I grew up on an Island.  A really BIG Island, but one without any fixed link access– no bridge, no tunnel, no plans to span the Salish Sea in any way.  There are jet planes, float planes and ferries. Hearty individuals even cross in their own vessels. There is even a yearly celebration in which competitors race in “bathtubs“.

But way back, back as far as I can remember, anyway, travel between Vancouver Island and the Mainland was limited, for most people, to a couple of ferry runs. We still crossed the Salish Sea, although prior to 2008, it was called the Strait of Georgia. We planned our road trips accordingly, around the sailings, and it just was a fact of life. You could cross from Nanaimo to Horseshoe Bay, Sidney to Tswassen, and I remember a time or two crossing on the CP Truck ferry.

There is a particular smell– a mix of diesel and cool sea air– that crystallizes a memory of me as a little girl traveling with my dad on the truck ferry.  I’m not sure if it’s the same sailing, but I do recall one ferry at least having a “beer parlour” and my dad parking me in a seat right outside the door with an admonition not to move while he sat and had a beer with the truck drivers.

I have taken float planes, catamarans, helijets and commercial aircraft across to Vancouver, but somehow, despite the extra time and hassle of using transit on the other side, I always enjoy settling into the big seats, visiting the gift shop, looking for sea life and reminiscing during the crossing.

Look for me tomorrow. I’ll be the one smiling while around me jaded fellow-passengers bemoan the cost of Ferrry-Food, begrudge the time spent at sea, and generally whinge about a trip I always feel privileged to take.