Diving at the Edge

Vancouver island - 2005

“The Bamfield Road is carnivorous. It's a series of enormously explosive potholes, abruptly finishing at jagged edges, strewn with rocks and debris slipping down off the dissolving mountain from which it’s hung, and scarred from the abuses of seasons, weather and the malignant bulk of logging trucks. It’s owned and maintained by MacMillan Bloedel, the largest of logging companies on British Columbia’s Vancouver Island. Except for the mile or so extending from Bamfield, M&B have exclusive right of way on this ride of terror they call a road. Translated another way: if you come face to face with a logging truck and the road’s not big enough for you both, it’s up to you to get off – either into the mountainside or over the edge. It had been nine years since I'd travelled down this road. The last time, I was part of a documentary film crew. This time, I was bringing members of my Totnes dive club on an adventure. I couldn't not let them experience the road!

Plans for this trip started a year in advance. I'd organized it so many times before for film teams, that I was certain not much could go wrong with divers. This time, we'd only have a couple bags each, unlike the thirty-plus film cases that required all sorts of permits, bonds and excess baggage payments. No, I started working on logistics early because I'd advertised that the trip wouldn't exceed £1,200., not including meals and airport transport. To get the deals, you have to start negotiating early! My first task was to book the eleven of us with Broken island Adventures, a dive charter and friends from my earlier years. The only available dates were September 11 through the 20th. That done, I began researching flights. For three months, I stressed over exorbitant airfares, until miraculously, I found a deal. Meantime, I was having a hard time finding transport from Vancouver to Bamfield. From Vancouver, it's a ferry ride to Vancouver Island, and a 40-minute drive to the logging town of Port Alberni, where you're faced with a decision: either the malignant logging road or a 4-hour ferry journey from Port Alberni. Alternatively, there are expensive and entirely weather-dependent floatplanes or sea-worthy vessels. I'd already decided to treat everyone to the road, but discovered I didn't have many options. In the end, it was either a school bus or the West Coast Trail Express. I chose the latter as they appeared to be more reliable. Two weeks before our departure date and things began to unravel. No one wanted to bunk in the same house as the "snorer." There were personality issues: "I don't want to be in the same house as him/her!" "I will only dive with him/her!" One wanted to cancel entirely. Thankfully, it all worked out in the end and we set off for Bamfield.

Several hours later, nine of us were getting anxious. We'd been sitting on the runway for over three hours. The captain had suggested the flight might be cancelled. A day's delay would be disastrous. We'd incur penalties from hotels, miss our transport to Bamfield, and have to hang around in Vancouver until alternate arrangements could be made. I started to sweat. My conversations with airline personnel didn't achieve anything. My proddings for seats on other airlines got me nowhere. Finally, I told the captain that British Airways would be facing a hefty bill if we didn't get to Vancouver that night. I like to think it was me that made the difference -- we took off. Just before, I called the hotel where we had reservations. I explained that the nine of us couldn't get there before midnight and would there be someone to give us our keys. Nope. The front desk closed at 7:30 p.m. I explained that there were two from our group that had left the day earlier and would, in fact, arrive long before us. I begged the woman to either leave the keys with the two or leave the doors open. "What about payment?" she asked. "We can do that in the morning, but it'll have to be quite early," I assured her. "How early?" she asked. "Five?... Please?" "No one's here then," she said. "Okay, I'll tell you what." I responded. "Could you ask Allen Murray, he's one of the people that'll be there before us, to put the entire bill on his credit card?" "What if he won't?" she asked. "Well, I'm pretty sure if you tell him about our delayed flight, he won't mind." "Okay," she said, "I'll just tell him he has to." "Great! Thank you! Thank you!" I gave a huge sigh of relief and promptly ordered a double gin and tonic.

At 11:20 p.m. and 10-hours later, we bundled ourselves and our gear into taxis and headed off to Horseshoe Bay where hopefully several room doors sat ajar. An hour later, and we unloaded the taxis. "Yeah!" said Richard, "The door's unlocked." I was the last to exit the car and the last to reach my door. Locked! My bloody door was locked! Why me?! Why always me?! I glared at the door. I wrestled the knob again. Nothing. I glared some more. Hey! How about the window? Carefully, slowly, as quietly as I could, I broke into the room, demolishing the window screen only just a little. Time for sleep!

Saturday and the morning broke foggy. We boarded the ferry. Moments later there were oohs and aahs, the normal expressions to the spectacular scenery. British Columbia is a magical place, and the journey between Vancouver and Vancouver Island is no exception. It's a dramatic vista of snow-capped peaks and an expanse of blue, dotted with green islands. It's the moment when you take that first step into wilderness. The sun made its morning debut and cameras started to snap. An hour or so later, we arrived at Nanaimo's Departure Bay, picked up our bags and waited for the West Coast Trail bus to arrive. Half an hour passed, then another. I phoned the company. "You told us you were arriving yesterday. Our guy waited over an hour." "No, no, I booked the transport for today! I told the guy we were flying yesterday. How could we possibly have gotten to Nanaimo the day we arrived?!" "Well, we haven't got a driver for today, so you're out of luck." I remained calm. I didn't want to blow the little chance I had of convincing them to sort it out for me. "Okay, call us back in 20-minutes and we'll try to get you a driver." I waited. "You're in luck. Bob will pick up the bus and come get you in about 30-minutes." Phew!

Bamfield. You know you’ve arrived when the sensation goes from bumpy to smooth. It’s abrupt. Everything inside goes “Aaaah!” But Bamfield is my idea of heaven, so it's worth the ride. Nine years and I was back again. Everything seemed to glow with the sharpness of its colour. Popcorn clouds were strewn about the sky. Clouds wearing blue, that breeze in like fat angels. Here, on the shores of Barkley Sound, hemlocks weep and yearn over the sea's edge. All around stands a grand and evergreen forest of cedars and pines, spiralling skyward against a backdrop of broken-teeth mountains. The air is briny, with puffs of the heady aroma of trees. And in this universe between the Pacific tides, lies one of the richest environments in the world, abounding in an inestimable diversity of life. It was this enchanted realm that we'd come for.

Bamfield itself is a small village dominated by its immense and unpredictable oceanic neighbour. Most of Bamfield's 300 residents rely on the natural resources of the environment or the local marine station for an income, but all share a profound appreciation for remote living and a healthy respect for Nature. The community is split by a natural avenue: Bamfield Inlet. People choose to live on the West side because it's unapproachable by car, features a network of boardwalks and paths, and enjoys a front row seat along Barkley Sound. The East side boasts the few work places available, and offers a bit of entertainment at either the community hall or the Hook and Web Pub. Rush hour is unlike most places, determined by daylight hours and consisting mostly of fishing boat traffic with seagull and bald eagle entourage. Even the children go to school by school-boat, kayak or canoe.

Time to get settled in. John and Cheryl, our hosts, were waiting at the government dock to ferry us over to the west side, where their set-up and our accommodation was. But there was a glitch. "Sorry, Lis, but the kayakers haven't left yet, which means the group staying at our place have to bunk up over here tonight. Don't worry though, we've arranged a nice East side bed and breakfast." There were stony stares from the House 1 lot. "Okay, we can put up with that, right everybody?," I said. "We'll just have to organize how to get House 1 settled in tomorrow morning as well as fit our first day of dives in. What do you say?" Only one stony stare remained. "And how about we all have dinner at the pub tonight?" That seemed to do the trick.

In order that House 1 could move in to their permanent accommodation, House number 2 had the first dive on September 11. There were six of us. We boarded the Grunt Sculpin at dawn on a still, crystalline day, and set off for the Broken Group, a unique cluster of islands that are scattered throughout Barkley Sound. Historically, they've been the summer hunting grounds for the ancestral First Nations Nuu-chah-nulth people for centuries. Native stone fish traps, village fortifications and middens can still be found. Leaning away from the force of the Pacific, the islands are a maze of pocket beaches, exposed reefs, lagoons, densely forested landscapes, and windswept exposed rocks. All around them are a diver's paradise. "You're lucky," said John Mass, the skipper of the boat. "Your charter's coincided with a pilchard run, which means there are loads of "humpies" in the Sound. I wouldn't be surprised if you saw a whale or two on a dive." "What's today's first dive site?" asked Sarah Dashfield, our club's Dive Officer. "Renate Reef," John replied.

At 7:30, Mike and I rolled into the water. Green! The water was a murky green! "Oh no!" Six metres down and it began to clear. At 20 the viz was spectacular! Renate's Reef is a pinnacle that descends to about 35-metres. As we descended into the clear water, we were amazed at the diversity of unfamiliar life. At depth, we were introduced to curious ratfish that wove languid circles round us. Strange looking creatures with pointy snouts and large eyes that reflected the light from our torches. As we began a leisurely ascent, we discovered patches of strawberry anemones, each the size of a dinner plate. Giant green anemones swayed like sentinels on reef walls. These leviathans are thought by marine biologists to be as old as 500-years! Besides South Africa, the Pacific Rim is believed to house the most diverse number of nudibranch, and we saw plenty. A variety of rockfish came by to inspect us. Enormous lingcod seemed to slumber on flat slabs of rock, and well-camouflaged cabezon suddenly appeared in crevices. This was a bonanza of life! As we neared 6-metres, we spotted painted greenling amongst the pink coralline algae, along with red irish lords, purple and red sea urchins and tiny club-tipped anemones. At the flat top of the reef, we decompressed amongst staghorn bryozoans and watched the antics of sculpins. This was a fantastic introduction to Barkley Sound.

Our second dive of the day, after a restful meandering along the boardwalk , took us to Sandford Reef. Another amazing experience, and our first glimpse of wolf eels. Adult males and females often share their crevice habitat. Peering out, they look like grandparents with wrinkly heads and toothless gums. Their appearance is deceiving though, for they grow up to 7-feet and are equipped with large, strong canine and molar teeth. Here, too, we passed through ghostly fields of plumose anemones, anemones as thick as a tree trunk and as tall as 3-feet. Enormous sunflower stars patrolled the canyons at the base of the reef, intent on finding an unsuspecting urchin. That said, most marine life can "smell" this 24-armed, 3-foot wide predator, and are quick (well, as quick as they can be) to get out of its way. Leather and bat stars were in abundance, as were blue-ring top snails and California sea cucumbers. Every nook and cranny was gorged with life. Not bad for our first day!

September 12 and day 2 at Bamfield. Our first dive was Seapool Rocks, a site at the very exposed South entrance of Barkley Sound. And due to its exposure, we were lucky to have the chance to dive there. The depths range between 8-metres down to about 30-metres. The reef has two pinnacles and is always swept with surge. However, because of the local upwelling and surge, this is one of the most proliferant reefs in all of Barkley Sound. Large schools of rockfish hovered over us, wolf eels peered out from their dark holes, gooseneck barnacles gently swept small particles into their mouthparts with feathery feet. And yes, even on this calm day, we were swept along by a very forceful surge.

Most of the dive sites are within a 40-minute boat ride, and the Grunt Sculpin is ideal for these waters. A custom built 27-foot vessel, it boasts a large open back deck and a heated, covered cabin. All of us enjoyed sitting in the sun on our way out to Wiebe, our second dive location. In fact, the 40-minute journey turned into a whale-watching experience as well. Dozens of humpbacks spouted in the distance and now and then, one would breach as it engulfed hundreds of pilchards. Wiebe itself wasn't as spectacular to me as previous dives, but it did provide me with an introduction to juvenile giant octopus, a lot smaller than the adult version!

Tuesday, September 13, we headed out to Christie Reef, a steep reef with a lot of bull kelp. I also saw a number of keyhole limpets. When attacked by a starfish, these invertebrates raise their slimy mantle over their shell to ward off the attack. If that doesn't work, a commensal worm pops out from under the shell and bites the starfish's feet! We also saw an enormous lingcod, perhaps 5-feet in length. It's mouth just ajar gave us a glimpse of its large canines. Another octopus-eater, cabezon were prevalent on this dive. The curious thing about this fish is that it has no scales on its body.

The moment we jumped in the water for our second dive, we were amazed by the plethora of mysid shrimp. This was certainly another reason for the number of humpbacks in the area. We descended quickly due to a strong current and down to about 25-metres on Satellite Reef. For most of our hour, we kept amused by the dancing scallops. The Pacific Pink scallop is beautiful. Their mantles come in an array of colours, and when open have a distinctive "teethy" look. Their shells are usually covered with a velvety sponge, and around the rims are hundreds of sparkly eyes. I think it was on this dive that it suddenly occurred to me that we hadn't once bumped into a harbor seal, California sea lion, nor a stellar sea lion, all of which we saw loads when topside.

In between dives, there were more opportunities to see wildlife. Walks to Brady's Beach provided glimpses of bald eagles. Some of us kayaked up the inlet or out into the sound and quietly followed black bears with cubs as they turned rocks over on the beach, in search of a pawful of tiny shore crabs. Kingfishers flitted by, as did oyster catchers and murrelets. Others from our group, more inclined for relaxation, took to the outside hot tub or just sat reading in the sunshine. Evenings, each house took turns cooking a meal and we'd have an opportunity to swap dive stories. Malcolm had us in stitches when relating his encounter with a giant octopus. "It came out of no where and it was huge. Suddenly it just spread itself out and flung itself at me." "Where was your fiancée?" someone asked. "I turned around and just saw her fins!" Apparently, they'd broached the octopus' territory, and it was just displaying as a warning to "get lost!"

By September 14, we'd started swapping diving buddies rather than stick to house groups. As we loaded our gear onto the boat, Richard, who'd been with the first group, excitedly recounted his dive. "It was behind me, right behind me. I surfaced and turned and..." "Yeah," said Sarah, "I've never heard such a sound come out of a snorkel!" "Sounded like a large rat in trouble," Rob chimed in. Apparently, a humpback breached immediately behind Richard as he surfaced. Wow! What a sight. But now it was our turn to head out to Kyen Point. This dive site consists of two pinnacles with a sand channel between them. We descended to about 25-metres and discovered an array of orange sea pens in the sandy channel. Amazingly, when these sea pens are disturbed, they produce an eerie greenish luminescence. In the distance, ratfish seemed to fly and hover just over the seabed. Above us a great school of rockfish in staggering colours of blue and vermillion circled. On the way up, we found clown and orange peel nudibranchs, as well as the smattering of strawberry and giant green anemones. At the top of the pinnacles, we decompressed amongst woody kelp and a variety of bryozoans. This is a lovely dive!

Cheryl, John's wife and second mate, had promised that she'd jump in the water and help us find grunt sculpin, for which their boat was named. The only place you're guaranteed to see grunts is Ohiat. It's a funny site in that it doesn't seem to have as much life as previous locations we'd been to. No doubt this is due to the fact that it is quite sheltered. It also became quickly apparent that nearly all the marine life there was adolescent. So perhaps Ohiat is a kind of nursery ground for animals. The bulk of this dive was spent just keeping up with Cheryl. We found 3 grunt sculpin, each quite differently marked from the others. These are adorable little fish, very boxy with a snout and orange and black stripes. They're distinctive due to a flashy white stripe on their tails, their brilliant orangy markings and the inimitable way they walk along the rocky seabed on their pectoral fins. When disturbed, they actually do make a grunting sound. We also found a sailfin sculpin and loads of adolescent giant octopus.

There were still some of us who had an irrational desire to get in the water with Stellar sealions. So on September 15, those of us who were slightly insane set off for the Grotto at Leach Island. And yes, there were hundreds of belching, farting, grunting and growling sealions lounging on the beach and rock ledges. "Just get in the water," John urged. "They'll come find you." We formulated a plan: jump in the water and altogether head southwest towards the beach. Two by two, with trepidation we slipped in. We descended to 12-metres and then promptly separated. Mike and I found ourselves meandering at the base of a rocky outcropping. The seabed appeared muddy and it dawned on me that we were actually diving in sealion poo! Fifteen minutes later and nothing. We carried on. The barking became louder and we realized that we were actually heading up the sealion beach. Mike was playing with hermit crabs and missed the torpedo-shaped body of what must have been a two-ton Stellar as it whizzed past. I did my best to express the incredulity and fear that I was experiencing. It was time to head back, which we did and immediately became tangled in bull kelp. We surfaced and swam back to the boat. Poor Mike, he was the only one. He'd sacrificed a sighting for hermit crabs!

On Friday, September 16, we decided we wanted to do some exploratory diving. Each group would choose their dive site from the charts. I was in the group that dove (yes, I'm American and allowed to say that!) Devon Pinnacle, also known as Totnes BSAC Pinnacle (we couldn't decide which name to settle on). The other group got to dive Sarah's Screamer Reef also known as Six Gill Alley! Now, which dive would you prefer?! Yes, Sarah and John Newman, also a talented videographer, descended to about 28-metres and spent 15-minutes in the company of a six gill shark. As they describe it, it was just as curious of them as they were of it. Six gills are considered one of the earliest sharks dating from the Triassic period about 200 million years ago. They're a large, deep sea creature, reaching up to 30-feet and usually quite sluggish. No one knows why they occasionally migrate up to shallower depths, but this behaviour has been documented quite a number of times in certain Barkley Sound locations and at certain times of the year. Sarah and John were just extremely lucky to be there too! My group's second exploratory dive of the day took us to a site we now refer to as The Crap Stone!

Our first dive of September 17, took us back to Seapool Rocks on a "flood ripple." Ripple it might have been, but underwater it was the most amazing roller-coaster ride I've ever experienced! We literally flew around those rocks, accompanied by a blasé school of fish, and rushing past gooseneck and giant acorn barnacle clusters feasting on the surge. A fantastic ride! I skipped the afternoon dive in order to spend time with a very old friend, Jessie. She suggested I come out fishing with her two kids and husband. "Love to," I said. I'd never been salmon fishing, but it didn't take long to teach me. You basically feed out your lines, equipped with an associate weighted line and the right sort of lure, sit back and enjoy the scenery. We spent several hours catching up, reminiscing and landing 3 very large salmon. "Want to make points with your dive club?" Jess asked. "Of course," I replied. "Okay, here's dinner!" She gave me a quick fish-cleaning lesson at the dock, hopped back on her boat, and they were off. And yes, I did make points.

The same idiots who chose to dive with sealions decided to try a night dive. Ohiat seemed the best choice, as it was a mere 10-minutes outside of the inlet and a well-protected site. At 8:30 p.m. we set off. In this remote corner of Vancouver Island, nighttime is black! Not the black haloed by an urban glow. Nor a black enhanced by streetlights. Black here is the real thing. Black black. Ancient black. The black you once knew lay under your bed. Black of our ancestors who kept it at bay with campfires. Black set off by a smattering of stars and the random hearth of havens nestled amongst the thick of evergreens. The only sounds perceivable were the constant murmurings of the Pacific Ocean, fragmented by barking sea lions somewhere out there in the black. I knew I wasn't the only one a bit intimidated by the prospect of the night dive. We jumped in and descended. It was dark. We swam along. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All the creatures who'd been scampering about on our previous dive had disappeared. Very strange indeed.

Our last day of diving was September 19, and all of wanted to return to Renate Reef. It was as picturesque as the first time. For our last dive, we chose Mahk Rock. Also known as Ratfish City, it's actually a collection of parallel running reefs, and a location where many divers see large skates (as I did). It was a gentle way of bidding Barkley Sound goodbye.

September 20, we were back on the West Coast Trail bus and enjoying the road back. We had a day and a half in Vancouver to look forward to, and then the long flight home. All of us did pretty much our own thing, wandering around the city, touring museums and the aquarium, shopping and buying last minute gifts. And then all too soon, it was time to go. I'd asked everyone to meet in the hotel's reception area with their bags at 5:00 p.m. I had a surprise for them. The morning of the 21st, I'd been calling around, trying to find the most economical means of transporting everyone to the airport. It turned out to be a limousine service. So at 5:00 p.m. two very white stretch limos pulled up in front of the hotel and we set off for the airport, sipping drinks and giggling. A fine end to a very wonderful, enchanting dive holiday!

Lis Leader