Dragonflight - Part Two

As we neared the entry to Whiterock Passage, we slowed and then quickly picked out the first range marker - but where was the second? It was overcast and in low light the second marker was not showing up. The yellow marker lights were not on. Either burned out or it was just not dark enough yet. Seconds went by. Should we turn back? Then there it was. The second marker was back in the dark shadows of the woods, barely visible. I lined them up. Into the passage. Hold the line. To drift off that line meant hitting the submerged rocks that were just to either side of the narrow channel.

Halfway through, just as it seems you are going to go aground on Read Island, you have to look behind you, find two new markers, turn sharply north away from the shore and follow this new line until you exit into Hoskyn Channel. Dragonfly negotiated Whiterock Passage as if it were designed for the purpose.

The small community of Surge Narrows lies immediately at the juncture of Whiterock passage, Hoskyn Channel and Surge Narrows. An old floating dock with a small blue shed serves as both the freight depot and the post office… Canada’s only floating post office. Inside the covered freight area is a bulletin board with notices about a community meeting, a beach-fire ban, a few hand printed business announcements. We stop to talk to a group of kids who are swimming off the dock, “You gotta do it as the tides coming up - it’s warmest then.” Their chattering teeth seem to argue that even at its best, it is something better left to the hardy. Morningstar has other ideas. She turns to me, “Hey, it’s a full moon tonight - why don’t we go skinny-dipping in Dearheart Cove.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No, I’m serious. We could build a fire on the ledge above and dry off and watch the moon rise - maybe stay the night.”

“Morningstar! Those kids were turning blue. Their teeth were chattering. This is daytime and they are at risk for hypothermia and you want us to do it at night? With no clothes?”

“Yes.”

“O.K.”

Surge Narrows Post Office (Photo by Linda Garrison, Campbell River, BC)

The postmistress is in - tending the flowerpots that flank the doorway. “Yes, we’ve got a box available, but I’ll have to tell the last folks to come and take their padlock off - haven’t seen them for awhile.” There is a large pile behind the counter; a stack of canvas bags marked ‘Books by Mail.’ Could it be? “Yes, we have the catalogs here, books and videos - you order them and they come by float plane from the Vancouver Island Library. You get to keep them longer than if you check them out at the main library.” So it seems that if you finally get far enough out, there are in fact some compensating benefits. We browse through the catalogs, which appear to be updated every month.

As we walk up the ramp to the store, we talk about possibly changing our mailing address to this post office. Closer, smaller, and ironically, more services that we can use. The postmistress even sells fresh eggs!

The store itself is freshly painted (at least the front), the deck lined with flowers growing in containers of all sorts. Inside we are struck by how clean, airy and bright it is. The old tall windows let in the sun - it looks like fresh whitewash everywhere. Wood stove in the center. The sound of a generator outside providing the electricity to power the cash register. All the shelves are stocked, the produce fresh, an apparent emphasis on local goods and vegetarian cooking. And books, several that we had been looking for. The selection of hard goods emphasizes island life; ax handles, chainsaw oil, chimneys for kerosene lamps. No sense of catering to the tourist trade.

The store is empty of other customers so we end up talking to Theresa and Doug, the owners. “He’s the gardener - all the flowers and produce are his. The store was originally built in the 20’s, added to in the 40’s. When we purchased the store, it had been closed for 15 years. We’re new at this so if you have any preferences, let us know.” We talk about coffee, fresh bread, homemade ice cream and white chocolate - and laugh together when we discover that these are shared favorites.

We buy some staples, two books, and ask about eggs, which sends their daughter looking for the last dozen. We are introduced to the few people that come into the store. Everyone seems to have at least a few minutes to stop and talk. Theresa and Doug are nice folks. We wish them well and know that we will come here often. As we leave, Theresa tells us about a community meeting that we may want to attend.

Outside, at the top of the ramp, a very small, very young boy is leaning over a wooden rail eating something in a foil wrapper. He mournfully tells us, it is “melting.” He offered it for our inspection and we commiserated with him but remained unsure of what exactly it was that was melting. Then he looks up at me and for a moment, across a gap of some half-century of experiences, I share with him the emergent understanding, and the sadness, of the impermanence of things.

Walking back down the ramp, purchases in hand, we decide that this is the kind of community that we had been looking for. We stop at the small shed on the dock and sign up for that last post office box. (written July 1998)

... Bob