⛴️ Held hostage by BC ferries, in the nicest possible way
Sunshine Coast, BC
The ferry math was not mathing
There is a very specific kind of silence that happens when you arrive at a ferry terminal at the exact moment they are lifting the ramp.
Not five minutes after.
Not close enough that you can pretend you were never in the running.
The exact moment.
We pulled into Earl’s Cove and watched the gate close in front of us, which is a powerful visual metaphor when you have spent the last hour and fifteen minutes doing ferry math with the confidence of a man who has learned absolutely nothing from life.
The first ferry, from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale, had left thirty minutes late. This was inconvenient because our next ferry, from Earl’s Cove to Saltery Bay, was at 6 p.m., and the drive from Langdale to Earl’s Cove was exactly one hour and fifteen minutes.
Our new arrival time in Langdale was 4:45.
Our next ferry was at 6.
The GPS said one hour and fifteen minutes.
A normal person would have heard this and said, “We will take the 8 p.m. ferry.”
But we were not normal people. We were people escaping Seattle fireworks with an elderly dog, two ferries, Costco snacks, and the fragile optimism that makes van travel possible.
Also, we were not in the Volvo. We were in the van. In the Volvo, I can occasionally access my inner Michael Schumacher, responsibly of course, in case any authorities are reading. In the van, Louie is less stable, spiritually and physically, so when the GPS says one hour and fifteen minutes, it means one hour and fifteen minutes. The van does not do cinematic chase scenes. The van does cargo with feelings.
Still, we tried.
And then we arrived as they were closing the gate.
Alizée and I looked at each other with disgust. Not anger. Not surprise. Disgust. The kind of look that says, “Congratulations. We are now extremely early for the next ferry.”
The good news is that if you are going to miss a ferry, Earl’s Cove is not a terrible place to be publicly humbled. The water was calm. The mountains were dramatic. The clouds were low and wrapped around the forest like the whole coast had decided to wear a blanket. We had two hours to kill, so we did the obvious outdoor adventure thing and watched the new Netflix documentary about Rafa Nadal.
No adventure, no story. Sometimes the adventure is sitting in a van, eating snacks, being personally defeated by a schedule.
The reason we ran north
We had left Seattle that morning with a mission: get Louie away from July 4th fireworks.
Our neighborhood on Capitol Hill is many wonderful things, but quiet during fireworks season is not one of them. People will set off explosives in the most urban, densely populated neighborhood as if they are personally defending the nation. Louie is older now. His paws are sensitive, his tolerance for nonsense is shrinking, and fireworks turn his nervous system into a tiny emergency broadcast system.
So we went north. First, McDonald’s, because Alizée wanted scrambled eggs and we thought breakfast ended at 11. It ended at 10:30. Obviously. So we had Americanos instead, which I will say, with all due respect to Canada, were better than Tim Hortons.
Then NEXUS did what NEXUS does, which is make the border feel like a civilized idea. Then Canadian Costco, because there are things you can only find at Canadian Costco and I am weak. Prana. Cedar Valley. Delicious canned fish. Dill pickle hummus.
Do not buy the dill pickle hummus.
By the time we finally boarded the 8 p.m. ferry at Earl’s Cove, we were first in line, which meant we got the ultimate spot at the bow. The punishment became the reward. Eagles through binoculars. Still water. Low clouds. Mountain drama. The whole thing looked expensive and cinematic, which is nice because emotionally I had already paid.
We reached Saltery Bay late, set up the van at the provincial park campground, watched another half episode of Rafa, and fell asleep to rain.
The whale had notes
The next morning was wet but not raining. We walked down to the bay, and everything was still. No wind. No people. Just that soft coastal quiet where even your thoughts start whispering.
We sat down to take it in.
Then we heard it.
Ffffffshhhhhhh.
Alizée was the first to say it: was that a whale?
Yes. A humpback whale was crossing the bay.
This is the part of a trip where the itinerary stops being the point. You spend a full day negotiating with ferries, missing breakfast by thirty minutes, and making deeply questionable hummus decisions, and then a whale appears in front of your campground like the universe saying, “Relax, habibi, I had a plan.”
(raw, uncut footage of the moment we heard and spotted the whale)
A couple joined us by the water. They heard us speaking French, we heard them speaking French, and within about five minutes we learned they were from Montreal and had driven cross-country to explore western Canada. Julie and Claude.
This is one of my favorite things about the road. You go somewhere for scenery and end up remembering people.
Nancy’s bakery and the garbage economy
Julie and Claude told us about Lund, a little port town at the end of the road, and more importantly, about Nancy’s Bakery. They spoke about the bakery with the seriousness of people who understood our values. So we did not look it up. We just went.
It was one hour away.
Of course it was.
Lund was worth it. We found a perfect spot to park the van by the harbor, opened the side door, and set up the little table I built. Nancy’s Bakery was alive. Eighties music. Smiling people. A little bakery disco energy. We bought a jalapeño cheddar sourdough loaf that had the weight of a newborn child.
Back at the van, we spread avocado on the bread, opened sardines in olive oil, added tomato and bell pepper pesto, and ate with the harbor in front of us. Miam. One of those meals that is not fancy, but because of where you are and how hungry you are and how smug you feel about your bread, it becomes perfect.
Then I went hunting for garbage.
Not a garbage can. Garbage as a concept.
We had sardine cans and plates and things we did not want the van to smell like for the next three days. I walked around for ten minutes. Nothing. Then I noticed a pickup truck with a trailer and a giant sign that said GARBAGE. It had been there the whole time, because apparently my survival instincts are strong except when the sign is literal.
There was a man sitting in the truck. I walked up and asked if I could throw my trash in his trailer. He looked at me for a solid five seconds. I could feel him assessing me: city man, soft hands, confused by waste management.
Then he said, “Let’s see what you have there.”
I was ready for a schooling. Instead, he took the trash and, in the kindest way, said it was all good. As I walked away, I saw a sticker on the truck: garbage is a business. It feeds my family.
I returned to Alizée and told her I had been hunting for garbage. We laughed, had coffee, and tried to take Louie for a walk. The walk lasted approximately one gravel path. Louie’s paw pads have become hypersensitive, and he has reached the age where he looks at certain surfaces and says, with his whole body, absolutely not.
Fair.
On the way back to Saltery Bay, we saw an army of turkey vultures on the side of the road and then, less than ten feet away, a huge eagle beside a roadside carcass. Nature is beautiful, yes, but sometimes nature is also a group project around a dead thing.
That evening we joined Julie and Claude for apero. We talked for two hours about travel, cross-country routes, and the strange joy of meeting people who are on some version of the same path. It reminded me that the best part of these trips is rarely the thing we planned.
Sometimes it is the whale.
Sometimes it is the people who also saw the whale.
Sometimes it is the garbage man in Lund.
The officially unofficial swimming hole
The next morning, Julie and Claude gave us another recommendation: a local river crossing with a natural pool with water falls on Lois River, under a bridge off Stillwater Mainline Road. Apparently the tip had come from local police, which is the kind of endorsement that makes a place feel either very official or very illegal. We packed the van and went.
What a spot.
It was empty. Rocks, clear water, a small rush of river, enough sun to make everything feel like we had gotten away with something. It was a little tricky for Louie, so we carried and bribed him through the hard parts, because this is what love looks like in your thirties: strategic dog logistics.
We picnicked on tomato, eggplant, sardines in olive oil with red pepper, and leftover sourdough. I flew the drone. For a while, the trip was exactly what we had hoped it would be: quiet, beautiful, simple.
Snakes, frogs, and fake Charlotte Cardin
Then came Inland Lake.
The drive in had mountain biker energy immediately. Shuttle signs. Gravel roads. Bikes everywhere. Not casual bikes. Bikes that looked like they had retirement accounts.
We attempted to hike around the lake and made it less than two kilometers before encountering snakes. Many snakes. Harmless, probably. Uninterested in us, probably. Still: snakes. We performed a dignified U-turn, which is the outdoor term for retreating while pretending it was a decision.
Our campsite was right by a dock, and there we met a woman from Montreal who now lives in Squamish. She loved dogs and looked so much like Charlotte Cardin that in my head she became Charlotte. We never got her real name, so Charlotte she remains. I eventually told her she had an air de ressemblance to Charlotte Cardin. She was flattered. I was hoping she would say, “Yes, she is my cousin,” but life is rarely that generous.
Still, she was kind and loved dogs, which made up for the lack of celebrity genealogy.
Then the dock changed personality.
It had been quiet, almost empty. Within ten minutes, a family with four kids arrived like weather. Good weather, but weather. Kids in and out of the water. Tadpoles in buckets. Full summer chaos. We started talking with the parents and learned the frog story: apparently a French chef once wanted to serve frog legs, introduced frogs, and now the lake has an invasive frog situation.
This is the kind of fact I love because it sounds fake, feels Canadian, and involves a French person making a culinary decision with ecological consequences.
The family was the Fritz family from Edmonton. They travel the continent building and installing (beautiful) custom tiny homes (their instagram is worth a peek), and they had the kind of energy that makes you feel better just standing nearby. Some people enter a place and take oxygen. Others arrive with four kids and somehow add oxygen. They were the second kind.
That night at Inland Lake was one of the quietest nights I can remember. No traffic. No fireworks. No generators. Just stillness.
In the morning, the sky finally went blue. We walked to the dock with coffee, and the water was perfectly flat, mirror-like. Louie settled in. The lake held still. For a few minutes, nobody needed anything from us.
Later, when Alizée showed me the first sketch for this trip, I understood what she had picked up on. Not one perfect postcard scene. The whole little ecosystem: ferry, water, trees, dock, swimmers, friends, Louie, and what looks like a tiny whale cameo doing excellent background work.
The trip had become a place.
BC Ferries: the sequel
Then, because BC Ferries had not finished its character arc, we packed up and drove to the terminal thinking we would be responsible adults and arrive early for the 11:40 sailing.
So cute.
The line was backed up so far we could not even see the terminal. Sunday. Summer. Ferry system. We fried eggs beside the van with toasted Nancy’s sourdough and accepted our fate.
On the ferry, a kind dad gave Louie what can only be described as a professional-grade massage for thirty minutes. Full commitment. Louie, who understands luxury better than anyone in this family, accepted the service. We also met a cycling fan who knew everything about the Tour and said it was too early for Seixas to win. I believed him because he said it with the confidence of a man who has suffered through many mountain stages.
Later, while paddling at Porpoise Bay, Claude texted: dinner tonight?
Absolutely.
Julie and Claude had us over at their site. Grilled meats, vegetables, our trusty Taylor Farms salad, and the kind of conversation that starts with van trips and somehow ends in education, politics, healthcare, French geography, and Claude telling us about the time he was in an ambulance in France after a horrible car crash and was giving first responders the exact street location as they drove.
I am convinced Claude knows more about French history and geography than 98 percent of French people in France.
On Monday, we made one final mistake: we thought, why rush for the ferry? It is Monday.
Adorable, again.
The Langdale line was backed up to the highway. At the booth, the clerk asked if we had a reservation. We did not. He sent us to lane 16 and told us the earliest we might make was 3:30 or 4:30. I refused to accept this prophecy, asked several other staff members, and eventually got a more reasonable answer: maybe the 12:15, but most likely the 1:15.
We made the 1:15.
A victory. Small, bureaucratic, deeply meaningful.
The border crossing was smooth. The drive home was strangely empty for peak traffic time, maybe because of a local FIFA match. There is something about big soccer tournaments that always gets me. The world feels smaller for a few weeks. Everyone is somewhere, watching something, hoping too hard.
Then we got home and learned from friends and neighbors that the weekend in Capitol Hill had been chaos. Fireworks at all hours. Up until sunrise. The exact thing we had left to avoid.
Poor Louie would have had a terrible weekend.
Even on Monday night, we gave him calming meds just in case there were leftover pops from people who believe the calendar is a suggestion. Thank goodness we did. Between 10 and midnight, a few still went off.
The quiet we came for
But he was home. We were home. The van was cleaned, the water tanks refilled, everything reset for the next adventure.
We had gone to the Sunshine Coast to escape noise. We found ferry lines, missed ramps, whales, garbage wisdom, snakes, frogs, strangers from Montreal, a fake Charlotte Cardin, a family of tiny-home builders, and one very relaxed dog on a quiet dock.
Would I make ferry reservations next time?
Yes.
Will I remember to do it?
Let’s not ruin the romance.
P.S. Alizée’s Sunshine Coast poster
Alizée turned this trip into an illustration: ferry, dock, swimmers, trees, Louie, friends, and a tiny whale cameo, which is honestly an efficient summary of our emotional itinerary.
The poster is live in Alizée’s shop. If this story made you smile and you want to support Yalla, bye, buying the print is the best possible high-five: it supports this little blog and Alizée’s work in one go.
Sunshine Coast Hot Tips
For anyone planning a similar Sunshine Coast escape, here is the non-romantic, keep-this-open-in-a-tab version:
Ferry buffer: give yourself more time than the GPS says, especially if you are connecting from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale and then Earl’s Cove to Saltery Bay. The van is not the Volvo. Summer ferries require humility.
Reservations: if BC Ferries lets you reserve the sailing you need, do it. Future-you deserves one fewer spiritual trial.
Border crossing: NEXUS made the drive north very smooth for us.
Canadian Costco: useful for van provisioning. Buy the good snacks. Skip the dill pickle hummus.
Saltery Bay Provincial Park: a good first base after the second ferry. The bay was quiet, calm, and apparently whale-capable.
Lund: worth the detour if you have time. Nancy’s Bakery had excellent jalapeño cheddar sourdough and very strong “we made the correct decision” energy.
Van lunch idea: Nancy’s sourdough plus avocado, sardines in olive oil, and tomato/bell pepper pesto. Highly specific, highly endorsed.
Lois River (aka Eagle River Falls): the river/pool spot was under a bridge off Stillwater Mainline Road. Great picnic stop, but access was a little tricky for Louie, so older dogs may need help.
Inland Lake Provincial Park: beautiful, quiet, and very mountain-bike-coded. Expect gravel road driving on the way in.
Inland Lake trail: we turned around because of snakes. They seemed harmless. We were not emotionally available for snake diplomacy.
Porpoise Bay Provincial Park: great for paddle boarding in calm salt water, however the park can get crowded. Very family friendly. IFYKYK
Dog note: gravel was hard on Louie’s sensitive paw pads, so plan for shorter walks or carrying if your dog is older or delicate-footed.
Ferry return: Sunday and Monday sailings can still be very backed up. “It’s Monday” is not a strategy.
Best overall lesson: go for the views, but leave room for the people. Julie, Claude, Charlotte, the Fritz family, and the ferry dad massaging Louie were as much the trip as the places.
Yalla, bye ✌️