Tlell

'Good bye everyone,' says ruddy-faced Peter with the black hatbox, 'Welcome to Paradise!' He got the driver to honk at people walking along the road, and us to wave at them. He threatened a duel with the bus driver, who proposed to the 88-year old woman behind me, who I am sure blushed. We were all ready to leave the ferry landing, when I noticed a minivan intently aimed head-on at our bus. We started and turned to avoid a collision, against those who Peter suddenly noticed were friends who had decided to come to pick him up.

I meet Paul on the ferry (more like barge) from Alliford to Skidegate, who thought he'd chat with me as his son-in-law chatted with 'my man' (who?). From the best sounding name of a town in New Brunswick,  and currently on the sliding slope of Fort Mac, they are here for three days, renting the other half of a duplex of the owner who will guide them to the seas.

The grapevine grows quick and runs deep here. We learn via Peter that the flight attendent's name is Julie (and _everyone_ liked her, having experienced the other sort countless times) and that she lived on the Island for a year when she was in Grade 1. She was the only attendent on the Dash 8-300. She, in good Air Canada form, duly spoke everything in English and French, the French portion having as foreign a taste to the situation as an Air France equivalent in English on an international flight. The woman I sat next to, an 18 year old veteran of the Island, helped her stock the cart with pop ('2 sprites, 2 tomato juices...') and then later navigated the novice bus driver around to the various drop off locations here. Having arrived at a street sign labelled 3rd Avenue, I thought it was my stop. But no, she says 3rd is long and different ways to get on it. Take signs with a grain of salt - they may only indicate themselves.

It comes as a surprise to people on the bus that the place I am going to rents cars at all, and for the price I am paying. The overhead is perhaps low - I sit at a kitchen table to fill out the form - and the car might not have a single computer chip in it. The bare minimum exists for safe driving on a stick. The key opens the door and starts the ignition.

I drive directly out to Tlell, to the music festival where my friend D awaits at the door. The road is very smooth and hugs the ocean coast. I pass the Kay Centre, the Haida Heritage Centre - where the meeting of the Ravens and Eagles will be next week. Gwaii Haanas - Beautiful Land.

Nanai, grandmother in Haida, is what others call D. The woman on the bus tells me she is well-respected. She says it like it is, i.e. at the crepe she bought, 'Is this all I get for what I paid?' We sit at a table and meet B, who has been volunteering here in Haida Gwaii in art camp. We suffer through some acoustics, and I stay just to see who Sam Roberts is. We decide all three to go up to Masset on Monday, his next port of call.