The island is named for Spain’s answer to Captain Cook, explorer-mapmaker
Dionisio Galiano who in 1792 was the first European to pay close attention to
this corner of our world. We’d visited Galiano a couple of times in the past
but not in nearly a decade. We found a little cabin to our liking, loaded the
fridge with comestibles and headed for the hills.
The first order of business was a revisit to five-star
Bodega Ridge with its commanding views to Galiano’s neighbouring Gulf Islands and an
abundanza of wildflowers and birds. Warblers, house wrens and black-headed grosbeaks loudly proclaimed their territorial claim to various sections of the
ridge. Turkey vultures prowled overhead, waiting perhaps for the opportunities
arising should an inattentive hiker tumble fatally to the rocks below. Mid-May
brings a wildflower shift change: gone are the satinflowers, calypsos and shooting-stars
of spring; in their place a new botanical cast—paintbrush, Hooker’s onion, the lovely
and aptly named farewell-to-spring.
We sought out lifers—new-to-us trails and features—and found
several to feast upon: the woodland meander to Cable Bay and Pebble Beach, the
strange shoreline sandstone formations at Retreat Cove, the excellent trail and
hilltop vistas at Mount Galiano. The marge of Sturdies Bay at Bellhouse Park availed
multifaceted tidepooling: bivalves, anenomes, sea stars galore and an even
greater variety of wry, weird sandstone formations—sculptures crafted not by
Henry Moore but Mother Nature herself.
Unnamed friends of mine have always bemused me for their comprehensive
lack of interest in cemeteries. By contrast I am drawn to graveyards as gulls are
to landfills. The Galiano cemetery offers plenty of the things to like about
final resting places: quietude, landscape, history. Several stones grabbed my
attention, one in particular with markings entirely in Japanese. I did some
snooping and found that Galiano’s Japanese pioneers arrived in the 1890s; they
fished and logged, made charcoal kilns, built fish canneries and herring
salteries. But it all came to naught after a mere half century. By the time Canada
went to war against The Land of the Rising Sun the Japanese-Canadians of
Galiano—even those who had fought for Canada in World War Part I—had their
properties seized by Her Majesty and were themselves rounded up and hauled off
to internment camps for the war’s duration. They never returned.
Only a thousand folks live on Galiano. The island has no
multiplexes, no casinos, no supermalls. Where do people turn for diversion? I
checked the noticeboard at the Sturdies Bay Bakery and Cafe for insight. Hand-poked
tattooing jostled with salsa instruction among offered services. Imminent events
included a high-stakes bridge tournament and a fiddle jamboree but the coming
attraction that intrigued me most was Galiano’s 19th Annual Bob
Dylan Birthday Party, show at 7, cake at 9 at the South End Hall, May 24. Leaving aside its diverse physical charms, how can one not be seduced by a place that offers
hand-poked tattoos, salsa dancing and birthday parties for people who aren’t
even there?
