The Burning Sand Blog

The Nootka Trail

by Martin Nichols

So can anyone guess what my reaction was upon being asked to join a group that would include four paramedics and an ER nurse to do the Nootka Trail on Vancouver Island? Well, "That should be the first-aid taken care of," was one, obviously, but the overriding one of course was "Are you kidding? It's the West Coast, I'd be in even if Rob Sims was leading it!"

And so it was, a few weeks later, that team leader Rob Sims and the rest of the party assembled at Horseshoe Bay to begin the journey. A blur of ferry, cars, float planes later and there we were, knee-deep in Starfish Lagoon on the outer edge of Nootka Island, with a 37km total-wilderness trek in front of us. My pack had weighed in at exactly 50lb at the offices of Air Nootka and it was suddenly starting to dawn on me just how much mass that really is (32.5% of my body weight as it happened). Still, stuck with it at that point, and we moved off through heavy bush to confront our first problem. Which wasn't too long in coming as Team Leader ("I've done this hike twice before") Sims managed to lose the trail and plunge into the dense underbrush of the forest floor in the first 30 meters...surely some sort of record. No injuries though, and on we pressed to our first campsite at a place called Third Beach.

OK, now this is some beautiful part of the world, and one of the great things about this hike is the variety of landscape it encompasses. Long sandy beaches; long pebbly beaches; massive flat rock strata formations; thick and barely-penetratable forest; swamps; boulder-strewn stretches of coastline; seaweed-covered boulder-strewn stretches of coastline; beds of decomposing seaweed-covered stretches of coastline. As fascinating as it all is, the thing is you have to walk across all these things. Which makes the Nootka Trail one of the most demanding things I have ever done. An average of 5-6km a day doesn't sound that bad, but every step on every bit of terrain was a strength-sapping slog. But man is it all worth it.

Top left: Third Beach, early morning. Not a bad little spot for a first night. A long hike faced us this day: about 10km, including a will-sapping 3-4km soft-sand beach walk, ending at Calvin Falls (middle left) for nights two and three. Some of us went swimming in the ocean here on the "day off." Those who know the Pacific Ocean also know how effing cold it is. Standing in the falls right afterwards felt like a hot shower. I'll always remember Calvin Falls as being where I opened surely the worst dehydrated meal ever concocted (I can't remember if it was the Thai vegetable curry or the Himalayan lentils). Whatever, not a winner guys. A lone wolf wandered across the beach during our meal dinner that night; I felt like throwing it to him but, hey, they're persecuted enough already. I chucked the whole thing in the fire in the end and scarfed down some fruit leather and a large Scotch instead.

I digress. Our next stop was Beano Creek (picture of our camp there below). Long day getting there, with much spongy seaweed and seemingly endless sandy beach walking. We'd spread out a lot early on and I was pretty much alone all day; it was what it was...quiet contemplation of things like the Four Noble Truths and the music of Pearl Jam was helpful, indeed required at many points along the way.

It was a recurring theme throughout the week that the tides were always against us. This meant that many short-cut beaches were cut off and we always had to go through the forest trails instead, but also that we usually had to wait some hours before some of the creek estuaries were low enough to cross. Beano Creek was essentially a raging river when we got there, forcing us to camp on the north side, and start the next day off in water shoes, and laboriously drying off on the other side before getting going. The worst aspect of this is of course that even I can't blame Simsy for the lousy tides.

The next day's hike was mercifully short: only about 4km, and we were soon at one of the small pocket beaches, which we call Shower Beach (bottom left, and main picture at top) owing to a natural (ice-cold) shower at one end of it. Here we encountered the sand shrimp phenomenon. Millions of these tiny crustaceans feed on the kelp on the beach, and it seems that when the tide starts to come in they retreat up the beach to escape the crashing waves. This is some sight; the only thing I can liken it to is some of the aerial footage you see on TV of gigantic herds of wildebeeste making their way across the African plains. The trouble was that you literally could not walk anywhere without stepping on dozens of these poor little buggers. That was bad enough, but what was worse was watching yet hundreds more leaping into the fire.

Our camp at Beano Creek

Our last day of hiking took us through a lot more swampy forest and across another deep creek to our final beach camp about an hour out of Yuquot (Friendly Cove). Here we had a great evening at one of the funkiest fire pit areas I've seen. The next day we reached the comparative civilization of Yuquot itself, home of the Mowachaht/Muchalaht First Nations, which boasts a lighthouse (whose keeper is one of the coolest guys I've ever met), a Catholic church, and...well, that's about it really, but what a spot! All that was left to do was to wait for the splendid vessel, the Uchuck III, to load up and take us back to Gold River.

Many thanks to the whole group. Rob "I Know the Way" Sims, Erin, Terry, Karen (who will always be known to me as the Angel of Nootka for tending my wounds), Chris, and of course the "Sharkgirl." Love you all, what a team.

You can find a bunch more pictures from this adventure on my Facebook page, and I'll be posting a couple of them on the Burning Sand Photo site soon.

Hangin' in Whistler

by Martin Nichols

Whistler...ya gotta love it. And if you go there you gotta visit the funkiest place in town to eat. Great food, great selection, eco-friendly, great people working there, and it won't cost you an arm and a leg (a real bonus...don't get me wrong, I love Whistler but holy cow can it do a number on the old net worth). I'm talking about the brilliantly named Gone Village Eatery and Moguls Coffee Shop right in the main Village Square.

Best of all, they agreed to hang a whole bunch of my work there for the month of May (huge thanks to the tireless Jules for setting this up with Lauren, the owner). Of course, she did manage to find the only restaurant in Whistler with three rooms, necessitating another round of print production and framing (sorry about the hairy deadline, Les) and working out how to get all 25 pieces up there in one Jeep (thank you Rita for the weekend Jeep swap: 4-door for 2, did the trick).

OK, so it's Whistler...mountain country, snow, skiing, boarding and all that. Thing is, I've never done any serious shooting up there so the cunning plan was to call it the "Un-Whistler Show" and give people a break from snow pictures. How well it goes down of course only time will tell, but for the record we filled one room with landscapes of the Sunshine Coast, one with the West Coast of Vancouver Island, and one with people.

One thing I'm not is a food critic, so I won't go into the ins and outs of the cuisine, although the breakfast burrito was effing fantastic...I'll just say that it's my kinda place. And it's obviously many people's kind of place as it was busy from the moment it opened on Sunday. We know because we were there well before it opened at something like 0530 to get started hanging pictures. And if the variety of people we met while there for just those few hours is anything to go by then the only word for the clientele is eclectic; the only adjective that couldn't be ascribed to anyone in there was boring.

Visitors from everywhere flock to Whistler year-round and there was no shortage of engaging characters taking advantage of what was on offer, but maybe the best evidence that Moguls/Gone is the real thing is that the locals go there...say no more.

Anyway, many thanks to owner Lauren and the incredible Ami and Kate for all their help, and of course to Jules for not leaving me to hang on my own.

Whistler...ya gotta love it.

Sarah Loverock. Seriously...

 

by Martin Nichols

OK, a pictures of a beautiful woman holding a guitar is nothing new; it's hardly groundbreaking and has been done a million times before, but what you see above is nonetheless a record of an extremely rare event. Any guesses? No? Well, what you're looking at is one of the brief and infrequent moments in time when our fabulous subject Sarah Loverock is not actually laughing. And even here you couldn't really say she was being serious, with that La Gioconda-esque (is that allowed?) smile playing around her lips. But it's all we've got.

This had to be the funniest shoot we've ever done at the Burning Sand studio. Sarah (of Canadian Idol fame) had brought along her great friend Danielle to help with the session, a decision which that day gave me a whole new perspective on the word "assistance," as it apparently means "to join forces with photographer's wife to provoke uncontrollable laughter in subject until impairment of balance is achieved." As if the Pinot Grigio wasn't doing its job already.

It was one of those "just go with the flow" sessions, and it was when she began to sing that it all came chaotically alive. I mean, what a voice, and to hear it resounding off the concrete walls around us made it all the more intense. Sarah's an incredible singer, with a vocal ability matched only by a fascinating and consistent inability to follow complex instructions, like "stay between those two bits of duct tape on the floor." Versatile? She sang along to everything from Justin Timberlake (whose music I confess to being unfamiliar with) to the Red Hot Chili Peppers (much to the glee of both Chris and myself). Nothing like a bit of Blood Sugar Sex Magik to enliven any photoshoot I always say.

 

I absolutely love the one of her licking her guitar (OK, Sarah, now just lightly kiss the guitar... well, how about I lick it instead... no, just lightly kiss it... here, look, like this... OK, whatever...), and just had a 30" x 40" print made; if I need a laugh, just one glance at it is all it takes.

If you want to hear some of Sarah's singing (and you should), go to her MySpace page and have a listen. This is my favourite, what a great song.

Many thanks to the Jules, Danielle, and Chris for joining in the fun. Love ya, SL. What can I say...can't stop you laughing and can't stop you singing...but why would anyone want to?

Gimme Shelter

by Martin Nichols

It's been a few years since I was at Green Point, a vegetation-covered rock bluff that separates Combers Beach from Long Beach in the Pacific Rim National Park on Vancouver Island's West Coast; used to come camping here a lot when the kids were young. At this time of year the campground above is closed, so no access to Green Point itself through there; I got there by parking two or three kilometres further down the coast and walking northwest back along the spectacular sweep of Combers Beach. Of course, an hour before sunrise (below) on December 29 it's not very warm, and the only parts of the beach that weren't frosty were the sheets of actual ice.

Anyway, no harm done, and within about twenty minutes or so Green Point was clearly in sight. It was all just as I remembered except for one thing: there appeared to be some sort of structure near the top of it, becoming clearer as the sun climbed out from behind the mountains to the east. OK, now I've seen some driftwood shelters in my time—I've even built a few—but this was some piece of construction. So, frost-covered rock notwithstanding, I had to go up and take a closer look.

And what a masterpiece it is. I have no idea who built it or when (I've Googled it with no real results), but my hat is off to them. There are some major pieces of wood in there; just finding the material and getting it all up the rock face must have been a feat in itself, and then to build something sturdy enough to withstand the battering this coast takes in the winter...well, I shake my head. I bet you could fit six bodies in there no problem...yes, intimacy would probably be unavoidable but how bad's that?

Music today, and anyone who knows me well will suspect that this entire post was nothing but a watery excuse to link to the greatest rock song by any band ever. It's iconic, it's got everything, it is the theme song for an entire era, it's perfect, it's my ringtone...and I will never tire of hearing it. Ladies and Gentlemen...The Rolling Stones.

Above: Looking west from the edge of Green Point, below the shelter. Below, clockwise from top left: the terrain up to the top of Green Point; a lucky grab shot of some kelp on Combers Beach; the rock face the construction team had to negotiate; the ocean side of the shelter.

December Rain...What Happened?

by Martin Nichols

So the plan was to head off to the West Coast of Vancouver Island right after Christmas, hole up just outside Tofino with a dozen or so bottles of wine, and watch the rain for four days from the confines of a luxury Chesterman Beach suite equipped with hot tub, king-size bed, leather armchairs, and heated slate floors. And first day out it was all going like clockwork: torrential rain was pretty much relentless from the time we left the Sunshine Coast at around 0730 until we got just past Port Alberni at around lunchtime. At which time everything changed as a freak blizzard suddenly descended out of nowhere, sending dozens of cars fitted with lousy tires and/or nervous drivers gently into the roadside ditches of Highway 4. Half an hour later the snow turned back to heavy rain in a matter of seconds, the road was simply wet again, and we continued to Tofino without further incident, reaching our digs at around 4:30 pm. Mission accomplished...let the rain-watching begin.

It was only some hours later that, wine in hand (probably the second bottle at this point), hot bubbling water lapping at my neck that I saw it, and said to Jules, "Guess what I can see?"

She said, "What?"

I said, "A star...no, cancel that, a lot of stars...it's stopped raining."

"Cool."

"Cool? Cool? Do you know what this means?

"Nope..."

What it meant of course is that the sun was going to come up in the morning and I would have to drag my ass out of bed to shoot it. Oh well, price you pay, I suppose.

Top image: Daybreak at Chesterman Beach, Vancouver Island. Below, similar shot, different day, different beach; Cox Bay, about an hour before sunrise...holy cow I can't tell you how cold it was, except that frost actually formed on my equipment bag while I was waiting for the light.

Below: no big storms, but some pretty good wave action here and there; McKenzie Beach on the left, and Cox Bay.

Twilight at Chesterman Beach...simple is usually best.

December? Are you kidding me? Look at that sky. Love this part of the world...you can check out some more of these at the new-look Burning Sand website. Thanks for looking.

New Burning Sand Photo Website

OK, here it is, the new and improved Burning Sand Photo site. Once the hosting sites have sorted things out between them the burningsandphoto.com address will work for this. You will need the Adobe Flash Player to see it, available here if you don't have it. Thanks for looking; feedback on the new look welcome.

In Deep

by Martin Nichols

Back to the Tetrahedron Provincial Park, scene of the epic man-hike a few weeks ago, where things are looking a little different to say the least. These images are taken at a point about maybe a third of the way to the Mt Steele cabin, on an excursion with the lovely Jules to try out a new form of ambulation: namely snowshoes. It was midday when we set out, so I wasn't expecting epic lighting conditions but I threw a camera with a wide-angle zoom in the backpack anyway.

Verdict: snowshoeing is a blast, and can get you to places you generally don't even consider in winter (which is still three weeks away, remember), and if you've got a decent sky to work with you can get some pretty good shots in the middle of the day, even when you're only shooting casually. These aren't bad, but I know I can do better; what messing around out there today for an hour or so has done is convince me of the Tet's potential for some dramatic winter images.

I haven't done an awful lot of shooting in the snow, but I'm now hooked and have learned a few things already.

1. Don't take your incident light meter reading as gospel. Bracketing is highly advised or, as I do (and I know many will disagree with this but it works for me), underexpose whatever your meter says by a full stop. I like some detail in my snow and I can always lighten things up in post, but if highlights are blown...you ain't ever getting them back.

2. If you're sticking to the compacted trail (see first image), most snowshoes can handle it, but if you're venturing out on the powder like I did today use the longest you can lay your hands on; the more surface area the better. Suddenly plunging crotch-deep into the stuff only sounds refreshing, and there's definitely a technique to getting yourself out efficiently and with some degree of dignity...someday I intend to learn it.

Like I say, it's not yet winter and even to my untrained eye this looks an extreme amount of snow for November; something to bear in mind when I return here.

Talking of which...I have heard murmurs of Tet Manhike II, Back Up The Country, featuring the same band of warriors as before. The idea is to do some epic freestyle skiing photography up on Steele. Should be fun; I'm especially looking forward to the arguments about exactly where to start digging to find the cabin.

Left: The road up to the trail is still pretty easily driven in a 4x4. Co-pilot/navigator Jules pictured here.

Over The Top...Return to South Beach

by Martin Nichols

OK, I’m going to be right up front here and confess...there was just one tiny flaw in my claim that some of the images in my last post were taken at Florencia Bay. And so, to quote my old friend Captain Edmund Blackadder on this Remembrance Day, I can say only this: “It was bollocks.” I discovered later that I had in fact been at the much smaller, more prosaically named, but no less beautiful South Beach which is, wait for it...just northwest of the much larger sweep of the real Florencia Bay. So now you know.

OK, moving on. It was late afternoon yesterday, as gorgeous a November day as you’re ever likely to see here on the West Coast, that I found myself drawn back to South Beach to explore the other end of it. I’m glad I did for there is this incredible arrangement of rocks there that's like a magnet for some of the biggest wave explosions in the West. Getting out to the end of the bluff from where I took these images was a challenge in itself on the greasy rock, to which a large contusion on my left forearm will attest; then staying there and judging wave strength by ear as my eye was glued to the viewfinder took it all to another level. Being engulfed here would obviously have completely destroyed my camera equipment and, oh yeah...I’d never be seen again.

I was looking straight west as the day ended and tried to time the firing of the shutter to when the sun was blotted out by these incredible waves. Pretty intense out there I have to say; witnessing and feeling these amazing events, you know...the sight, the sound, the earthshaking vibration, trying not to get killed, that sort of thing. It’s something I’m unlikely to forget.

After the sun had disappeared I retreated a bit, nailed the other effing elbow while retrieving my tripod from a deep rock crevice, and decided to do a time exposure. This one was f22 at 2 seconds:

All that was left to do now was to pick my way back over the bluff to the beach, but...it was now pretty much full-on darkness, which did much to hinder progress and encourage yet more pain (left hip, both shins, left hand if you’re interested). I mean, I woudn’t have missed it for anything and, as painful as it was, it was hardly trench warfare. I mean at least when I walked away from this Western Front I didn’t get shot by my own side.

And as it is November 11, I’ll leave you with the one and only Captain Edmund Blackadder and his wretched gang. I try—and typically fail—to hold it together whenever I see this piece. IMHO this should be required viewing every November 11.

Above and right: south end of McKenzie Beach (really!) earlier in the day.

 

Way Out West...

by Martin Nichols

One of the smarter things I’ve done recently was to get the hell out of the Tofino Legion early last Saturday night; there was only one direction events were headed there, with sixty or so fired-up paramedics swapping war stories and mulling over the latest rumours while attempting furiously to try to turn Branch 65 into the only dry Legion Hall in Western Canada. A two-day hangover was definitely in the cards there, and avoiding such a fate (and to those who didn’t, I salute you) allowed me to clamber out of Reef Point Cottage Number 11, Ucluelet, fully alert and in time for Monday morning’s sunrise at Amphitrite Point.

This stretch of water is with good reason known as the Graveyard of the Pacific; among the many ships to founder on this bit of coast was the Pass of Melfort, a steel-hulled sailing freighter that was thrown against a reef right here on Christmas Day, 1905. She like so many others had been blown off course while trying to find the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca in a savage storm. Not one of the thirty-six men aboard survived. They put a light up early in 1906 (nothing’s changed, has it?), but even had it already been there I don’t think it would have made any difference; lose control of your vessel here and your destiny is no longer in your own hands. This is a haunting spot in many ways; I stood here, humbled by the power of the relentless Pacific, thinking of the doomed crew of the Melfort and the recent loss of coworkers Ivan and Jo-Ann not far from here, and listened over the sound of the waves to the mournful clanging of a gigantic green channel marker just offshore. Right after I took these pictures it started to rain heavily, something it does a lot around here. The original 1906 light at Amphitrite was destroyed by a tidal wave in 1914, and the current structure (now unmanned) was built a year later.

After drying out it was over to Florencia Bay later in the day. This gorgeous beach, also known as Wreck Bay, was, you guessed it, named after another shipwreck, this one in 1860. The Peruvian brig Florencia was cut adrift from the ship towing her south after it also developed mechanical problems. That sealed the Florencia’s fate: she was smashed to pieces on these rocks. This couldn’t have been a more perfect sunny afternoon (it’s November, remember). Perched high on a random rock, in shirtsleeves, downing a beer or two, my only company a seagull wandering around below and a girl meditating on the beach to my left, I felt it strange and unbelievable that all this drama was being played out with hardly anyone watching.

Now here’s something odd. In the shot below I’m seeing a double line on the top edge of the large black rock on the right, indicating camera shake, but why only there, not anywhere else in the picture? Did the camera move on the tripod at some point in this half-second exposure? Or...could it be...could it possibly be that the water was moving the rock? Points to ponder...maybe over a couple more beer.

Finally, a suggestion for lens manufacturers here: maybe it would be a good idea to somehow incorporate a warning on your products, along the lines of what you see on car mirrors...you know, something like “Objects in wide-angle lenses are often closer than they appear.” Very shortly after taking the image below—and I mean very shortly—I was kinda engulfed and had to retreat through knee-deep water to a refuge higher up the beach. A bit of a warning shot I think...just a friendly little “don’t f*ck with me” from the Pacific Ocean. Music today? Yeah, I think so...gotta be this from the galactically incredible Pearl Jam.

Here it comes!

Respect

Tofino, British Columbia, November 6, 2010; a goodbye to Thirty-Six Kilo.

In the early hours of October 19, BC Ambulance paramedics Jo-Ann Fuller and Ivan Polivka were killed when their ambulance left the road and tumbled down a cliff face into Kennedy Lake on Vancouver Island. Today a memorial was held in their honour in the small, beautiful town of Tofino on the Island's West Coast. 

In a deeply moving display of respect, fellow Paramedics, Firefighters, Police, Search and Rescue Units, and other emergency service personnel from not just all over BC, but as far afield as Washington State and Manitoba came together to say a collective goodbye to these two fine people. Perched as I was, along with friend and fellow paramedic and photographer Ian Morris, atop a Tofino Fire Department ladder truck, I was overwhelmed as each and every one of them passed under us in silent procession, mourning our lost coworkers.

The procession was followed by a memorial service in a gigantic tent constructed for the occasion, at which members of Ivan and Jo-Ann's families, the President of the Ambulance Paramedics of BC Union, the COO of BC Ambulance, and many others shared their feelings about the tragic events of October 19.

I personally would like to thank the organizing group for their efforts in pulling this unforgettable event together in such a short time, and I know many others who will say the same.

I don't have much more to say tonight; I'll post some more on this soon. I'm staying over in this part of the world for a few more days shooting the wild West Coast, but for now all I can think of is the sound of that emergency dispatcher's lonely voice: "Thirty-six kilo..... thirty-six kilo on the air.... thirty-six kilo...."

Ian Morris photo