Chesterman Beach
The tree-lined gravel walkway leading to South Chesterman beach is deserted, not counting a curious black lab sniffing the salal bushes for recent scents left behind. As you emerge onto the crescent-shaped beach you are struck by the calmness of ocean waters rhythmically lapping up on the sandy shore. The wind has died down quite drastically and ocean swell has appeared to change direction. To your left is a dark rock wall that tapers into the depths of the even darker water. The tide is high, leaving only a small strip of fine white sand between the impressively diverse stretch of beach houses and the open ocean. To your distant right, the beach comes to a distinct point with shallow water barely separating a rocky mass of land clustered with wind beaten trees. You walk towards the wildly exposed island squinting your eyes against the late September sun.
As you arrive at the point of the crescent, across from the rocky island you dip your feet into the frosty clear water. Your toes instantly disappear as a million grains of soft sand swallow them up. Within seconds your feet are freezing and you are forced to retreat. Turning around you notice a man a few meters behind you starring off in the direction of the island.
“I was thinking of going for a swim to check it out, but thought better of it,” you joke to the man. He looks like the type of guy with a sense of humor, casually dressed in faded jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt. A semi-amused smirk crosses his scruffy, unshaven face.
“Yeah, you may just want to wait a few hours until the tide goes out and you can walk over to Frank Island,” the man suggests.
“Good call, after all I have nothing but time on my hands for the next few days. Are you from around here?”
As it turns out the man is from Gabriola Island, a twenty-minute ferry ride away from Nanaimo. He is just in the area for a quick getaway from his demanding schedule as a university professor. He had gotten married on Frank Island years ago and relays the scene to while you both starred off into the horizon.
“We chose this location because it is a meaningful place for both of us. We didn’t want a traditional wedding. In fact the word wedding was banned from the event. We preferred to call it a ‘natural venture’ in an attempt to deconstruct the formal ritual and mess with every aspect of the traditional wedding that we could. Why can’t people do whatever the hell they want, right?”
He speaks in a soft yet confident voice articulating himself with just the right choice of words, pausing momentarily to weigh on his options if they didn’t instantly come to mind. You would never guess by simply looking at him that he was a university professor or academic.
“Here on the West Coast there is a feel that you can do whatever you want, there are no long-standing traditions. I love that this place still promotes itself as being on Tofino time with a slow-paced, carefree attitude.”
“Yeah, I think I could get used to this place, from what I’ve seen so far. Do you surf or fish or anything when you come here?” you inquire.
He explains that he really doesn’t do much of anything on his visits, it’s all about relaxing. In fact, he avoids the busy season all together, instead visiting during the stormy winters or fall. Otherwise, he explains, "Tofino is over run by tourists and surfers who act like they own the place." To him this is anything but appealing, especially coming from his quiet little Gulf Island.
BACK ON THE ROAD
As you arrive at the point of the crescent, across from the rocky island you dip your feet into the frosty clear water. Your toes instantly disappear as a million grains of soft sand swallow them up. Within seconds your feet are freezing and you are forced to retreat. Turning around you notice a man a few meters behind you starring off in the direction of the island.
“I was thinking of going for a swim to check it out, but thought better of it,” you joke to the man. He looks like the type of guy with a sense of humor, casually dressed in faded jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt. A semi-amused smirk crosses his scruffy, unshaven face.
“Yeah, you may just want to wait a few hours until the tide goes out and you can walk over to Frank Island,” the man suggests.
“Good call, after all I have nothing but time on my hands for the next few days. Are you from around here?”
As it turns out the man is from Gabriola Island, a twenty-minute ferry ride away from Nanaimo. He is just in the area for a quick getaway from his demanding schedule as a university professor. He had gotten married on Frank Island years ago and relays the scene to while you both starred off into the horizon.
“We chose this location because it is a meaningful place for both of us. We didn’t want a traditional wedding. In fact the word wedding was banned from the event. We preferred to call it a ‘natural venture’ in an attempt to deconstruct the formal ritual and mess with every aspect of the traditional wedding that we could. Why can’t people do whatever the hell they want, right?”
He speaks in a soft yet confident voice articulating himself with just the right choice of words, pausing momentarily to weigh on his options if they didn’t instantly come to mind. You would never guess by simply looking at him that he was a university professor or academic.
“Here on the West Coast there is a feel that you can do whatever you want, there are no long-standing traditions. I love that this place still promotes itself as being on Tofino time with a slow-paced, carefree attitude.”
“Yeah, I think I could get used to this place, from what I’ve seen so far. Do you surf or fish or anything when you come here?” you inquire.
He explains that he really doesn’t do much of anything on his visits, it’s all about relaxing. In fact, he avoids the busy season all together, instead visiting during the stormy winters or fall. Otherwise, he explains, "Tofino is over run by tourists and surfers who act like they own the place." To him this is anything but appealing, especially coming from his quiet little Gulf Island.
BACK ON THE ROAD