Day 4 – In Ucluelet
N48º 55.313' W125º 32.584'
Sunday dawned wetly. At least, to the degree ‘dawned’ is operative as a verb in this sentence, given that we didn’t really see the sun on Sunday morning. The oft proclaimed yet not-yet-seen rain visited Ucluelet with a vengeance, meaning that the bike and I wouldn’t be doing a whole lot of riding. Yes, I’ll ride in the rain, particularly when I need to get somewhere. As a strictly recreational activity, however, this places lower than any number of other potential activities, including sleeping in, reading, taking a bath and just generally hanging out.
Which was pretty much the order of Sunday. Sleep by this point was at least lasting 8 hours a night (which might sound normal for most, but was deeply extravagant and much appreciated by your faithful correspondent). Morning consisted of a pot of coffee, a cinnamon bun and a really good book (Neil Gaiman’s American Gods) while I took a bath, watched Mother Nature dish it out through the window, and generally contemplated not doing a whole hell of a lot.
We eventually did force our way out the door, however, if only to try to secure breakfast (or, by way of homage to the Lord of the Rings, second breakfasts). This saw us heading out to the Matterson House restaurant, a place that I’ve been by many times and that Breton and I tried to visit last year. Given the early hour we had left, however, the restaurant hadn’t yet opened when Breton and I went visiting. This tragedy was, of course, offset by me getting to watch Breton stall his bike numerous times trying to get up the driveway to the Cynamoka coffee house.
The Matterson House. Frequented by locals, so you know it’s good…
Dianne and I had the opposite problem. By the time we got our sorry butts out of the cabin and down the road, the Matterson House had actually stopped serving breakfast (only just, but still). Apparently, you have a brief window of opportunity for breakfast between 9:00am and 11:30am. After that, you are out of luck. Fortunately, the menu has an ‘all day’ breakfast — at least, if you define all day as before 2:30pm. We arrived at 11:45, so we at least qualified for that. And an impressive breakfast it was. Serious portions, fabulous eggs and sausage, and real, home-made hash browns that were amazingly good. That and a near-bottomless cup of coffee meant that we were pretty darned content by the time we said goodbye.
Breakfast complete, the next question was what to do with ourselves. We had a few hours on our hands until we needed to be back at the cabin (Dianne needing to watch — and yes, this is an imperative — the finals of the World Curling Championships, to see if Canada would emerge victorious over Scotland). The net result was a return trip to Tofino (at least for me) and an opportunity to show Dianne the sights. Or at least, the cafe, the bookstore and the art gallery.
Dianne had not previously had an opportunity to see the work of Roy Henry Vickers, so we spent some time walking through the Eagle Aerie Gallery, which is dedicated to — and is an example of — his work. It was a great wander as always. I enjoy his art, and I enjoy reading the stories that correspond to each painting. Wandering through the gallery confirmed two things. Firstly, Dianne and I have similar taste in art. Secondly, our taste is really, really expensive. Sitting in the central area provides a commanding view of the paintings, and is a great place to get a sense of how each piece stands out. The two pieces that stood out for us were both originals (not prints, like virtually everything else in the gallery) with the first one costing $38,000, and the second being a mere $25,000 (a bargain by comparison). The net result was that we left empty handed.
Next stop was the cafe to pick up a latte. Interesting discovery — lattes appear no less wimpy while driving a bright red Mustang convertible than they do while riding a motorcycle. This, however, is something I’m coming to terms with quite readily, especially considering I have a congenital disposition against a) drinking Tim Horton’s coffee, and b) standing around in Tim Horton’s parking lots looking at other peoples motorcycles, which seems to be what passes for being a motorcyclist amongst a disturbingly large percentage of the population. But I digress once again…
Heading back down the peninsula, we stopped in at Long Beach to check out the surf, and the surfers. Sure enough, there were a number out on the water. Not surprising given the surf, although to the casual observer the cold and rain would have been perceived to be a barrier. Interestingly, though, the ocean here varies in temperature by only about 4 degrees Celsius all year. In other words, it’s always very, very cold. The fact that it’s cold and wet out of the water simply means that the weather for the rest of us now aligns with the weather that surfers experience most days of the week.
Possibly the only activity crazier than motorcycling in the rain. Although, here you’re already wet.
Last but not least, we finally headed down to the other end of Ucluelet to locate the mythical lighthouse. Seeing it on TV is one thing, but we wanted to check it out for real. And so, we headed south from the cabin to see what we could find. Interestingly, there is a whole Coast Guard station just south of Ucluelet, of which the lighthouse is only a part. The lighthouse is a primary fixture, though, and the destination for many, many tourists. It’s almost a mecca of sorts for people in hiking boots, windbreakers and funny Tilley Endurables hats. Perhaps it is a modern-day Stonehenge. Perhaps people are attracted to the danger of visiting the lighthouse while avoiding being swept off the rocks into the ocean (Extreme Lighthousing?) Perhaps Lighthouse TV is broadcasting subliminal messages, exhorting the faithful to visit and make appropriate offerings to the one-eyed deity. Or perhaps I have way more conspiracy theories than is healthy.
The real lighthouse.
Despite the strong lure to stay and worship at the lighthouse proper, however, we wrenched ourselves away and headed back to the relative warmth of the cabin, where we could continue our devotions in relative comfort (and with wine). Soon, however, it was time to watch the continued train wreck that is the Canadian men’s curling team as they once again let Scotland walk away with the game (and the gold medal). What Kevin Martin was thinking when he tossed away a shot and then tried a convoluted take out instead of just nudging back a rock from the four-foot is beyond me, and I’m not even that much of a regular curling watcher.
Not a real lighthouse, but plays one on TV…
All that remained was to drown our sorrows in a martini. Fortunately, The Pointe restaurant at the Wickaninnish Inn is a damned fine place to do that, and coincidentally that’s where we had reservations for dinner. What followed was a truly spectacular meal. The food was incredible, the wine list was spectacular and the views from the dining room are just exquisite. If you’ve never been, go. If you have been, you owe it to yourself to go back. This is an amazing, amazing place. Not so amazing, though, to keep the 10 year old at the next table from playing with her Nintendo Game Boy all evening, which her parents astonishingly encouraged. Although I have to say, if they were my parents I’d have wanted to avoid them as much as possible as well.
Maybe it’s just the location. Maybe it’s just the martini. But there’s sun out there…