Landscape photographs from Vancouver Island (Part 2)
A continued selection of essays and photographs from road tripping the island.
This is Part 2 of a two part series of essays accompanying selected photographs from Vancouver Island. Read Part 1 here.
The wrong side of the road
“Pull over right there,” I said, pointing to a pull-out on the opposite side of the road.
“Can we do that?” Amy asked, unsure.
“I don’t know, but let’s do it.”
We were somewhere on the Pacific Rim Highway heading west. A rental camper van passed us on the road. I checked my phone — no cellular coverage here. We got out and opened the trunk to get our cameras. We were both following an impulse.
The trees rose up the sides of the valley around us and framed a mountain in the distance. The highway snaked over a hill and disappeared from view. I looked, and I hesitated. I felt suddenly that I couldn’t make it work. The road was all wrong. The mountain’s bulk didn’t fit neatly between the tree frame. The light over the mountain was scattered in a haze. It was too dark in the shade.
There is often a voice in my head that says not to make the picture. Sometimes, that voice is right. It protects me from wasting film when a photo won’t ultimately satisfy my purposes — “Why do I want this photograph?”
But, this voice is often-times the voice of insecurity. It tries to hold me back. It tries to tell me not to make the photo. It tells me that if I make it, and that photo sucks, then it will confirm my failure before myself. So if I don’t try, I can protect myself from that hurt.
What now? We stopped the car. We were there. This was a moment I’d only seconds ago been willing to fight for. But in a split second of doubt, I was willing to give it up.
The road snaked ahead to our destination. The trees to the north were silhouetted and backlit. To the south, the rich greens were bathed in an ever-lower sun. A few more cars passed, but the mountain was still there.
To not try would guarantee it— I’d leave with nothing.
“Just take the fuckin’ photo, man.”
Boating to the Broken Group Islands
Traveling to a place in its off-season has pluses and minuses. In our case, we discussed for months the prospect of a nature cruise. The idea ticked a lot of boxes for us. We’d be good to our cameras, and we’d be good to ourselves in the process. So even in the earliest days of planning, the chance to be on the water played a big role. We needed boats — boats to get to the island; boats to see the island; boats to leave the island.
Boats, boats, boats.
There’s all manner of wildlife-spotting trips that one can book between Ucluelet and Tofino. They advertise for bear watching, whale watching and you-name-it watching. I think during the high season, these businesses are quite busy ferrying smartphone-at-the-ready tourists out to sea, to remote inlets and to various islands.
There’s a group of protected islands near Ucluelet known as the Broken Group. These islands are relatively remote with no boat service or permanent inhabitants (that I know of). They’re clustered in an ocean sound with multiple routes of exploration. This geography, and I think something about their isolation, appealed to us.
We found a boat operator who was willing to take us there for a good price. The off-season benefit was that we were all alone. The two of us had the run of a nine passenger boat for an entire afternoon trip out to and around the isles. We encountered bald eagles, sea otters and sea lions. We passed between the isles to see the peace and beauty of the near-ocean habitats. Other boats radioed to relay the sighting of a gray whale. We stopped to look at birds and otters with our binoculars. We photographed.
There were many scenes that afternoon, but the one that comes next is my favourite. The elements that bring it together just work for me. Again, human elements made their way into the photograph. These are not unwelcome — my friend is there, and this is a memory.
…And, well, the fishing boat balances the frame.
A lightness over water
It was the end of my journey through Vancouver Island. Another ferry crossing was necessary to get us back to the mainland. We had been sat in the car — in a vehicular queue for boarding the ferry. We traded photos from our phones by Airdrop, and the sunset progressed without us and beyond our view.
The time came to drive aboard, and we drove onto one of the open car decks. We parked close to the ferry exit ramp. Above it, we could see the sky that was hidden from us only just before.
A random distribution of painterly clouds filled the sky, and an orange orb hid just out of view beyond the shape of the terrain. I knew there was a photograph here. But at eye level, I couldn’t frame it all properly. The structure of the boat was cutting into my frame!
I was not in the mood to crop this one. So, I set my settings — probably f/2.8 at 1/125. I looked through the viewfinder and then gingerly raised the camera high above my head. I was trying to preserve the framing and keep the film plane straight. For a little extra oomph, I raised up on the tips of my toes.
I fired the shutter and lowered myself and the camera.
I wound the lever, and it stopped halfway. The roll was done. My journey was complete.
