New videoblog post about conscience awareness.

Published, Vancouver Courier

As seen in The Ottawa Citizen, The Calgary Herald, and The Times Colonist.

by Michael McCarthy

It used to be that Victoria was known as the destination for “the newly wed and the nearly dead,” but now the dowager queen has become hip and you are just as likely to find Thai bistros and jogging paths as well as old fish and chip stands in the capital. Harrison Hot Springs used to share the same reputation, but a recent visit shows that the small Fraser Valley resort has also changed its tune–during the summer, at least, when school is out–and the result is a most pleasant surprise.

Between May and September, when the sun shines and Vancouver families are looking for a convenient getaway, Harrison Hot Springs Resort, which towers over the village, is a happening place thanks to its new emphasis on family fun. Their Get Wet package combines fun on the lake with relaxation around the pools and opportunities to explore nearby attractions, all for one package price. Even Grandma would be happy because the main attraction still remains the hotel’s famous mineral pools that have lured vacationers for decades (except that these days there are five pools to choose from, one for all age groups) and if you don’t want to splash with the kids, you can doze around the adult pool and pretend you’re in Hawaii. It’s not just families though; the newly wed aspect of Harrison still pertains, as couples make up a portion of those lounging in the sparkling waters.

Harrison’s famous hot springs have always attracted visitors. The original St. Alice Hotel was built in 1886, destroyed by fire in 1920 and replaced in 1925 by the existing Harrison Hotel. Guests travelled from the coast by riverboat or train and coach from nearby Agassiz station. During the war years of the 1940s, the hotel became a sanitarium and then was restored to its original purpose, drawing guests in growing numbers from the entire Pacific Northwest. In 1988, a tower was added followed by the expansion to the three outdoor and two indoor mineral pools and major upgrades to the entire facility and then the Healing Springs Spa. Today, the resort and town are a mere 90 minutes by car from downtown Vancouver but still a world away; the lake and surrounding mountains give it an alpine feel.

These days, due to the American economy, U.S. travellers are down somewhat in numbers but overall the hotel and village of Harrison are even busier thanks to the wide variety of attractions. Boat rentals are available on the lake for water skiing and fishing, and the sand castles still brings out the crowds. There are also self-guided country driving tours to nearby antique stores and farms, bike rentals, jogging paths and several golf courses. But it’s still the mineral pools that attract.

Each of the hotel’s three outdoor pools is completely different. The hot springs themselves are located a few hundred metres to the west, along the shoreline, and you can walk to the source if you want by following a nice broad path. The springs are boiling hot, and the water is piped to the resort and cooled down along the way to a luxurious temperature. The resort’s adult pool (no kids allowed) is the hottest; you simply sit and bask. The kid’s pool is a bit cooler, and the lap pool perfect for swimming.

Two indoor pools are hotter and more popular in the winter months, starting in September when the school crowd disappears and the elderly start to arrive. Those seeking relief from arthritis and other aches and pains gave the town its former reputation, but in summer the only attraction that maintains the town’s former reputation as a magnet for the aged is the hotel’s remarkable Copper Room, a bizarre manifestation of the 1950s that hasn’t changed a hair since Elvis was in ducktails.

It’s always dress up time in the hotel’s formal dining room, perhaps the only place left in North America where little girls wear party dresses and dance with fathers wearing suits, twisting to the sounds of the Jones Boys, an ancient trio whose trademark tunes are old Beatles and Sinatra hits.

The resort’s modestly priced Get Wet Family Package ($558 for two adults, two children for two nights) runs Sunday through Thursday June 28 to Sept. 3. Go to www.harrisonresort.com for more details.

At $25 a ticket, it’s only the rich or westerners who can afford the fast ferry that runs all the way down Tonle Sap Lake, about 180 miles from Siem Reap down to Phnom Penh. The jungle temples of Angkor Wat have been “discovered” in a big way, though, so on this particular morning in late November the 120 plus seats of the main cabin were mostly full and the topside roof packed with another two dozen people, nearly all westerners keen for an adventure on the vast waters of the Tonle Sap. So we were well over capacity but in Cambodia it’s not like there is anybody in charge of minor items such as that, and the sun was shining in a pastel blue sky, and we bought overpriced bananas and baguettes and off we went, only an hour late.

It was about 30 minutes into the trip when the horizon disappeared and all you could see were the dazzling blue waters of the huge waterway disappearing into the distance. The rainy season was finally over and the vast lake was completely full of water, fish and crocodiles. Those without books or cameras to keep them amused started to nod off after about 30 minutes, which was when the first trickles of water made an appearance inside the cabin, tickling our toes. The front doors of the cabin were open – in fact, the front doors were the only doors to the outside – and I suspected that the great speed we were making allowed water into the cabin. Within minutes two members of the crew were busy attempting to staunch the tide, and it was rather amusing to see them using a mop and old paint can to soak up the moisture. We all hauled our bags into our laps and lifted our feet off the floor, and grinned at the sight of this pathetic attempt to dry a 150-foot boat using one small mop and a couple of old plastic Pepsi bottles cut in half.

By this time the nose of the cigar-shaped boat was titled up in the air, and soon those of us in the back of the boat were several inches deep in water. This soon became rather irritating and eventually people began to grumble. We were a motley assortment of westerners, mostly European. My friends Roger and Ian, successful businessmen from Canada, shared my row, crammed in like sardines. We smiled at each other and grinned at this small irritation. The attempt by one of the crew to clean up the mess in such a fashion was just one of those situations that make countries like Cambodia so charming.

I looked around to see what other passengers were doing to deal with the deluge and noted with some alarm that three ladies at the very back row of the boat were making an effort to open a window. This, I thought, would let yet more water into the boat, but when I saw them pounding on the window and then kicking at it, it suddenly dawned on me they were trying to get out. The water by this time was over our ankles, and even deeper at the back.

Looking around, I also noted with some greater alarm that many passengers were quietly opening the overhead storage compartments and casually bringing down life jackets. Ian thought he might stretch his legs, go up front and find out where all this water was coming from. He put on a life jacket, as did Roger, who handed me a third vest, but when I tried to put it on all the drawstrings broke off, leaving me with a useless albatross hanging around my neck. At this point some ladies in front of us started crying, and then everyone stood up and put on life jackets. As the boat surged forward, the water sloshed back and forth and the boat made slow sickening slides from side to side. Everyone peered out the window for some sign of a treetop or fishing boat to which to swim, but there was only one fishing boat perhaps five miles in the distance. I overheard some vague talk about crocodiles.

At the front of the boat, I could see Ian conferring with another westerner, who turned out to be a young Aussie gentleman named Michael. They had been talking to the driver of the boat with the aid of a Cambodian passenger who translated, and Ian came back to report that he thought it might be necessary to stop the boat and find the source of the water because the boat was listing so badly. The captain, he thought, was panicking and trying to run away from the problem, whatever it was. Ian went back up front and disappeared into the cabin, and several passengers at the back of the boat surreptitiously followed, the increased weight causing the water at the back to run forward to the front, where other passengers suddenly stood up and started to shout. At this time the boat slowed down and large amounts of accumulated water started to flow back and forth on the cabin floor as people jumped up and moved about.

Ian and Michael re-emerged from the captain’s cabin with looks of grave concern on their faces. The driver of the boat was not the captain and would not listen to them. The two had forced the driver to stop, using the translator to explain what was transpiring back in the main cabin. The crew itself had quietly secured life jackets for themselves – apparently the only new life vests on board - and retired to the bow where they appeared ready to jump overboard at any moment. At this point the captain appeared jumped overboard himself, also an alarming development, but it turned out he had finally been convinced of the severity of the problem and was attempting to locate the leak.

Water was trickling from underneath the entry stairs, and several of the passengers started to tear away the wooden steps to find the source of the leak. A very slim Cambodian passenger climbed into the hole and went down into the muck and filth of the bilges and found the leak, reporting a hole the size of a soccer ball in the hull just above the waterline. He also reported that the compartments underneath the main cabin were completely full of water.

Ian and Michael, who by this time had effectively taken control of the captain’s cabin, politely asked all passengers to remain seated and not move about, as they were attempting to stabilize the boat and drain the water overboard, which is when we discovered that not only were the life vests effectively useless but there was no rear exit, there were no life rafts and that the windows were sealed shut. We also found that the hatch to the lower compartments had not been opened in many years and was almost impossible to open. This hatch was subsequently attacked with extreme vigor by several passengers using a hammer and chisel, while the only remaining crew member who hadn’t retreated to the bow sat there and watched. This hatch was finally opened, to confirm that the hold was completely full of water, which was also when we learned from the sole remaining crew member that the water pump for this forward compartment was out of commission. My seat mate Roger, who had been calmly sitting and reading his Lonely Planet – albeit while wearing his own life vest - announced that according to his guidebook there were two fast ferries that plied the waters of the Tonle Sap, one of which actually ran on a somewhat regular basis and the other was named “The Floating Coffin” for its sad state of disrepair. Evidently, from time to time, various bits and pieces - like the propeller -would fall off The Coffin and the crew would then phone hail passing fish boats or Phnom Penh for spare parts, although – unlike today – the boat didn’t actually sink. In some instances passengers might be delayed for days for parts to be delivered. Given the need for 125 people to use the loo at some time and given that we didn’t dare risk having people walking around, this was hardly a comforting prospect. Being adrift for days was a horrible thought, but there was also the more immediate fear that we could sink at any moment.

Ian and Michael had been busy, and the sum total of their research was that the captain was a total idiot and an extreme danger to all. They couldn’t work out what was worse; the seaworthiness of the boat or his seamanship. Michael immediately solicited several volunteers and formed a water bucket line, and soon six strong men were lifting and throwing five-gallon buckets of water overboard at the rate of one every ten seconds, which Ian estimated at approximately 44 gallons per minute. Over the course of the next few hours the buccaneers tossed several tons of water over the side, lightening the craft and our worries substantially. One of the crew actually got a small portable water pump going, and soon a steady waterfall of bilge water was erupting over the side of the boat.

At this time the captain, who refused to stop in the first place until faced with a possible mutiny, decided it was time to proceed again. An announcement was made by Michael that we were heading back to Siem Reap and a large sigh of relief whooshed through the boat, but in no time Michael produced a compass from his pocket and deduced that the captain was lying through his teeth and we were in fact heading south, on to Phnom Penh, even though the craft was still leaking like a sieve and that we were at least 50 miles from the nearest shore. It appeared as if the captain might be thrown bodily overboard until the Cambodian translator revealed that we were exactly in the middle of the vast lake and that the captain thought it made just as much sense to proceed as to retreat. The captain, who wanted to proceed directly to Phnom Penh, finally compromised and agreed to make for the nearest point of land, and to drive at a much more relaxed pace so that the boat didn’t take on any more water.

All the time the passengers were bailing water the captain had been banging away with a hammer underneath the stairs, a most disconcerting harsh and metallic sound inside a crowded boat, vaguely attempting to do something to repair the leak. Finally one of the passengers – a Russian mechanic – grabbed the captain, ordered him aside and went down the hole armed with a fistful of t-shirts, a rubber sandal and other odds and sods volunteered by some passengers. Reports came back from Ian that the hole was the size of a soccer ball, and a great deal of water was coming in, but the flow might possibly be stemmed enough to keep us afloat long enough to reach the shore if we all bailed like mad. This news was not reported to the rest of the passengers. Rather, Michael and Ian both made regular announcements, in English and French, that things were temporarily under completely in control and that there was no immediate danger of sinking, and that as long as nobody moved about and caused the boat to rock the problems would probably not get worse.

I took up a position in the aisle amidship, smiling and nodding at passengers from the rear of the boat as they attempted to go forward, but in effect blocking the way. Ian and I communicated by hand signals. The last thing we wanted was for people to attempt to get out and go above decks, or starting any rush. Michael came down the aisle occasionally, offering tidbits of news. Yes, the authorities had been notified and perhaps a rescue craft would soon appear. Perhaps not true, but in comparison to the lies offered by the boat captain about what which direction we were headed this deception about our security served a very useful purpose, and - aside from one elderly couple suffering from extreme stress who were allowed up on deck - everyone sat and waited and prayed. There was a great deal of emotional trauma evident among all the passengers but no panic whatsoever.

The hammering and pounding and bailing continued for several hours while we proceeded south slowly. Ian and Michael made regular announcements to reassure the passengers. By mid-afternoon we left the main lake itself and entered the waters of the Tonle Sap River, and talk soon turned to how far we would need to swim if the boat suddenly went down.

Finally we approached a little town marked on maps as Kampong and a police boat meet us, directing the captain to the dock. Conjecture was that our frantic cell phone calls to various embassies about our plight had produced results, but of what kind we could not be sure. We were going to be welcomed by the local police, who had been notified about the condition of our craft and wanted a chat with someone or other. Would the boat be impounded and certain people along with it?

Michael and Ian discussed what might comprise the worst possible scenario and decided that there was a vague possibility it might be themselves who were arrested, the Cambodian solution to a problem being “jail the messenger. Mutiny charges perhaps? It might be themselves and not the captain who would be detained thrown into jail. Plans were hastily discussed as to our next moves.

The prospect of spending any time discussing legalities with the local gendarmerie weighed upon my stomach, which had already been tied in knots for several hours, so I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and headed directly for the loo, a foul cabinet at the back of the boat. I did some emergency business, holding grimly on to a rail and bashing against the walls while in the squat position as the boat swayed back and forth. I could hear the police barking commands.

Searching my pockets desperately for paper, all I could find was my $25 fast ferry ticket stuffed in my breast pocket. I made good and thorough use of it, an appropriate gesture under the circumstances I thought, and tossed it down the bog. A rough day under trying circumstances to be sure, but the job’s never really over until the paperwork is done. We jumped into a decrepit taxi idling at the dock and fled to Phom Penh, relishing the fact that we were still alive while discussing our next adventures in southeast Asia, although it was mutually agreed that Cambodian boat captains or crocodiles would not be part of the transportation arrangements.

Published, Vancouver Courier

As seen in The Montreal Gazette, The Vancouver Sun, The Province, The Ottawa Citizen, The Leader Post, The Calgary Herald, The Edmonton Journal, The Times Colonist and The Whale Museum

by Michael McCarthy

Janie Wray and "whale dog" Meekus stand carefully balanced in the bow of a small research boat, watching intently. While African chimps have Jane Goodall to protect them and the mountain gorillas can thank the late Diane Fossey for preserving them, in Canada lovers of humpback whales have Wray, who’s determined to assure their future.

Aside from the honk of ducks and a slight murmur in the trees off Princess Royal Island, the waters of Whale Passage are silent. Suddenly, not 20 metres off the starboard bow, there is a whoosh as a gigantic humpback whale launches its entire 10-tonne body out of the ocean and lands with a mighty splash. A few seconds later, a second humpback breaches, and then another. The spectacle continues unabated for over half an hour, the enormous creatures throwing their entire bodies in the air like porpoises.

"Last week, I watched a calf breach over 75 times in a row," Wray says. "I guess it was in training to follow its mother south in the fall. We’ve even seen some right whales and fin whales migrating through this year. The northern whale populations are starting to recover and grow. This is the best place in the world to see and study them."

On Gil Island, just west of Princess Royal Island some 80 kilometres south of Prince Rupert, whale researchers Hermann Meuter and Wray have established Cetacealab, a research station to study the lives of resident and transient orcas and the growing population of humpback whales that pass through these waters every year. For any lover of these creatures, as Hermann and Wray surely are, it’s a wilderness dream come true.

While scientists track the southern pods of resident orca whales in the Gulf Islands and Desolation Sound with some concern for their future (in March, researchers confirmed the birth of a calf in J Pod, bringing the precarious southern resident killer whale population up to 86), in the sparkling northern waters around Princess Royal Island the future of whales looks sunnier. Wray estimates there are "about 100" humpbacks living near the lab and about 2,000 that pass through the Inside Passage every summer.

Wray and Meuter built Cetacealab in 2001. They formed the North Coast Cetacean Society, a charitable organization dedicated to the research and protection of whales in B.C. coastal waters. "From Gil over to Aristazabal Island is like an orca highway," Wray explains over a cup of tea in the house they built by hand. "We have four hydrophones placed around the region, with one more to come. We’ve lost a few over the years to the winter storms, which are pretty rough. Hermann dives down to 60 feet and places a hydrophone on a cliff or rock face, and fixes it in place with rocks. A microphone runs up a cable to the forest and a radio transmitter. The hydrophone and cable each cost $2,000 and the transmitter is $2,000, so it’s about $8,000 per unit."

Some orcas and humpbacks stay in the Princess Royal Island region all winter while others come and go with the seasons. Wray and Meuter estimate there are 220 resident orcas and 250 transients in the region, but an accurate count requires more study. Wray is the humpback lover, while Meuter tracks orcas.

Aside from a few floating fishing lodges moored nearby in the summer months, Meuter and Wray are alone in this vast wilderness. Their closest neighbours are an hour north by boat in the village of Hartley Bay, where the Gitga’at people are pleased to welcome guests to their bed and breakfast, take visitors out to whale watch, fish for five different species of salmon in summer, kayak, and go bear watching in the fall.

A hydrophone suddenly starts squawking, indicating a pod of humpbacks right outside the front door. In a flash, Wray runs for the boat, binoculars in hand, with Meekus right behind. B.C.’s own wilderness woman and whale champion is on the job, and those who worry about creatures can rest assured their future is in good hands.

For guiding and accommodations to the Princess Royal Island region, go to www.gitgaat.net. To learn more about whales or to donate to Cetacealab, visit www.whaleresearch.ca.

Today’s video blog post about Intentionality.

My video blog post today about traveling with intent.