By God -- you can get there from here!

Vancouver Island, upon which I live, is the largest island on the west coast of North America, with a length of nearly 400 miles. I have lived here for far more years than I would care to mention. I grew up a city kid, in Vancouver, but came here to teach high school when I was in my early 20s. So, yes, I have lived here for a while. And, in all the years I've lived here, I had never gone up north.

People who live where I do, about 130 miles north of Victoria, which is right at the southern tip, and is the largest community by far, tend to get irritated by those in Victoria (for thousands of excellent reasons) because Victorians tend to believe that the stodgy old and far-too-quaint place is the epicenter of the universe, and that there is nothing of worth to the north -- all 400 miles of the north. We who live to the north know that the bias of Victoria is, to use the clinical term, bullshit. It's fabulous in our part of the Island. Tourists flock here in droves for swimming and boating in the summer, and skiing in the winter.

But, and this must be my confession, I had in all the years I have lived here, never been farther north on the Island than about 50 miles north of here. Primarily because, I think, all the population centers of this place are in the south. So, I just never had the impulse to go 'up there' to where there might well "be dragons."

But, last week, after having discussed the matter for years as in, "I think it's terrible that you've never been to northern Vancouver Island," -- emanating from my wife, who isn't even from here, and has only been on this rock for a few years, but who has, I must admit, been up north.

"What's up there?" I'd often asked her. She would describe places of pristine beauty and magnificence. While I wasn't unimpressed with her descriptions, I generally found excuses to not go, like, maybe we could, if we are going to take the time, go to Victoria instead because, even if they are self-important assholes, they do have good bookstores, nice pristine city parks and all the other accoutrements a city guy like me tends to gravitate to.

Anyway, one day last week, with time at our disposal, Wendy said, why don't we take a day trip to Telegraph Cove. She'd often talked about the tiny village on stilts way-way up north. I looked at the map. It was as far north as Victoria was south. Our place to Victoria -- where all but a few of the Island's 800,000 people live. "How many people live up there?" I asked. "About nine?" She assured me there were more than that.

Anyway, on the day in question we set forth. We drove first to Campbell River about 30 miles north, and a place with which I was very familiar. I even lived there for a while with the woman who I foolishly married at one moment of madness, but that's another story. From Campbell River we drove another 50 miles or so to Sayward, a tiny burg not especially notable for anything of much consequence. That was the farthest north I had ever been, and that was ages ago.

And then, it was into virgin territory. It was miles-and miles-and miles-and miles of virgin territory consisting of mainly trees. Trees and clearcuts, and more trees. Periodically a fairly spectacular mountain would loom into view. Even more periodically the shining water of a lake could be glimpsed through the evergreens. But, mainly it was trees.

Hours later we reached Telegraph Cove. So named because a telegraph station was established there in World War Two -- back in the days before email, even before fax machines. How did they cope? It's a cute wee place with a resident population of about 50, I believe. But, the summer months fill this village on stilts over a lovely bay with probably way too many (in the esteem of locals, no doubt) artsy-fartsy sorts, and venerable day trippers of the ilk who wear Bermuda shorts with business shoes and black socks (if male), or frightening looking halter-tops for females. Telegraph Cove has also become a Mecca of sorts for those who like to interfere with orcas (killer whales) in their natural habitat, since they abound here.

But, it was kind of fun there. We had a picnic. We then drove on 10 or so miles to Port McNeill, the only community of any consequence in the area, that even boasted supermarkets and gas stations.

The gas stations were a good idea, since we knew we had miles-and miles-and miles of trees to pass through on our way back to the genuine outer world.