Sittin' on the dock of Cowichan Bay

Another day in Paradise, which was almost spoiled by the heavy thud of a translation landing in my Inbox. Fortunately, Ottawacker Jr smacked me upside the head (metaphorically, of course) with a "but we are on holiday, dad," so I ignored it and accompanied my son and friends on a most enjoyable day around Vancouver Island's swinging spots.

First up was the Kinsol Trestle. I had to get Iwona & Gene to repeat the name about a dozen times when they first mentioned it, not because they are Polish, but because I didn't recognize any of the words. I mean WTF is a Kinsol? WTF is a trestle? Well, now I know, and will go to bed marginally less stupid tonight. [If you think I am telling you, you are mistaken. They don't have [url=https://www.cvrd.bc.ca/1379/Kinsol-Trestle]web sites[/url] for nothing these days, you know...]

Anyway, my excessive fear of heights was put to bed for the morning, so I managed to inch my way across the Kinsol Trestle in only about 45 minutes, by which time the more valiant members of the group had managed to descend into the valley, walk along the riverbed, and walk back up again. 

"Hi!" I said, as I met them sheepishly on the other side. "Did you have fun down there?"
"Yes," said Ottawacker Jr. "And I had a big poo in the woods."

With that, he ran back across the trestle, leaving me to make the 45-minute journey back alone, my mouth silently moving like one of the salmon in the Koksilah River, some 187 feet below. Such are the joys of parenting a 6-year-old boy in the modern age.

After that, there were a number of stops in other interesting places. Duncan (a town, not a strange Scotsman) was nice, if a little quaint. They have a massive totem walk around the town, which is really beyond me. I was saying to my friend MacGuffin last night (who incidentally is an incredibly talented photographer and needs to get his arse into gear with his blipping) that these sorts of things don't speak to me at all. I'm of European stock, and get a massive kick of walking around old European places... but the First Nations stuff just leaves me cold. I like it, I respect it, and I am one of the staunchest advocates you could meet for its promotion, but it is just not in my DNA. I have the same feelings about Asian monuments - the temples in Thailand and Cambodia are amazing, but I don't have any inherent feelings of love for them - &c.  Anyway, they are very nice (if that is your cup of tea) and worth a detour.

After that, well, we made a move to Chemainus and its murals. Now I had never heard of Chemainus before - and I am not sure anyone I know has either (other than my genial hosts and the residents of the lovely town). But it is pretty nice and again worth a side trip. Anyway, they have the most amazing murals all over the town, all of which detail the history of the place (logging, fishing, railroad from what I could tell on this brief trip). I loved it - and even though there was the 'not my history' bit of it (as with Duncan), I was so impressed that the visual history of the town was recorded with such vigour. That is also, of course, what the totems are for - and my inability to read their stories is the main reason I have a lesser interest in them. A more enlightened man would feel chastened here - but Gene has just brought me a glass of single malt, so I'll take my chastening into an armchair and see if I can lose it over the course of a lively conversation.