Photo: A crazy place for a favourite place...

What is it about Port Edward? It's a nothing place really, set deep in northern British Columbia not that far south from the border with Alaska. There's an abandoned paper-mill that's falling into the sea, a huge coal-heap that waits to be loaded onto Chinese bulk-carriers and then, its main reason for being here... the busy fishing harbour. We've been in Port Edward twice now with Sänna and this time we headed straight here, once we'd cleared grumpy Canadian Customs in nearby Prince Rupert. It's not just the dominating ruin of the pulp-mill that's decaying into oblivion, or the rotting wooden piles protruding from the sea... the rest of Port Edward is slowly rusting away too. Almost everyone agrees this harbour has undoubtedly seen better days but, do you know? Port Ed has something special, it has an indeterminately friendly soul.

There's no moneyed cruising boats here. No wealthy foreign Americans parading their immense pride and joys. The powerful smell of fish and the blowing coal dust is enough to keep those types away. If one of these posh motor-boats suddenly turn up then the mile long freight trains that slowly power their way though this two-bit settlement is usually enough to send those knob-heads on their way. They quickly turn their noses up and leave. So, you see, that's why Port Edward is indisputably a hidden jewel.

We called here last year for one week and stayed for five. Back then, having arrived storm battered and exhausted from Hawaii, we rested and quickly made good friends... stopping a while longer than we originally planned. Harold and Raina on Salt 'n Shaker, Big Jim on Why Not and then friendly old Fred on Humboldt - private fishing boats that had maybe seen better days. I myself will remember for a long time the two Kitimat boys, Paul & Ted, who came to repair their twisted rudder... and did I ever tell you about my drunken meeting with Christopher on Blow by Blow? That's why Port Edward is a wonderful gem.

This time, me and Gary tied Sänna up alongside the run-down wharf, pretty much in the same place as before. My step-brother looked around suspiciously, not believing a word I'd said. "WHAT?" is what he said... "Wait till you meet smelly Keith on the bus," is what I said. I smiled, because straight away I could feel Port Ed's hard-earned crusty reason why it still exists. And, if you really want to get the train to Terrace, my disbelieving step-brother Gary was reliably informed, just stand in the tracks and wave it down. The train will usually stop just in time.

Harold and Raina have sadly moved on to somewhere back east, to Alberta Big Jim said. Paul and Ted, the Kitimat boys, are long gone too but, thankfully, Fred is just fine. Christopher suggested we celebrate yet again and this time I met his delightful wife Wanda.... then I made friends with Portuguese Del Boy who nowadays lives onboard Blow by Blow with his wife Sherry. Ken in the marine-shop smiled, remembering me and Sänna well and so did his little wife who's name I can't remember, but who used to worry me for some reason whenever she came by. And then, surprise, surprise... our good friends from Hawaii, Leighton and Lynda on Morning Star arrived suddenly out of the blue and tied-up right alongside. So did Thomas and Silva on the big German catamaran Thosyma and, I have to say to those of you back in England who these days, for some reason, have cast me aside... we all had an extremely fine time.

And, do you know? It's true - if you need to catch the train, to take the easy route to Terrace to fly the long way home to England, you stand in the tracks to frantically wave it down... and the long lumbering freight train stops only just in time.
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