On April 1, 2005 I set off across Canada on my bicycle. Or at least I'd planned to cross Canada. These pages are an account of that trip, as told through travelogs I sent to friends. I hope you enjoy the ride!

Hey Folks,

I promised you all a report from the trenches, so here goes.

Cathedral Grove is a tract of old growth forest located midway between Parksville and Port Alberni on Vancouver Island. It is located in MacMillan Park, named so after the timber company that pretty much cleaned out all the old growth around it.

Since I was a kid of 16 I have visited this park and marvelled at the dense forest, spectacularly tall fir and cedar trees, and the rich undergrowth. Apparently, so have a lot of other folks. So many, the government wants to build an extra parking lot to relieve the summertime congestion in the area.

Their plan is to build a "pay to park" parking lot at the west end of the tree stand, and to connect it via a gravel path with the current parking lot, about 1.5 K away. It will mean taking out a large stand of the old trees and widening the road a bit.

The protestors are against this plan. They don't want any trees removed from the area. And I understand their position. Vancouver Island was once covered with tree stands such as this. Now, Cathedral Grove, remains one of the few that can easily be accessed.

To prevent the government and logging companies from proceeding with their planned parking lot, some folks have built platforms high in the trees, and hoisted themselves up there in an attempt to stop work, while others went to court seeking injunctions against the plan.

I'm not fully briefed on all the details, but the protestors managed to win the first battle and cutting has been delayed. At this point the cut is not likely to proceed until after the upcoming provincial election in May. Our current provincial government, the neo-conservative-so-called-liberals, are not at all eager to make the environment an election issue. So for the time being, there is a reprieve in the woods. Still, the protestors are maintaining their camp and their vigil in the trees. They are concerned, if they abandon the place, the companies will quietly come back and begin their cutting.

I called out, so as to announce my presence, and was responded to with an invite to enter. Once inside I found myself in the presence of about a dozen scraggly young people, mostly men, but including four women, and two dogs. They were huddled around an air-tight (hippie killer) style stove, that was radiating red with heat below several lines of damp drying clothes and sleeping bags. It was a little like entering a teenager's room after a month of avoiding it. There was quite a mess and the people inside were rather scruffy, although several appeared to be recently cleaned and groomed.

The thing that struck me most was their friendliness. They welcomed me, introduced themselves, and several more entered from a rear door to say hello. Soon the place was full with about 20 people, checking me out. Most of them were young, mid-20s, with one teenager and a one woman about my age. They were dressed in lumber jack clothes, wool sweaters, big shoes, dungarees.

In the back of the place was a make-shift kitchen, stocked with about a week’s worth of food, a couple coleman type stoves, and large blue bottles full of river water. On both sides of the tent, from back to front, were piles of clothing and sleeping gear. From the roof, on ropes strung to and fro, hung several artful mobiles.

There were a couple large living room couches, some small coffee tables, a couple fuel lamps, some candles and stacks of newspapers, used mostly as fire starter, littering the floor. It was grundgy at best, but then again, it had been raining for a week or more, and it is not so easy to keep such a place clean under those conditions.

The leader of the group seemed to be a wild-eyed hairy fellow, about 30 years old, who called himself Wolf Flow. He did most of the talking when I entered, invited me to join them, said I was welcome to stay the night, and provided me with a brief encapsulation of what was going on.

As the night progressed there were several discussions about what was happening in the park, how the government was trying to sideline concerns about the proposed cut by enlarging its boundries to include a logged-out area nearby, and how they weren't expecting any action for a least a month.

For a while, as people grew tired, the whole place descended into a series of real bad flatulence jokes, but before it did, I was treated to a decent musical jam featuring drums, guitars, harmonicas and a few good voices. I was also impressed how attentive the crew was when I told them a few bear stories and recited a little poetry. They were a very repectful lot when it came to other people's art.

That night I slept near the fire on one of the old couches in the room. Most folks shared this common space, while a few had set up little camps of their own, somewhat removed from the main tent. As the night darkened and the stars came out, we all took to early sleep. By midnight the place was dead quiet, with only the sound of the big trucks, one who chose to lay on his air horn for a good 30 seconds around 3 am, rolling by.

In the morning I rose just ahead of the crew and went out to discover Blu had a flat rear tire. I busied myself fixing it, and making my morning Karma coffee and oats, while the others slowly woke up and drifted out of the lodge. A few offered me oats and coffee, but I was already well into my own.

In the light of day I could see some problems.