Going in circles

Seen on the estuary; this made me wonder why, then chuckle. I was watching the fish jump when ...

A float plane came roaring down into a dead-end arm of the river.  Why?

He stopped, then turned and raced back. Just getting space for a takeoff, then.

But, no. He slowed down, then trundled back to the dock, tied up.

So, what was that about? The pilot left the plane, ran into the building, came back, got back in his plane, turned around and hurried back to the same dead end. Then he turned around again, revved up the motor and raced back down river, passing me at the bird blind for the fourth time.

And this time, he lifted off. Note the three guys standing in the weeds, watching.

And he's away!

Forgot his thermos of coffee, maybe?

The plane is a De Havilland Turbo Otter, flying for Vancouver Island Air. It's been flying since 1956, and is one of 200 (of the original 466) still operational.

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Esto es algo que vi mientras observaba los peces que saltaban en el estuario. ¿Qué está haciendo? me hizo preguntar; luego me dió risa.

1. Una avioneta flotante llegó a toda prisa, entrando en una rama del rio sin salida. ¿Porqué?
2. Se detuvo, dió la vuelta, aceleró. Ya veo; nada más se aseguraba un buen tramo de agua para despegar.
3. Pero, no. Perdió velocidad, se dirigió tranquilamente hacia el muelle, y se amarró. ¿Qué pasa aquí? El piloto salió de la avioneta, corrió hacia la oficina, regresó, se subió de nuevo a su avión, arrancó el motor, dió la vuelta de nuevo, y volvió a la misma rama muerta del rio. Y ahora, dió vuelta una vez más, aceleró, y me pasó de nuevo, levantando gran cantidad de espuma.
4. Y ahora sí tenemos despegue. Fíjate en los tres hombres observando desde entre la hierba.
5. Volando, por fin.

¿Se le habrá olvidado el termo con café?

El hidroavión es un De Havilland Turbo Otter, que vuela con Vancouver Island Air. Ha estado en operación desde 1956, y es uno de los 200 que todavía existen, de los 466 que fueron producidos.

The watchers

 Big birds ...

Tyee Spit, and the water surrounding it, the Campbell River estuary and the northern tip of the Georgia Strait, are home to many birds, mostly small, mostly distant, mostly (except for sleepy mallards) extremely active. And then there are the eagles, content to just sit and watch.

They were there when I arrived, they were there when I left, an hour later.

An inventory of the birds of Tyee Spit is never complete without at least one of these:

Cessna 185 Skywagon. Content to just watch for now.

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Pájaros grandes ...

Tyee Spit, la lengueta de tierra que separa el estuario del Rio Campbell del extremo norte del Estrecho de Georgia, junto con sus aguas vecinas, provee hábitat a muchísimos pájaros, por la mayor parte pequeños, casi siempre allá en la distancia, y normalmente (aparte de los ánades reales, los dormilones) muy activos. Esta pareja de águilas, en cambio, se dedican a quedarse quietos, vigilantes.

1. Dos águilas adultas. Estaban allí en su rama cuando lleguá, seguían en la misma rama cuando me fui, una hora más tarde.
2. Ningún inventario de las aves de Tyee Spit se puede considerar completo si no incluye por lo menos uno de estos: esta avioneta flotante es un Cessna 185 Skywagon. Por ahora, se dedica a esperar.

Good enough

The sun came out. I decided to go down to Tyee Spit, see what's blooming now, look for birds in the estuary, find new mushrooms in the grass, but I had a couple of errands to run first. And then the rain came pelting down, great, fat drops on my windshield. BC weather! So I came home and looked up leftover photos of the Spit instead.

Turbine Otter coming in for a landing in the estuary. Another misty day, August, 2016. 

The grassy tip of the Spit. March 30, this year. I deleted a couple of walkers.

Looking north towards the entrance to Seymour Narrows. Last December.

A pair of cormorants, January, this year.

Forecast for tomorrow: rain. What else?

A Skywatch post.

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Salió el sol. Decidí ir a Tyee Spit, para ver que flores están abiertas ahora, para mirar los pájaros que nadan y vuelan sobre el estuario, para buscar honguitos en el césped. Pero tenía unos mandados que hacer primero, y hecho esto, empezó a llover, grandes gotas gordas bombardeando mi parabrisas. ¡Este clima isleño! Total, regresé a casa y busqué el sitio entre mis fotos olvidadas.

1. Una avioneta "Otter Turbine", al punto de hacer contacto en el estuario. Agosto de 2016.
2. El césped donde busco hongos. Borré un par de caminantes de la foto. 30 de marzo, de este año.
3. Mirando hacia el norte y la entrada de Seymour Narrows (el Estrecho de Seymour). Diciembre, 2023.
4. Un par de cormoranes. Enero, 2024.

El pronóstico para mañana: lluvia, claro.

Un post de Skywatch: Haz clic para ver cielos de esta semana alrededor del globo.

Going places

I'm walking down Tyee Spit looking at eagles and crows, and I hear a rumble overhead. And now I stand and watch until the plane drops out of the clouds, splashes down on the estuary and taxis to its mooring. It's a habit that harks back to those days long, long ago, when I was a kid on the far side of the island, watching the weekly mail come in.

Orange bird

We have highways these days, crossing the island in several places, running from north to south. Smaller roads, logging roads winding through the forests and along the valleys. But there are still many small communities on and around the island where the only access is by air or water. Where we still rely on tiny float planes to carry mail, equipment and people.

Tyee Spit, 50 years ago, was the busiest float plane base in the world. Those days are gone, but it's still active; every time I am there, several small planes come and go.

Vancouver Island Air, Turbine Otter. 14 passengers, or 1 ton payload.

Of the original 466 Otters built between 1951 and 1967, less than 200 are still around. Originally powered by 600hp Pratt & Whitney Wasp radial engines, most have been converted to Turbine. (Vancouver Island Air)

From my Dad's old camera; our mail plane. 1950 or thereabouts.

This was a Grumman Goose G-21, built in the 1930s, carrying up to 6 passengers. About 30 are still in operation today, flying to and from communities here on the island and on the north coast.

I flew in to Gold River in one of these in the early '50s. Dad up front with the pilot, Mom and us 3 kids in back with our luggage. When we dropped into Gold River, the plane circled, almost standing on its wing; all I could see out my window was the water. And then the plane righted itself and we splashed down and headed for the dock.

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Estoy en Tyee Spit, mirando los cuervos y águilas cuando oigo un rumor allá arriba entre las nubes. Y tengo que pararme y observar mientras la avioneta aparece entre las nubes, aterriza en el agua con gran chapoteo, y navega tranquilamente hasta su amarradero. Una costumbre que recuerda siempre los dias de antaño cuando veía llegar el avion con el correo semanal.

En estos tiempos, hay carreteras que cruzan la isla en varios sitios, carreteras también que van desde el norte hasta el extremo del sur. Y caminitos, caminos de los madereros que serpentean entre los bosques y al fondo de los valles. Pero todavía hay muchas comunidades pequeñas en donde el aceso sigue siendo únicamente por mar o cielo. Y allí dependemos de estas avionetas flotantes para traer y llevar el correo, equipo, y pasajeros.

La lengua de tierra Tyee Spit, hace 50 años, era el centro de los aviones flotantes más activo en todo el mundo. Ya pasaron esos dias, pero sigue en uso; cada que estoy allí, veo aterrizar a varias avionetas.

Fotos:

1. Ahi viene, de entre las nubes.
2. Es un Otter (nutria) Turbine, operado por Vancouver Island Air. Lleva hasta 14 pasajeros o una tonelada de cargo. De los 466 Otter originales, construidos entre 1951 y 1967, menos de 200 siguen en operación. (Vancouver Island Air)
3. El avión que nos traía el correo semanal, cerca de 1950. Foto de la cámara de mi papá. El avión es un Grumman Goose (ganso) G-21, construido en los años 30. Lleva hasta 6 pasajeros. Alrededor de 30 siguen volando hoy en dia, sirviendo comunidades en la isla y en la costa norteña.

Llegué a Gold River en uno de estos en la década de los 50. Papá estaba en frente con el piloto, Mamá con nosotros chicos y nuestras petacas atrás. Cuando bajábamos hacia el pueblo, el avión tuvo que dar vuelta entre las montañas, inclinándose al costado, casi parado sobre el ala, parecía; lo único que yo podía ver por mi ventana era el agua. Y entonces el avión se enderezó, aterrizamos en el agua y nos dirigimos al muelle.

Watching the estuary

I have a folder where I put photos I'm going to post, "soon" but not right now. Then they get forgotten. I checked the folder this afternoon; there were over 100 sub-folders in there. I bunged them all together, deleted a bunch, and moved them into my current folder.

So for a bit, I'll be posting photos by location or subject, some old, some new, a few ancient.

Today, the ever-changing Campbell River estuary, through the seasons.

The light changes from day to day; January 23, 2017, 3:52 PM

January 29, 2017, 3:11 PM

Less than a week later: February 3, 2017, 2:52 PM

Pussy willows, April 2017

April 9, 2019, 3:53 PM

Somehow, there are no summer photos.

September 8, 2019, 4:45 PM. Fall colours starting to show.

The Hecate. It's always there, somewhere. September, this year.

Float plane landing. Oct 31, 2016, 3:00 PM. It's the dark end of the year.

At the mouth of the Gold River

Gold River comes in two parts. There's the village, population 1300, and 13 km. farther down the highway, where the river enters Muchalat Inlet, the tide flats, the docks, and the logging operations. The scene there changes as you turn from left to right, from sleepy and quiet, to a growling, rumbling, pounding busyness.

Green water, green hills. The yellower water is the tail end of the tide flats; the ruffled water in the centre is the outflow of the Gold River.

Moving right. A Nootka Air float plane, and the inland arm of the Inlet.

Smokestacks of the Uchuck lll. The name derives from the Nootka word, "Chuck" (approximate pronunciation) meaning "water", or "ocean", depending on the tone.

Log booms, and the outward-bound arm of the Muchalat.

Busy harbour.

Yellow boom boat pushing a log back into position.

And on the far right, the log piling operations. Hungry jaws!

Dreaming under a pink sky

Resting Beaver, Tyee Spit, at sunset:

9:42 PM, facing southwest. Just visible: wings of an active float plane, down at the dock.

This is a DeHavilland DHS-2 Beaver. These were produced from 1947 to 1965, and many are still slogging away, hauling people and equipment to our isolated coastal communities. They have been called, the "workhorse of the north".

A few metallic waterfowl

They fly, and they float. And sometimes they make an awful racket. Must be waterfowl.

Harbour Air floatplane, taxiing into the dock at Tyee Spit.

Vancouver Island Air Otter, about to splash down, Tyee Spit. These little birds serve work sites and residents from Campbell River north to Bella Bella.

Getting ready to take off. They have to line up with the wind, the waves, the fast tidal currents. Each flight starts from a different spot. Quadra Island in the background

Across the island, on the west coast, at Gold River. Nootka Air has been serving settlements up and down the coast since 1981.

I've noticed that our local estuary sleepers, the gulls and ducks, accept these little flyers as one of their peer group; they don't even bother lifting their heads when one goes by.

When trees were huge

One hundred years ago, Vancouver Island was covered shore to shore, high-tide line to high-tide line, with forest. The trees were huge; 30 feet around or more, 6 feet across. An old family photograph, now lost, showed my aunt, about 5'5" tall, standing in front of a downed trunk; it loomed over her, at least a foot wider than she was tall.

The weekly mail plane, Vancouver Island west coast, 1950s. One small settlement (Hungerford's place, I think, now gone). Forests still go to the high tide line. My father's photo.

Not so today; a Google Earth fly-over reveals huge logged-off patches, a network of logging roads, the brighter green of opportunist deciduous trees, and remains of old logging operations. Most of the forests now are second- or third-growth trees. Logging trucks carry bundles of skinny poles, matchsticks compared to the old logs, some of which were, singly, a full load for a big truck.

Log on truck trailer, 1944. Vancouver Archives collection.

Zeballos, a logging town on the west coast. 1940s. A few bare patches are visible on the left. When I knew it, in the 1950s, a large area of hillside had been logged off along the surrounding coast.

GoogleEarth view, mid-island. Darkest green shows unlogged areas.

Loggers were at work here since ancient times; the native peoples cut trees for houses, heating, canoes, and tools. The invading Europeans brought metal axes and saws, and used the wood for their own houses, boats, heating, and eventually power. (Some boats were run by steam power, with wood-fired boilers.)

In the 1920s, large-scale industrial logging started to change the map, including the creation of Oyster Bay. (continued tomorrow.)

Where the road ends

Tyee Spit is less than 5 minutes from my house, by car. A road leads about 2/3 of the way to the end, and stops. There is a parking lot behind us here, but a few cars always park at the very end, where big rocks block the way. I walk to the tip of the spit, at the mouth of the Campbell River, and stand there listening to the splashing of waves on stones, and the whine, roar, and hum of traffic.

Where the road ends, the air and the sea continue. Little floatplanes drone over the hills beyond the channel, roar overhead, splash down, and rumble in to the dock. Another revs up, its song going from bass to alto; then the plane lifts off the water, and the motor settles down to a hum, fading off in the distance. A skiff with a couple of fishermen putt-putts along; someone drops a crab trap before they speed away, the outboard motor howling.

Down channel, I see a fish boat beating away against the current under the cliffs of Quadra Island, a barge with its tug and load of brightly painted boxes. And the ferry is just turning into the landing in Quathiaski Cove. If I wait, I might see a cruise ship sliding by, a city in a white floating box.

For much of the forbidding coast of northern Vancouver Island, these are the main methods of transport; small floatplanes, and boats tiny, small, and huge.

Touching down. Tyee Spit.

One minute later, the next plane lands.

On the far side of the Island, the west coast, the highway stops where the Gold River meets the sea, at the inner end of an Nootka Sound, still 40 km. from the open sea. Here, the Uchuck III, which regularly visits small coastal communities with no road access, ties up; and Air Nootka float planes pick up mail and travellers to be delivered up and down the coast.

Air Nootka plane. This photo taken in July.

The dock next door. Photo taken in March. Same view; still green even in winter, but with more snow on the mountain peaks.

Beside the offices (we stopped in to discuss a possible trip on the Uchuck next summer), a sign advertises the mail run:

2 hour flight, with several stops. $190.

I am seriously tempted. I was on this flight many, many (55+) years ago, on my way south. The landing procedure, spiralling down into the Gold River dock, one wing pointing at the clouds, the other pointing directly down into the water, and spinning, spinning, frightened me so badly that I don't remember any more about that trip.

I should go, if only to prove to myself that I'm no longer scared.

On the other side of the Gold River docks, Western Forest Products machinery herds logs. On land big, toothy machines pick them up and stack them; in the water, tiny, also toothy, nimble tugs sort them into booms for transport.

These little tugs fascinate me. So tiny, so solid, all welded steel; they look like they should sink. But they chug about, slamming into logs, tipping and whirling and thudding, water sluicing over the decks. Nothing fazes them.

I had to look this up twice. 3 seconds - seconds! - after the previous photo. Wham!

And 16 seconds later the log has been rousted out and is on its way to the boom.

The average boom boat measures approximately 16 feet long, 8 feet in the beam, and 4 feet deep. The typical gross tonnage is only a mere 3 tons. (Custom Boat Building -scroll down)

Gold River on the west, Tyee Spit on the east coast.