Smith Inlet - Part I

Throughout my life, I heard tales of this mysterious place called Smith Inlet. It is an inlet about halfway up the coast of British Columbia where my grandfather ran his logging operation and my dad and aunts were born and raised. This wasn’t just any logging operation; it was a floating logging camp. GMG (Goertzen, McGill, Gildersleve) Logging would move their camp throughout Smith Inlet to where they happened to be logging. The camp had houses, a church and even a school. Instead of bikes, kids had boats. They had pet deer and seals in addition to the more traditional dog. They learned to swim by having a rope tied around them and being tossed into the chuck (aka the ocean). Smith Inlet is only accessible by boat or float plane. So after hearing about this place all our lives, when the opportunity arose to see it first hand, the entire family jumped at the chance to visit.

For the past few years, the family has talked about how amazing it would be for the siblings to go back and visit where they grew up and how they would like to show it to their kids and grandkids. The first task was to find a boat. The bulk of my relatives were commercial fisherman at some point in their lives and had all worked on seine boats at some point. My uncle was a skipper, others ran drum and cooked, and others did whatever one does on a fishing boat (commercial fishing died about the time I was old enough to work so I never had the opportunity). We had a crew, we just needed a boat. My uncle talked to his old boss, James, who owned a whole fleet of boats in the fishing heyday. He asked if it would be possible for our family to rent one of his boats for him to take this adventure. James’ response was “for Louis Goertzen’s kids, you can take the boat for free, just pay for the fuel.” My grandfather was an amazing person.

James met my grandfather when GMG was logging in Smith Inlet. James was part of the Tukush Indian Tribe that was at that time located in the Inlet as well (they were later relocated to Port Hardy by the government). Unlike anyone else in his tribe at the time, he had a burning desire to get an education. So much in fact, that he rowed at least two miles each direction to attend school at the GMG logging camp. Through sun or storms, James rowed to school. Today he is likely the most successful of his tribe. Going to school at GMG was how he met my grandfather. While I’m unsure what kind of impact my grandfather had on James, it must have been significant, since he was willing to lend our family his million dollar boat without thinking twice.

After working around twenty-some odd vacation schedules, we were finally able to set a time to take a trip to Smith Inlet. Many of the siblings hadn’t been there in years, with many of their offspring having never been at all. Amazingly, only one cousin (and a couple of spouses) was unable to make it.

The first leg of the trip was getting to Port Hardy, BC, which as far north as you can drive on Vancouver Island. I met up with the family in Seattle, my parents having already driven over from Montana. The ‘rents told my brother and I that they would pick us up at 530 am. True to Goertzen form, Rob and I had our gear lined up on the sidewalk by 520. We are very much our father’s children.

The next trick was going to be getting across the border, while hopefully not getting searched. We were driving in the big Dodge, with a boatload of gear and miscellaneous crap in the back of the truck, tarped down to avoid getting wet. Amazingly, after asking us if we had any weapons or pepper spray (in a fun French accent), the border person’s main objective was to let us know that my brother and I were Canadian and we could have used a Canadian passport, instead of our American ones. Typically my Canadian passport stays at home when I go to Canada since it’s usually more hassle than its worth to explain you’re a duely.

With the border crossing behind us, the next stop was the Tsawassen ferry terminal. We and a van full of other relatives traveling up from Seattle made the ferry with no problems. It’s always more fun to take the ferry with your cousins. And in my typical ferry tradition, I headed straight to the cafeteria to get my fix of Canadian delicacies that you can’t get in the states. Namely fries with vinegar and gravy, yummmmm, and a Nanaimo Bar for dessert.

We made it to the Nanaimo Costco in time to watch the last half of the US soccer game. The moms went shopping and the rest of us slackers hung out in the TV section of Costco. Then it was time to repack the truck because where in the hell was this food all going to fit with all the crap already in the truck? Finally, after 5 more hours of driving up the Island, we made it to Port Hardy. Even I got to take a turn driving my dad’s new truck! First time in the 15 years I’ve been driving that he’s let me drive his rig. It has adjustable pedals so I can reach important things, like the brake.

After making it to Port Hardy, we unloaded everything in the truck on to the boat. The boat had gotten a really ugly paint job since the last time I was on it around the age or 11 or 12. But she was sea worthy and free, which trumps ugly every time. With eagles soaring overhead and a mixture of diesel and seaweed in the air, you could tell the folks who grew up on the water were happy to be back.

Sunday was spent cleaning and organizing the boat and cooking for the next day, since you can’t cook going over the sound. We ran around picking up relatives, last minute trips to the grocery store, and borrowing wetsuits and surfboards from Port Hardy folks. That night, we had a bonfire and bbq on Storey Beach and invited those Port Hardy people who knew the Goertzen family, some of whom had also grown up on the floating logging camp. This was the start of my many, many hot dogs to be consumed over the week.

Before I knew it, Monday morning had dawned bright and beautiful and it was time to head to the boat. Where experiences unlike any other awaited . . . . starting with how the hell do you fit 22 people, an infant, and all their crap onto a fishing boat.