travels with janne

Next on my itinerary is the medieval town of
Erice. According to the guidebook, this is “a dramatically beautiful medieval
hill town”. I will have to take the book’s word for it, because the hill and
the town are so shrouded in fog that it is difficult to see anything at all.
The mist lends a mystical atmosphere to it all, but a cold and damp one. I
wander around aimlessly, letting myself get lost in the winding streets, and
admiring the patterns of the cobblestones in the narrow streets. This town is
made of thousands upon thousands of stones.

In these past few days, I have learned to be a more
aggressive driver and parker of cars. Otherwise, I would never survive the
Sicilian traffic. There are, however, certain challenges that are insurmountable
for me. One of these is finding a spot to park the car in the town of Cefalu. I
try on three different occasions, all of which entail either turning around in
the narrowest of dead-end spaces or reversing and driving backwards in the
narrowest of streets. I try to look cool and collected as my efforts are
watched by onlookers and local drivers.

Previously, when I thought of Sicily, the images that
came to mind were the mafia and Mount Etna. Now, after two weeks on that lovely
island in the Mediterranean, I can add more images: turquoise seascapes, hilly
green landscapes, fragrant lemon orchards – and many more pleasant impressions.

Sicily has a long and rich history that includes
Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Byzantines, Normans, French and Spanish. They all left
their mark in one way or another so aside from undulating agricultural
landscapes, alluring azure sea, verdant forests and smoking volcanos, there is plenty
to catch one’s interest.

Ruins with a view

I start my explorations of Sicily at the Valley of
Temples, the Greek ruins by Agrigento. This spot was apparently already an
organised settlement in 581 BC, but most of the magnificent temples are from
around 480-400 BC. Various non-friendly events involving Carthaginians, Greeks,
Corinthians, Romans, Saracens and Normans meant that the Valley of Temples
changed hands throughout the centuries. That was all very long ago but the
temples still stand, albeit as ruins with a fantastic view of the countryside.

Next stop is the harbour town of Sciacca on the southwest coast. I just meander about, enjoying looking at the fishing boats in the harbour and the narrow streets with their cheery tiles.

Mountains with a view

After Sciacca I make my way north to a miniscule
village called Scopello. It consists of two streets and a public fountain from
which I repeatedly fill my water bottle in the days I spend here. It is a cute
little village with good restaurants but the main draw is the nearby Zingaro
National Park. The park is only a couple of kilometres from the village, so I
walk the country road and visit the park twice. The park offers stunning views
of the sea from high above. An extra bonus is that I do not have to suffice
with looking longingly at the crystal clear sea – I can clamber down and bathe
in its coolness.

Along the hiking route are plenty of interesting
plants, many of which I do not recognise. However, there are many educational
signs giving the names of the plants and explaining their botany, characteristics
and uses.

The walks provide me with sunshine, fresh air,
exercise and knowledge. What more can a girl ask for? Well, company, I suppose,
but I get that too, because along the way I meet a girl from Syracuse who is
biking all the way around Sicily. From time to time, we walk and talk together
and at other times our ways part. I also meet nifty little lizards constantly.
A couple of small museums in the park demonstrate traditional mountain life and
mountain farming.

The scenery in Denmark is not spectacular. Nor is it forbidding, wild and remote. It is for the most pretty, pastoral and peaceful. But that does not mean that it is boring – on the contrary. Danish nature, while not completely natural, has a lot to offer and is generally very easily accessible. I enjoy walking in the quiet places, drinking in the clean, fresh air and letting the wind blow away the dust bunnies in my head. Sometimes I bring my camera, sometimes not. Sometimes I go with a friend, sometimes not.

In March I visited friends at their summer cottage on Kolding Fjord in Southern Jutland. We went for a pleasant walk in the woods by the water and were so busy talking we almost did not catch the sunset.

Later in the spring, in April, I headed for the beech forest by the lake Slåen Sø in central Jutland, not far from the town of Silkeborg. A beech forest is the best place to be in the spring, when the tender green leaves of the stately beech trees unfurl in a virginal light green. Tiny white flowers bloom on the forest floor, lighting it up like newly fallen snow.

In June I took a hike along the west coast of Jutland, right by the sea. This area is usually quite windy. The trees take it in their stride, turning their backs to the wind and leaning heavily to the other side, like old people with rheumatic backs. Fragrant and health-promoting rose hips bloom merrily and provide mating grounds for butterflies. On the other side of the constantly shifting sand dunes lies the blustery North Sea, where remnants of World War 2 concrete bunkers solidly built by the occupying Germans dot the coast. The bunkers were made to last (and they do!), but the sea is making its inroads on them. Mother Nature is stronger than Man, thank goodness.

A week later I spent time all by myself in a summer cottage belonging to a work colleague. It was a totally unplugged week; no internet, no e-mail, no nothing. The weather was cold, wet and windy – just about the only week with bad weather all summer. This suited me just fine, because my intention was to concentrate on a particular writing project I am struggling with. Just outside, there were lots of wild rabbits and pheasants, and a bit futher off there were seals, so I was not at all lonesome.

In August, I drove out to one of my favourite spots in west Jutland, namely Stråsø Plantage, and walked for an hour, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the pine forests and the briskness of the windswept moors. At this time of year the heather is in full, purple bloom and has a heavenly fragrance. This is where I pick chantarelles, blueberries and lingonberries as well as bouquets of heather. Stråsø Plantage was the first secluded nature spot I discovered when I came to Denmark in 1979 (just over 35 years ago!) and I keep coming back again and again.

In December a friend and I walked for four hours around the lake Stubbegaard Sø, also in west Jutland. We are preparing ourselves mentally for a series of long hikes we will take next year that will stretch all the way through Denmark, from south to north. So a couple of weeks later we went for another good long walk, this time in the woods of Hoverdal Plantage, close to where my friend lives. It was wet and cold, but bracing.

We actually had snow for one full day in Denmark, at least in Bælum in north Jutland where I was fortunate enough to be at the time, visiting friends. I spent time walking in their large, mixed wood and, together with their 9-year-old granddaughter, building a snowman in their huge garden.

Back home again and on the last day of a gloriously long (three weeks!) Christmas holiday the weather was finally perfect. So I went for a another walk. Once again, I drove out to Stråsø Plantage, this time without my camera. After walking for one and a half hours, I started to make my way home. In the last golden rays of the winter sun, before it set it in a flourish of pink, red and orange, I saw a herd of about 100 elk, peacefully browsing in the distance. What a wonderful sight – they made my day.

As I have said many times before, Mother Nature is the best artist. The strokes and colours on her canvas inspire and invigorate me. So now I will lay down my own pen and let Mother Naure have the last word in these photographs of some of her works.

With the
driving this past week we can now add
approximately1000 km more to the trip, making a total tally of about
5575 km driven in three weeks in eight American states and one Canadian
province. We have also hiked about 90 km in seven national parks and other
places of astounding natural beauty plus a sojourn in laid back San Francisco.
Whew! Quite the whirlwind tour!

Fortunately,
we still had time to get up close and comfortable with a few of Nature’s
fascinating creatures – both the small and the mighty. I particularly like the
squirrels and chipmunks even though some people say they are just rats wearing
fur coats. So what’s wrong with dressing up?

The
important thing is to embrace and protect all the animals and their habitats so
that we are not one of the last generations to have enjoyed them. Or, in the
words of Chief Dan George of the Tsleil-Waututh people:

“One thing
to remember is to talk to the animals.

If you do,
they will talk back to you.

But if you
don’t talk to the animals, they won’t talk back to you, then you won’t
understand, and when you don’t understand you will fear, and when you fear you
will destroy the animals, and if you destroy the animals, you will destroy
yourself.”

The last part
of our journey comprises a visit to Olympic National Park in the state of
Washington. We take the ferry from Victoria in British Columbia on the Canadian
side to Port Angeles in Washington on the American side. We stay with my cousin
in Port Angeles in her very sustainable, organic, fascinating and tasteful
straw bale house.

Although
the landscape on Vancouver Island was green things are about to get even
greener. Olympic National Park includes a lush temperate rain forest, the Hoh
Rain Forest. It is very, very verdant with lots of different plant species networking
with each other. We hike two different trails, altogether about five
kilometres. Lichen called witch’s hair is draped on the tree branches and lends
the dark and shady wood a bit of a spooky feel.

A squirrel
comes running full speed towards, its mouth full of pine cone. It stops only
long enough to evaluate our potential danger to him. Apparently, we pass the
test because he continues to barrel busily towards us. It turns out that we are
standing right in front of the tree where he has his hidey-hole for storing his
winter’s cache. Once he has delivered the pine cone he goes out to fetch more
groceries. He has no time to waste on chattering at us.

After the
hike in the rain forest we drive to the Pacific coast. We hike downhill for a
while to get to the beach. We have this wonderful place all to ourselves. There
is light, breeze, surf and sand. Quite a contrast from the lush, dark rain
forest. We explore for a bit, enjoying the feel of the cool sand between our
toes and admiring the driftwood. After hiking back upwards again we drive some
more and then stop to take the hike to lovely Sol Duc Falls.

Next day my
cousin joins us for a few hours of hiking on Hurricane Ridge. She has worked in
the national parks for years, so she knows every little nook, cranny and
chipmunk. We walk about 10 km and, thanks to my couin’s canny and experienced
eye, we see lots more than we would otherwise, including grouse, woodpeckers,
chipmunks and more squirrels. The real treat, though, is seeing salmon spawning
in the Elwha River. This river has only recently been liberated from being
dammed, so the fact that salmon are already spawning here is good news. We see
the male fish hover over the female and we see the female wriggle energetically
to get rid of and distribute her eggs. Neat!

Our visit
to Telegraph Cove in September coincides with the tail end of the salmon run.
This is the period during which the grizzlies gorge themselves on salmon big
time in preparation for winter hibernation. Eat and sleep. I can get into that.

We set out
on a full day excursion to Knight Inlet to see if we can spot some bears. On
the way out we see humpback whales, hundreds of acrobatic Pacific white-sided
dolphins, and rhinoceros auklets. We start out in a regular motorised boat then
switch to a special flat-bottomed boat that is capable of making its way through
an estuary of the inlet at low tide. We potter about and see black bears and
grizzly bears alike.

The fish
are indolent or dead after their long and tiring journey that ends when they have
done their reproductive duties and laid the ground for the next generation. No
wonder they are pooped, with all that travelling and mating. The totally worn
out salmon float listlessly with the current and are easy pickings for the
bears. All the bears have to do is reach out and grab a meal at their leisure.

The bears
have been feasting and they are full, fat and satisfied. Some of them have such
a surplus of energy that they spend time playing – adults, subadults and cubs
alike. We see a black bear and her cubs frolicking and cavorting in the shallow
water, raising big and noisy splashes, seemingly just for the fun of it. We see
grizzly sows munching on salmon while their cubs play at wrestling. We spot two
grizzly sows with four (!) cubs each and others with two or three cubs. Their
fecundity is a sure sign that there have been fish aplenty.

We move
upwards into the estuary. The passage is like gliding through a mangrove. It is
very still except for the caw-caw of crows and the occasional screech of an
eagle. We see more grizzlies and their cubs. An adult lies on her back in the
shallow water, all four paws up in the air, holding onto a fish and chomping
her way through it with half-closed eyes. We can almost hear her smacking her
lips. We imagine her pleasure.

Altogether
we see 31 grizzly bears of various ages, a black bear with cubs, bald eagles,
Canada geese, crows, gulls, thousands of dead and half-dead salmon and a wolf
footprint. Our funny, friendly and knowledgable guides from Tide Rip Tours point out interesting
plants such as the anti-coagulant flower yarrow and the wispy Methuselah’s Beard
– the longest lichen in the world.

This lichen
thrives best in old growth forests with lots of clean, fresh air, so it is
threatened by logging. Logging does takes place here, but the logs are sent all the way to China where they are
treated in Chinese factories – with Canadian equipment. And then, I suppose,
imported back to Canada. How crazy is that?

How bittersweet it is to be welcomed to lovely and friendly Canada, but not travelling on a Canadian passport. The Danish parliament finally passed a bill this month that allows dual citizenship but that is, alas, too late for me. If I want my Canadian citizenship back I have to apply for it from scratch like a foreigner.

Anyway, back to my travel tales: My friend Bente and I arrive in Victoria on Vancouver Island in the dark, late at night and leave again, in the dark, very early the next morning. We drive north steadily for hours, stopping only to grab a takeaway breakfast once we find a place that is open. The dawn lightens the sky and exposes the landscape. Trees, trees and more trees. About halfway (three hours into the journey) things start feeling decidedly remote.

By lunchtime we arrive in the tiny, secluded settlement of Telegraph Cove, population 20. It lies nestled snugly among the rocks and trees at the entrance to the Johnstone Strait. The landscape here is coloured in various hues of blue and green – the clean water, the clear sky, the sombre fir trees. It all seems so fresh and vibrant, fluid and organic compared to the stoic stones and rigid rocks we have been seeing for the past two weeks. Trees and water – they are more my cup of tea. This feels like home.

The village, if you can call it a village, consists of about 30 wooden buildings, many of which are built on stilts. There are cabins for tourists like us, the Killer Whale Cafe, where we eat all our meals, the Old Saltery Pub, a general store and coffee shop plus a whale watching outfit and a grizzly bear watching outfit. The buildings are connected by a boardwalk. Originally, in 1912, Telegraph Cove was the northern one-building terminus for the telegraph line from Campbell River – hence the name. It then got a lumber mill and salmon saltery and then, during World War II, became a military relay station. Now it is a whale and grizzly bear watching mecca.

After a scrumptious clam chowder lunch we head for Lukwa, the whale watching boat owned by Stubbs Island Whale Watching – an outfit I highly recommend (and no, I am not paid to write that). In the language of the local indigenous people, the Kwakwaka’wakw (I won’t even try and pronounce that), Lukwa is the word for “place in the forest”. We board the boat for three fantastic hours of marine wildlife adventure. We see sleek and shiny killer whales (orcas), humpback whales, Steller sea lions, Dall’s porpoises and seabirds.

The humpbacks blow with huge snorts. The vertical mist from their blowholes reflect the light and create rainbows in the air. The enormous animals slap their barnacle-encrusted fins on the water. They breach, lifting their upper bodies out of the water. They show us their two-metre wide tails and then disappear into the cold blue depths.

The orcas are in fishing mode, circling about in groups, their dorsal fins gliding through the water, shark-like. Sometimes we spot their clear white side markings. The guides lower a microphone into the water so we can eavesdrop on the orca conversations. The party line is humming!

Dall’s porpoises also make an entrance on the scene. They are like aquatic puffins – tubby, black and white, and fast. They can travel up to 55 km per hour. On this day, they take the time out to tease a humpback whale, bothering and worrying it. The giant responds with a snort and a breach.

Steller sea lions interact with another humpback in an apparently more friendly way. The humpback is lolling about very close to shore and seemingly rolling in the bull kelp. Speaking of which, the bull kelp is a pretty sight in itself, swaying graciously in the waves. This nutrient-rich plant can grow 60 cm (two feet) per day and up to 24 metres (80 feet) in a season (spring to fall). Birds also abound here and we see bald eagles, seagulls, red-necked phalaropes and surf scoters, among others.