Honey in Bear Country
I was ankle-deep in the freeze of the North Pacific ocean looking for mussels. The chill of the water stung my bones as the tropical fragrance of the air soothed my skin. Tides were rising onto the western Canadian shores of Hornby island while the sun fell, glistening red in the distance of its crystal waters.
Our hope for a free meal slowly dissipated as we’d pried open the unearthed mussels only to find empty mouths. “Be patient! Good things happen to those who are.” That was Xavier. A local of the island and an old friend from Quebec. He’d arrived here on his sailboat four years ago and like many others, had found within the island what he calls home. He’s since then joined the island’s community of mainland runaways and lost travelers.
“Crab! Crab!” Xavier waved me over as he stared down at the thinly submerged sand. He pointed out bubbles rising to the surface and swiftly kicked the sand next to it. Eight scrawny legs clinched to the surface to pull up its shell, throwing claws at the sun ready for a fight. A magnificent Dungeness crab. Its eyes like dark globes on the tip of antennas lock onto my towering figure as I question the safety of my toes.
“Grab it from behind!” Xavier shouted. Now it was my fingers I was worried about. Its ash-orange shell alone was the size of my hand and its legs spanned the length of my forearm. The passive hunt for mussels had not prepared me well for hand-to-hand combat with the sea critter. But we were hungry. I dove my hand over its head following my friend’s instruction and scooped it right up. My fingers held the pearl-white belly of its undershell as the pointy tips of its legs scratched at my skin.
I felt fascinated by the chase. Partly for the food we were bringing back to shore but mostly for the knowledge exhibited before me by Xavier. We both grew up far from any ocean shore so I asked him how he came to understand the right clues in order to find the crab. He said he had already given me the answer when he told me to be patient, adding:
“Our hands are too small to interfere with the natural occurrences of the world. All we can do is pay attention and choose our moments.”
The word of our successful hunt spread through the island before night fully settled over us. The truth is, there was little on Hornby to distract the locals other than the excitement of traveling news. Most of them lived without the daily necessity of cellphones and relied on the human delay of word of mouth to stay informed. I had forgotten what it was like to live without the immediacy of technology and its ironic claims of connectivity. I recognized the true desire to communicate with one another in the community of Hornby island.
Some locals joined us carrying wood they had scavenged from the forest, while others brought backyard-grown vegetables and worn-out pots to boil the catch of the evening. Our dinner by the beach had grown into a celebration as a dozen people had taken place around the fire to hear the story of our hunt and to participate in the group ritual of howling at the moon. The act of doing so served no practical purpose. So I sat silently, questioning my gut for its readiness to blow air into the dark sky. But soon enough, the built-up excitement of joining in burst out of my body as I howled to the depths of the cosmos tagging the moon along the way. After doing so I couldn’t pull my attention away from the sky. I came to realize that their howls were not only a sign of unity but also served to practice acknowledgment of the moon and the space it found itself in.
The night went on as embers floated in spirals in the entanglement of our conversations. I got to meet a few other locals and most of them seemed to wield a specialty necessary to the support of the community. Some were farmers, some were herbalists, some were tradesmen and others were artists. Among the group, varied as they were, was one man whose claims remain unforgettable.
His name was Matthew, and he introduced himself as a pirate. The idea seemed preposterous as the image I had of a pirate suited no modern man but the locals were all in agreement. If there were to be North American pirates traveling the modern seas, he would be one of them. He lived on his sailboat adhering to the laws of the sea and to the pirate code. This code, in his interpretation, conveys that any man claiming piracy must live outside of modern society and be of service to no one but himself and the sea.
Matthew doesn’t consider himself to be part of the Hornby community as that would imply that he lives on land. Yet, the locals know him as a friend and a neighbor. His attachment to them sources from their common interests of living on the cusp of society and their own set of laws.
“They would make damn good pirates.” Said Matthew as he winked at me in appreciation for the people we found ourselves surrounded by.
Hours later, the fire had smoldered down to a pile of ashes, and dawn’s faint luminance hovered over the island’s eastern horizon. I was left to delve into my newfound admiration for the locals of Hornby. Their way of living ran symbiotically with the natural occurrences of the island, and part of the reason why that worked is the minute size of their community. A boat ride away hummed the excess of a major metropole, Vancouver. Here the stars disappear behind the luminance of neon signs advertising half-off deals to a product-fed population. Nearby mountains pale in comparison to the height of office skyscrapers whose divine peaks can only be reached by way of the corporate ladder.
In this respect, Hornby island is proof of a functioning alternative lifestyle.
Later that day, as I ride the ferry back to the mainland, I will try my best to not forget.
I will try to remember that life finds a way with or without us and that our only real chance at finding meaning within it is to pay attention.
Even when the city lights blur my vision and the towers obstruct my path, I will try to remember the last piece of advice I was given by one of the Hornby locals.
- “There are two options when it comes to success. You can choose to succeed in life, or you can choose to succeed in your own life.”
