my concern, that is my prayer! GRANDMA!!!
It means so much to hear from you here, Grandma! I’m so happy that you felt like you were right beside me, for I definitely wish that you and everyone else in the family could come visit here on Salt Spring 🙂 I love sharing these sketches with you, and can’t wait to see you again in just a couple of months! xoxo
Now, what a walk Candace, thanks for taking us along! I think Thoreau is a great companion for adventures like this and you seem to enjoy these “silent dialogues” with him… 🙂 Wonderful sketches and a beautiful stroll of the mind. I hope you keep enjoying them and sharing these “excursions”. Judging you description did you perception turned into an owl as well, sitting silently and observing the pace of life – around and within…
I’m so glad you enjoyed the walk to Burgoyne Bay, Oliver! I do think that my favorite thing about life here on Salt Spring is just the space and silence it gives your mind to wander – and having Thoreau along as a companion has been just divine 🙂 I’m about to start “Walden” today and am already so looking forward to the revelations I have no doubt it holds. Have you read it? In the mean time, I hope all is very well in Edinburgh and I’m excited to share more sketches with you soon!