Roche Harbor was fantastic, but we had a border to cross and a bunch of Tim Hortons to avoid. So off to Canada. We do love us some Canada.
Mosquito Pass is narrow and churny but Dana timed our departure perfectly, so all we got was a great view.
We previously commented on all the driftwood piled up on PNW shores. This isn’t driftwood. These are seals lazing about in their clever driftwood disguises.
No worries as we passed into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.*
Most of the Pacific Ocean water filling Puget Sound comes through this passage. If “Juan de Fuca” sounds Hispanic, by the way, that was the intent of one Apostolos Valerianos, a Greek sailor who found changing his name an easy way to avoid the racism of the day. Apparently it was enough to fool the Spaniards, who commissioned his travels. Opa! There’s an historical debate about whether he actually discovered the strait that bears his fake name, but either way “Strait of Apostolos Valerianos” lacks the same je ne sais quoi. We later honored de Fuca by enjoying the flaming cheese at Ithaka. Opa!
The Trial Islands just outside Victoria Harbor are home to the picturesque and aptly named Trial Island Lighthouse. The coolest thing about this little speck of land, however, is that its Ecological Reserve “protects the most outstanding known assemblage of rare and endangered plant species in British Columbia.”
The Customs dock was efficient enough, at least once the dude who pulled in after us but then leapt off his boat to cut ahead of us was finished. Whatever. Maybe someone on his boat needed an emergency appendectomy or something.
The harbor, er, harbour, is lined with a beautiful “Welcome to Victoria” sign made of flowers, but no matter how hard one tries there’s no ground-level angle from which it is clearly legible. This was the best we could do. The more interesting thing is that tree in the foreground. A palm tree. In British Columbia. Bizarre.
Since Canadians still have a British monarch on their money and have a Governor General whose vague obligations somehow involve King Charles, it’s no surprise that Victoria, the city, is named for Victoria, Queen of the Brits. Here’s her statue in front of the Parliament building, which is equally impressive at night from our back porch.
If Edward Oxford’s 1840 assassination attempt had been successful, of course, British Columbia’s capital might have been named “Ernest”—after the next in the line of succession—instead of Victoria. “Ernest’s Secret” would be a horrible name for a lingerie company, however, so they probably would’ve come up with something better. Also, that pointy silhouetted tree off to the left is the Provincial Christmas Tree that they decorate every year. Here it is in real life. Very big.
According to the mural below, (1) some folks preferred to name the fledging town after Queen Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert, and (2) Victoria was ugly and stern and in desperate need of a good eyebrow pluck. If BC’s capital was Albert rather than Victoria, of course, its nickname wouldn’t be the “Garden City.” It’d be “Fat City.” Hey hey hey.
Need additional proof that Canadians—at least those outside of Quebec—are reluctant to give up their status as a British colony? Winston Churchill laid the cornerstone for an addition to Christ Church Cathedral in 1929 and they still brag about it.
If that’s not enough anglophilia, Here’s the Queen Elizabeth.
Want even more evidence?
Okay, okay. After that punny one we’ll give it a rest. How about a jumbled hodgepodge of random Victoria sights instead?
Another town, another market. We judged it to be kind of lame as we approached, but boy were we wrong. All handmade stuff. Which meant we wound up with a bunch of it. Fancy butter, chocolate, smoked salmon, cheese, cookies, gin, flowers, and fresh veggies. Dana rescued and then ate the tomato with the, um, nose. Yeah, we’re going with nose. Not the other thing.
Oh, and an emotional support pickle/Christmas tree ornament.
Back when Doug was chafing at the Customs dock, Dana noticed some cute float homes like the one Tom Hanks lived in one of the several times he ended up with Meg Ryan. We later hiked over for a closer look.
They indeed are cute and people indeed do live in them, but basically they’re a facade, the backside of which teems with all manner of people patronizing what seems like a low rent county fair. Hotdogs on a stick and funnel cakes anyone? We didn’t stick around.
Remember the pelicans in Pensacola and the sailboats in Orillia? Victoria does whales.
And totem poles. There are lots of totem poles. We’ve chosen to include only the 127-foot one that claims to be the world’s tallest, although from here it mostly looks like a tree trunk that sort of survived a fire. There are taller poles in the world, of course, but they’re made from more than one tree or they’re made by non-indigenous craftsmen, so apparently don’t count.
Red Fish Blue Fish is maybe the best use of a shipping container we’ve seen. Delicious, although the long wrap-around line is decidedly off-putting.
A fact unknown to us until we arrived: Victoria has the second oldest Chinatown in North America. We walked over to the Mexican place in Chinatown but the menu wasn’t great. True story.
Here’s a peacock crossing the road. We don’t know why. Probably thinks he’s a chicken.
For those of us who appreciate sophomoric humor, this place needs no additional commentary.**
Just off our bow sat the Victoria Harbour Airport. We actually had a patrol boat scold us away from the runway. Some 800 seaplane flights per week zoom in and out of here, making it one of the busiest airports in Canada by landings.
The coolest thing about Victoria—and maybe the coolest thing we’ve ever witnessed from our boat—is the “World Famous Water Ballet,” performed by five water taxis. Synchronized to classical music blaring from the shore. Just fantastic. We got to watch it twice.
What wasn’t the coolest thing about Victoria was the Canada Day evening fizzle. The day part of Canada Day was hopping. Food trucks galore, concerts, and tens of thousands of happy Canadians filling every street and restaurant. But we were waiting for nightfall, when the amazing drone show and fireworks spectacular were to commence. Meh. First up, no drone show. Based on a sample size of two, we deduce that when Canada promises drones there’s a zero percent chance of drones. The fireworks were fine, but about half as grand as Montreal’s Fête de la Saint-Jean-Baptiste extravaganza. We did have primo seating on the bow right next to the throng crowding Ship Point, however, so that was nice.
If anyone wonders just how close we were to that throng, by the way, here’s the evidence.
All in all, we give Victoria 4.9 American stars, which is about 8 Canadian stars. The drone show fail cost them a perfect score.
Next up, Maple Bay. Lots of gorgeous scenery along the way. No throng.
This little thing is Burial Islet, “islet” being a baby island. It’s also a park. We’ve no idea why.
Not a lot happening in Maple Bay, although our waitress in Victoria said Maple Bay is where her dad keeps his sailboat.
At least the only pub was open.
Remember those canoe flower gardens at the Trent-Severn locks? Maple Bay did them one better.
These folks also figured out how to dispose of old diesel motors: put some logs around them and call them sculptures. Clever, eh?
The route from Maple Bay to Nanaimo brought more scenic beauty.
It also required traversing Dodd Narrows, a slot through which tidal current rushes at up to nine knots. In either direction. Hit it at the wrong time and you end up in a YouTube video taken by the folks who come out hoping for drama or worse. That’s not a joke. Google it. Thanks to more of Dana’s careful calculations, however, we passed through without incident.
The lumber ship suggested that Nanaimo might be a town of lumberjacks, who sleep all night, work all day, and put on women’s clothes.***
Nanaimo indeed seems more industrial than other BC places we’ve stopped, and we only stayed for eighteen hours. It’s likely, however, that there are some interesting things we missed.
Okay, just one more British thing. This Nanaimo building’s claim to fame is that Queen Victoria’s son Arthur—that’d be Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught to us peasants—hung out here. He later became one of those inexplicable Governor Generals.
In a couple of weeks Nanaimo will host its annual bathtub race, with associated bathtub-related festivities. Now that’s something we’d love to attend. We needed to get to Vancouver today, however, so we couldn’t stick around.
On the way out Nanaimo we passed Entrance Island and what looks like a lighthouse but really is a cute little weather station.
Then thirty miles across the Strait of Georgia, which separates Vancouver the Island from Vancouver the City.
Incidentally, the Strait of Georgia should not be confused with the State of Georgia. In the former you’re surrounded by gorgeous mountains and pristine wooded shoreline and killer whales that so far have eluded us. The latter is full of worthless dirtballs like Wayne Williams and Kirby Smart and cesspools like Athens.****
We’ve just tied up in Vancouver, where we await the first of our family and friend visitors of the summer. Liz and Eddie will be here in a couple of hours. Woooo!
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* Canadian charts call it Juan de Fuca Strait. Canada also disputes the offshore international border at the strait, but the methodology they use to do so screws their argument about the more important disputed border in the Gulf of Maine, so basically they just keep quiet.
** To quote the TikTok generation, IYKYK.
*** Perhaps the most startling thing about the lumber ship is that we’re well into summer and only now have worked in the season’s first Monty Python reference.
**** The Strait of Georgia also should not be confused with George Strait, who used to be the King of Modern Country Music but somehow both he and we have become old school. As a reminder, George Jones always will be the King of Country Music, which by definition makes Tammy Wynette—not Loretta Lynn or Dolly Parton—the Queen.