The idea of travelling to Haida Gwaii arrived in my head unprovoked. Perhaps I was influenced by marketing that I no longer remember, who can say? It’s not something that has haunted me in the past. 

My uncle lived in Charlotte for several decades but I visited him long after he’d sold his marine engine business there and retired to the Gulf Islands.

Nevertheless, the idea took hold. I tried to shake it off several times. Getting there is expensive and time consuming. One might try to convince oneself it would be a scenic voyage along the coast… but on a ferry?

Two days before I was about to leave, my sailing was cancelled. Bad forecast.  I was quite disappointed and a tiny bit relieved. I could cancel the trip or consider flying.

I asked a friend. She emailed back one word. “Go”.

I flew.

For the first couple of days, I kept waiting for something appropriately mysterious and magical to happen. Why had I been ‘called’ to visit Haida Gwaii, anyway? 

I walked. I hiked. I drove. I ate. I slept. I explored the magnificent Haida museum in Skidegate. I took pictures.

And nothing, happened. 

It was a trip about small things. Little openings of thought. Brief encounters with people. Better sleep each night. Looser walking each day. 

Just small things.