Hard to Port

Today was our first trip into Port Alberni (or just 'Port' as the natives call it), in search of a cheaper source of shopping. Ucluelet, while a delightful place to reside, has little in the way of shopping outlets, and those few establishments charge a hefty premium for goods. Just as an example, a jug of 2% milk cost $5.79 in Ukee, while in Port, we bought that same jug for a buck less, and that's just one item. Mind you, you have to make it worthwhile by assembling a big enough list to justify the 200 km round-trip, but doing this trek about once a month or so will be doable.

It does, however, take up a good part of the day. It may be only 100 km, but the road between Ukee and Port is anything but straight. Within about 15 minutes drive from our door, we pass Lake Kennedy, the largest lake on Vancouver Island. Only a small portion is viewable from the road, but we pulled off for a quick look and I snapped a couple of pictures.

Marcelle has a trip planned off-island in November, so she will do a major shop at Costco in Nanaimo upon her return. This should hopefully hold us through most of the winter months so we can avoid having to drive eastward. Although Sutton Pass, the highest point of Highway 4 between Ukee and Port, is ony 240 metres in elevation, there can easily be snow and ice during the winter months. There are signs posted that between October 1st and April 1st, snow tires or chains are required. I think it's unlikely you'd get stopped and checked, but then that's where Darwinism generally wins the day. I think I'm going to price out some reasonable chains for the trunk just in case. Considering that any major medical care is at minimum in Port Alberni, it seems a prudent thing to do.

This morning, as we were leaving, Marcelle called me out to the porch and we could hear dozens of crows calling all around us. It was really quite astounding aurally, very, very, three-dimensional. The murder was flying down the street and over the house toward the beach. We have seen quite large groups (which, of course, are called murders) on the beaches here. Both crows and ravens live in this area, and apparently, it is very hard to tell them apart. Regardless, they are fascinating and intelligent birds, and Marcelle is very taken with them.

While we just had grey skies this morning, and the odd sprinkle, on our return, once past the summit, we entered rain that even now is continuing. Outside, on our porch, the wind is picking up and the Hoot-bots, as I call them, our fog horns, can be heard, calling out their two tones, one low, to every two higher. Gusts whip the treetops and the resulting arrhythmic spattering of heavy drops falling on the Salal ground cover mingles with the gentler, more regular patter of the smaller raindrops, while overhead, a susurration of the wind comes and goes, causing a delayed flurry of staccato beats.

Winter is settling into Ucluelet.