Early morning found me in the dinghy poking around the bay in the early morning mist. I putted through the flotilla of sleeping boats to the little store in hopes of a latte and a hot cinnamon roll, but was too early, so headed back to Mabrouka to satisfy at least the coffee urge. My immediate needs met, I went back to the marina store and explored the book shelves buying some much needed tide and current tables for the Gulf Islands and Desolation Sound as well as a couple of books on local cruising and history. Having spent too much money, I dropped my booty back on Mabrouka and headed to the north side of the bay to some inexpensive exploration on the trails and beaches of the marine park.
Although the scenery of the various islands has begun to blur into one continuous collage of Madrone-dotted woods, fern-lined paths, and rocky beaches, it is a pleasant blur. The Madrones (called Arbutus around here), are a constant pleasure to me with their tortuously twisted branches streaked in yellow and red, bark curling off in flakes, and trunks stretching almost every way but skyward. Take a look at the Montague Harbour Marine Park sub-album of the Local Cruising - 2013 gallery for photos of some prime examples.
My photo adventures ashore distracted me for several long, sweaty hours, so I headed back across the bay to the marina cafe for a sandwich and a beer. After returning to Mabrouka for my obligatory nap, the plan for the remainder of the day was to catch an early evening ride to the Hummingbird Pub on the Pub Bus. Shaving and a showering and getting togged-up took me a little longer than planned and I missed the 6pm ride, so I dilly-dallied for a while, then motored in around a quarter ‘til for the 7pm bus.
Walking up the road to the pick-up point, I recognized the familiar figure and mannerisms of past co-worker Marsha Hudson standing at the stop. Marsha is a constant entertainment, so it was with great pleasure that I stopped a few paces away, arms spread in greeting to catch her attention. With apologies to her husband Michael for doing so before shaking his hand, I gave Marsha a big hug hello.
Marsha and Michael were just starting out on a two-week vacation, visiting all their favorite Gulf Island spots. One of their must-do experiences was riding the Pub Bus to the Hummingbird for dinner and music. I’d been told by other friends not to miss it, so I was very happy to have a couple of experienced revelers to keep me in line. The experience was everything I’d heard it would be, although the bus was less dilapidated than Marsha and Michael remembered. The old bus had apparently been retired to what was purported to be a glorious career in demolition derby. In moving from its first career of transporting school kids to a second of transporting drunken party-goers, the new bus had been equipped with a blaring sound system and had the ceiling over the driver’s seat festooned with a rack of cow bells, cymbals, and various other noise makers.
With what started out as mild concern, but was soon abandoned to full-hearted participation, we all joined the driver in paying more attention to making noise and singing oldie goldies than driving as he wove down the narrow, darkening roads to pick up a mixture of unsuspecting and fully-knowledgeable victims for transport to the Hummingbird.
We survived the trip to arrive at the restaurant for a good dinner with lively conversation and live music to boot. The roads seemed even narrower in the dark of the return trip, especially while the driver related the tale of the previous bus rolling out of a parking lot and through the roof of the marina store, but we survived that too and I think I was back aboard Mabrouka around 10:30.
It had been a long day and my bunk was a welcome place to spend the rest of the nighty.