By Grant Lawrence
Publish yr note: First released September 1st, 2010
From Captain George Vancouver to Muriel Curve of Time Blanchet to Jim Spilsbury’s Coast Spilsbury, viewers to Desolation Sound have left at the back of a path of books endowing the realm with a romantic charisma that is helping to make it British Columbia’s most well-liked marine park. during this hilarious and appealing booklet, CBC character provide Lawrence provides a complete new bankruptcy to the saga of this storied piece of BC coastline.
Young Grant’s father received a section of land subsequent to the park within the Nineteen Seventies, simply in time to come across the gun-toting cougar woman, left-over hippies, outlaw bikers and an collection of alternative characters. In these years Desolation Sound used to be a spot the place going to the neighbours’ potluck intended being met with hugs from portly bare hippies and the place Russell the Hermit’s institution of existence (boating, fishing, and rock ’n’ roll) used to be Grant’s own Enlightenment - a power that may take him clear of the coast to a lifetime of tune and journalism and at last again again.
With rock band acquaintances and some circumstances of beer in tow, an older, cooler furnish returns to regale us with stories of "going bush", the tempting issue of discovering an unguarded grow-op, and his awkward fight to persuade a few traveling kayakers that he’s a official CBC radio host whereas wearing a wild beard and physique wounds and gesticulating with a machete. With lots of laugh-out-loud humour and encouraged reverence, Adventures in Solitude delights us with the original historical past of a spot and the expansion of a tender guy amidst the magic of Desolation Sound.
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Extra resources for Adventures in Solitude: What Not to Wear to a Nude Potluck and Other Stories from Desolation Sound
Sure enough, word travelled quickly to Roos, who took off into the forest behind his cabin, armed with a double-barrelled shotgun. He told his neighbour to send a brazen message back to the cops: he would shoot anyone who came after him. Hadley eventually figured out the residence of Charlie Anderson and found the hapless accomplice passed out on his bed in his decrepit shack, littered with empty moonshine jars, on the shore of Okeover Inlet. Hadley easily locked him up in the police launch. As he continued to search the area, he heard word of Roos’s threat, which did not have its desired effect.
I was now bruised, bleeding, blind and crying. We gingerly hauled our camping gear up above the tide line onto the moss-covered rocky point, about thirty feet before the forest wall. Our body language was obvious as we surveyed our surroundings: Dad had his chest pumped out and his hands on his hips; Mom had her arms crossed; while my arms hung limply, my head lolled to one side, defeated. Two-thirds miserable in the pouring rain, we were totally and utterly alone. There was not a sound nor a soul nor a living thing to be seen in any direction.
Looking up, the blue sky juxtaposed brilliantly with the evergreen tips of the trees; I had never seen colour like that. Everywhere there were birds, and Dad knelt down and pointed out each one to Heather and me. The eagles now tittered and soared high overhead. Whooshwhoosh-whoosh went the powerful wings of a low-flying, coal-black raven, staring straight at us, checking us out. A blue kingfisher dive-bombed into the water, coming up with wriggling, silver flash in its sharp, black beak. A family of merganser ducks swam in a “V” formation along the shoreline, Mama upfront looking stern with her woodpeckershaped head and fancy feather-plume cowlick, teaching her half-dozen playful babies how to dive for needlefish.