Symphony of Sea and Maple: Journey Victoria

Summer: Ferry, Whales, and the Glow of a Lighthouse – Victoria

In the tender light of a summer morning, I boarded the ferry from Vancouver, the breeze off the Georgia Strait brushing my face like a whisper. The boat rocked gently, gulls wheeling overhead as if tracing the arc of this journey’s beginning. On deck, I savored the simple, affordable fare—steaming coffee, fresh bread with jam, a smoked salmon sandwich tinged with the sea’s own salt.

Camera in hand, I framed the distant islands, their silhouettes softened by clouds weaving through sky and water. Then, with a telescope pressed to my eye, I scanned the waves for the Tufted Puffin, that elusive North Pacific wanderer said to migrate to the waters east of Hokkaido and around Vancouver in summer. I wanted its tufted crest, its vivid beak, to break the horizon’s line.

But the sea offered only gulls and the wind’s low hum, withholding the puffin’s grace. A pang of regret settled in me, yet the vastness of this ocean hinted at a truth: nature doesn’t yield to our seeking—it gives what it will.

At Victoria, I hopped a bus, winding through green roads to the Inner Harbour. The air carried salt, the clamor of the docks blending with ship horns into a summer melody.

I stepped aboard the Prince of Whales for a whale-watching trip, the captain declaring this sea a theater of life. We sailed toward Race Rocks Lighthouse, the water a mirror under the sun’s dance. Again, I raised the telescope, hunting for the Tufted Puffin, that feathered jewel of the Pacific. Nothing—only gulls and flying fish skimmed past. Then, a splash shattered the stillness: an orca mother surfaced with her calf, their black-and-white forms weaving through the waves. I snapped the shutter, catching the bond, the expanse, the purity of it all. As the sun dipped, Race Rocks stood against an orange sky, a sentinel of the wild. A quiet awe filled me, soothing the ache of the puffin’s absence with this sudden gift.

Night fell as we returned to the harbor, the Parliament Buildings aglow like grounded stars. I set up my tripod, letting the long exposure etch their green roofs and golden lights into my lens. The sea’s breath and the city’s warmth lingered in me that night.

Next morning, I wandered to Beacon Hill Park. Mist cloaked the grass, dew glinting like scattered gems. At Mile 0, the start of the Trans-Canada Highway, a wild sea otter darted through the undergrowth, its play a dance with the wind.

I crouched, lens tracking its fluid grace. Along the coastal path to Breakwater Lighthouse, waves crashed against stone, a rhythm like the earth’s own pulse. At Fisherman’s Wharf, colorful float homes mirrored on the water, sea lions dozing in the sun. I lifted my camera, sealing summer’s final sea note, my heart brimming with nature’s bounty.

Autumn: Maple, Migrants, and the Year’s Quiet Close

In autumn, I returned to Victoria, drawn by the season’s call. At the University of Victoria, a festival of maples awaited. Trees blazed red and gold, fallen leaves carpeting the paths in a rustling tapestry.

Each step crunched a song. Camera ready, I caught the light piercing leaf-gaps, shadows and brilliance twirling like a fire’s dance. On the lawn, migratory birds alighted, pecking at autumn’s offerings, their wings bearing news from afar. I watched, lens framing the scene—birds, leaves, wind—the cycle of life converging here.

Strolling the campus, I felt the year’s end nearing. Leaves drifted down, birds flew south, signaling my Canadian journey’s close. Beneath a tree, I shut my eyes, the wind and birdcalls washing over me. Gratitude welled up for this land—its seas, forests, seasons—teaching me life’s grandeur and brevity. My camera held more than images; it cradled the journey’s soul—from summer’s leaping orcas to autumn’s hushed maples, each frame a poem of the earth.

More articles about life in Canada

Cross Canada