Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Ferry to Port Hardy, July 31, 2001
BC's southcoast ferry is so gay they call it the Queen. Big smiles abound for glorious gaiety. A 16-hour trip. Cold tin cafeteria tables and hard plastic chairs. Comfy pleather chairs with porpoise dolphins circus-playing for show. Free newspapers and funny movies. Occasional pitches by Natural Resource Tourguide Salespeople (NARTS) on the top deck channel deeper than wise, mountain and small village adorned.
"If everyone here is pure of spirit, we may get to see Kermode, or spirit bear as the natives call it. It's a white black bear, not an albino but a sort of separate breed with a recessive white gene. I've even heard of one with a black head and white body." Ahhh, KK with your blazing orange hair, fat pouty lips, brown eyes into which I gaze from far below, your white magazine skin and coke bottle hips, your swolen hummus belly - how I miss you. Soneone on that boat was not pure of spirit.
"If everyone here is pure of spirit, we may get to see Kermode, or spirit bear as the natives call it. It's a white black bear, not an albino but a sort of separate breed with a recessive white gene. I've even heard of one with a black head and white body." Ahhh, KK with your blazing orange hair, fat pouty lips, brown eyes into which I gaze from far below, your white magazine skin and coke bottle hips, your swolen hummus belly - how I miss you. Soneone on that boat was not pure of spirit.
Labels: 2001, non-fiction, Travel, west coast
