Gah! The day had arrived. I was flying home to Canada, talk about your bitter-sweet moments. On the one hand, I was very excited to be seeing family and friends and very thankful to be going home for a birthday instead of a less joyous occasion. I hadn’t been back to Vancouver or Victoria in over two years and then the pandemic hit, forcing that absence to double. I could feel the distance keenly, and desperately wanted to be home. My family had been through so much the past several weeks with my aunt’s accident and recovery, all of them taking turns, physically and emotionally exhausted from hospital visits, sleepless nights and worry, and so, so relieved that she was on the mend. I was anxious to get home. We had been granted a second chance and I wasn’t going to miss it.

Then, on the other hand, I was torn. Charles was adamant that I go home, but I could tell he was struggling, shouldering alone the astronomical pressure he was under and trying hard not to let me see it, wanting me to be able to focus on my family for a change. I would be flying home to three weeks of joy and comfort and love and pampering, while he would be left alone trying to repair all of the things that had broken so far (both dinghy motors, and our big engine was also having issues), looking for work that would pay enough to keep the rapacious at bay, and finally at long last, getting 100% fully and completely out of storage. He would be doing this alone, in a gloomy and very rolly anchorage, and of course I imagined it would be foggy and raining. I felt like I was abandoning my husband just as our going was getting tough.

But to be fair, our going has always been tough. To say it has been an uphill battle would be an understatement. We joke that when I first met Charles he was a man in search of a ditch. In order to keep his dream alive he needed to find a cheaper place to dock it, the Bay Area slip-rents being the most exorbitant in the region. Our first ‘day date’ was a drive through the delta to scout out possibilities, many of them so choked with water hyacinth that he was skeptical of getting the boat through it. But he is tenacious and he found a spot, Tracy Oasis Marina, the channel less than 2 of our boat-lengths wide, the dock about 12 feet shorter than our length, and only deep enough to move Magick Express in or out at high tide. The rest of the time she was trapped, mired on the bottom. The spot was two days by water from the Bay, and better suited for bass boats and old houseboats, as evidenced by the look of surprise on people’s faces as we finally came into view, our mast having been visible for much longer.

Even though it was difficult, he did what it took, and we did what it took. Within a month of us meeting, Charles moved to the Delta, a lengthy drive from me, but we made it work. We both knew that together we had something special, and we still know it today. Unhealthy relationships litter both of our paths, and both of us saw good and worthy people in the other. He was a man with a dream, struggling to find a path, while I was restless, wondering if my adventure days were over, indecisive but determined to find my next new destination or experience.

So as cliché as it sounds, we completed each other, and when you find that, you don’t give it up, especially when the going gets tough, that is when you cling together tighter. And this moment, right now in Monterey, was one of our toughest. Our lives felt raw, infected, the wound still fresh, not enough time or quiet had passed to begin healing but our hearts and determination were strong, we just needed to allow for a protective scab to form and Monterey seemed like just the place.

But I had other reasons to welcome the pause in our travels. Our pace so far seemed frantic even though, in reality, we were moving very slowly, the ‘frantic feeling’ a result of so many important unknowns. We were having trouble finding our groove and things kept breaking or going wrong. Was it a sign? Were we doing the right thing by leaving? Or was this a test? A proving ground? I needed to stop the constant movement and find my footing, regain some balance.

And for some reason I was worried about our next leg, the jump south from Monterey, along one of the most desolate and inhospitable stretches of shoreline, the Big Sur coast. It was likely my usual ‘I haven’t done that before’ jitters, slathered in an extra helping of frantic sauce but I needed time away to examine the worry and get some clarity about our situation, and I needed a bit of a respite to work up some nerve.

I had a late morning flight out of San Jose International Airport, the same airport I flew from when working in the South Bay and a good reminder to me of how close we still were to our former lives. As Charles dropped me at the curb, my Covid test results finally came through and thankfully were negative. I didn’t need them until my next leg, Seattle to Vancouver, but didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in Seattle if I had tested positive.

When I reached Vancouver International Airport and was waiting in line to be cleared, I spotted a familiar face on the big overhead information screens, an old friend from my tweenage years and summer swimming days, Nigel Howard. Nigel skyrocketed to stardom in Canada when Covid hit, providing real-time, accurately-translated information for the hearing-impaired and highlighting the need for sign language in order to better increase inclusivity. He has inspired memes and a short documentary called Who the Hell is Nigel? (click here to watch). He was, and clearly continues to be an inspiration. (Since the camera on the back of my phone was broken, all my pics are selfie pics!)

The first few days were a whirlwind. My oldest (but marginally younger 🙄) friend Allison met me at the airport and whisked me away to her place for the evening before dropping me at the ferry the next day. I would spend a larger chunk of time with her before my flight back to the states, my primary focus was to get to my family.

Thankfully, the weather was gorgeous for the crossing and I sat outside, eyes peeled for wildlife and soaking up the beauty of the islands, my broken phone stuck in ‘selfie-mode’ doing no justice to the extraordinary reality around me. I was met by my very excited mother whose incessant texting the day before had gotten me in trouble with the immigration people who wanted only to see my documents, all stored on my phone, and who instead got to read about how excited she was (thought you were off the hook when I didn’t mention it in the previous paragraph, eh Mom? No such luck!). I had a few days of settling in and visiting, and gave myself a long overdue hair trim that was fixed by my faux-niece Kristen whom I knew would take pity on me and my butchery attempt.

Within days it was time for the main event, Audrey’s birthday had arrived! Kristen, Mom, and I took the birthday girl to Island View Beach for a walk and a picnic lunch as birthday celebrations were being organized back at the house. As kids, Audrey and her siblings had camped here with their parents (my grandparents), living on the beach for a good portion of the summer. The absolutely stunning day was followed by a celebration that evening with much more family back at home. And cakes, so many cakes, almost daily cakes. We had a lot to celebrate.

The next 10 days or so were a combination of relaxation and rejuvenation interspersed with walks and exploring, sprinkled with visits to, or outings with Audrey, not wanting to tire her too much. Mom had a list of walks she wanted to do, and it had been so long since I had been home, I was happy to see any and all of it, as long as I had enough downtime to sort through the soupy muddle that was swirling in my brain. My fear of the next sailing leg had me worried and I knew if I couldn’t get past it, Charles’ and my future was going to look quite different than we had planned.

Mom and I went for walks most days, some more strenuous, like Mount Douglas, as well as ones that I remember doing as a kid, like Dallas Road, or the breakwater before the railings were put up and the wall beautified with murals. We also succeeded in walking most of the inner harbour seawall, breaking it up into smaller sections and doing it over the course of a few days. While we were walking the stretch in front of The Empress Hotel, I had a fangirl moment when I spotted a familiar sailboat, SV Nereida, famous for its owner Jeanne Socrates, who until 2020, held the record for being the oldest person to sail around the world, non-stop, alone and unassisted, and will remain the first woman to complete the journey from North America. To counteract all of the walking we were doing, we balanced it with sampling new restaurants that Mom had wanted to try, and revisiting our tried-and-true haunts like Red Fish Blue Fish for their delicious tacones, or the Beacon Hill Drive-In for soft-serve ice cream.

Mom and I walked the gardens and grounds at Hatley Castle, now part of Royal Roads University. If it seems familiar, it is a popular filming location, frequently listed as one of the top 10 filming locations with credits listing many of the X-Men movies and Deadpool to name a few.

Any visit to Vancouver Island or Victoria would not be complete without a visit to the world renowned, Butchart Gardens. We met Audrey and Kristen at the entrance and spent the better part of the day enjoying the solitude and spectacular beauty, the pandemic making it the least crowded I have ever seen it! After the garden, Mom and I did a drive to kill some time before circling back to the Brentwood Bay Public Wharf to enjoy some delectable seafood at Blue’s Bayou Café.

We explored Saxe Point, a familiar park not far from my Mom’s apartment and also met my nephew Peris there on a more drizzly day for a socially-distant visit that surprisingly passed in a flash, three hours disappearing as if it were minutes.

That night, Charles texted me a photo. He had fled the rocky-rolly anchorage and had moved the boat to Stillwater Cove, the anchorage below the famous Pebble Beach Golf Course and one of the stops that I was keen to make as well. When we chatted the next morning he said he would be heading out shortly, moving back to Monterey, so Mom got online and found the Stillwater Cove live-cam and we watched, grabbing screenshots of him as he motored out of the cove, heading north. In a week he would be driving to the airport to get me.

I was down to my last few days on the Island and would be returning to the mainland soon to spend time with Allison and prepare for my flight home. Time had passed so quickly and was increasing exponentially, faster and faster as my departure date sped closer. We did one last walk, meeting Audrey, Kristen, and Barry (Audrey’s son/Kristen’s dad/my cousin) at Government House (the official residence of the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia), conveniently located just a few blocks away and often included as part of our regular walking route when in need of a lovely nearby garden.

My time with Allison in Vancouver remains largely undocumented, this being the only photo I took. (That’s Lion’s Gate Bridge behind us and Stanley Park on the right.) Our time, as usual, was filled with easy non-stop chatter about who knows what. She got me through the chaos of Covid testing so I could return to the states and more importantly, reminded me that I am stronger than I know. She is and always will be, my hero, oh and also, the wind beneath my wings.

My last evening in Canada, I took the Seabus across from Allison’s and met my Mom and my cousin Colleen at Canada Place for dinner and to see the Immersive Van Gough exhibit. It was wonderful getting to see Colleen, and to finally see the show I had been hearing so much about. I spent my last night at Allison’s and then we headed for the airport the next morning, meeting Suzanne and my Mom for breakfast at the swanky airport hotel, my tummy too nervous to eat much before flying.

And with much hugging and tears, my time in Canada was done. What a difference three weeks had made. I felt relieved, having seen that my aunt was doing well, the stress and worry surrounding her fall had dissipated and seeing my Mom and the rest of my family was rejuvenating. The distance from Charles and the boat had solidified my resolve and I knew for sure that he and I were making the right decision by leaving. No matter how stressful the past few months had been, it was still better than our previous life and I no longer questioned our choice. I had renewed faith in my husband’s ability to land on his feet and reminded myself that he never gives up, no matter how bad it gets, of that I am sure. All I had to do was hang on and keep believing.

And as for my nervousness about our upcoming Big Sur passage, I reminded myself that, although I hadn’t yet sailed that particular stretch of coastline, I had been sailing in the very same ocean that meets that section of coastline and, so far, there had really been nothing to fear. I was going to have to get used to sailing in new areas that I had never sailed before because sailing the unfamiliar was about to be my life. I was ready to return and to get underway again, with the excitement of the unknown on the horizon and with hope, once again, pushing us onwards.