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 in the back of a path of books endowing the realm with a romantic air of mystery that is helping to make it British Columbia’s most well-liked marine park. during this hilarious and pleasing booklet, CBC character supply Lawrence provides a complete new bankruptcy to the saga of this storied piece of BC coastline.
Young Grant’s father obtained a section of land subsequent to the park within the Seventies, simply in time to come across the gun-toting cougar woman, left-over hippies, outlaw bikers and an collection of different characters. In these years Desolation Sound was once 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 university of existence (boating, fishing, and rock ’n’ roll) was once Grant’s own Enlightenment - a power that will take him clear of the coast to a lifetime of tune and journalism and finally again again.
With rock band neighbors and some situations of beer in tow, an older, cooler furnish returns to regale us with stories of "going bush", the tempting difficulty of discovering an unguarded grow-op, and his awkward fight to persuade a number of vacationing kayakers that he’s a respectable 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 heritage 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
Hadley leaped out from behind the door, jammed both guns into Roos’s back and put him under arrest. Outside the cabin, with Roos captured, Hadley signalled for the return of the police boat by firing two quick rounds into the air, then proceeded to lead Roos at gunpoint to the shore. The path from Roos’s cabin to the beach was extremely steep, and in the dimming evening light, Hadley slipped on some rocks and fell. In a split-second, Roos made a break for it, diving through the window of a shed and out the back door into the woods.
Dad had wandered to the front of the line and was fearlessly mingling with a motorcycle gang, a common sight on the Sunshine Coast in the summer. They had rumbled into the terminal in a rolling thunderstorm of leather, steel and exhaust fumes, straight to the front of the line, as was BC Ferries’ custom with motorcycles. Everybody else tried to be coy, but we couldn’t help but stare at the bikers in their patchcovered, dirty denim vests, their oil-encrusted Levi’s, their heavy, square-toed leather boots, red bandanas, beards, tattoos, long hair, big bellies and bigger voices.
It had come alive. 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.