Last year I spent 3 self-defining weeks at the Hakai Beach Institute on Calvert Island in the "remote" (but once densely populated) central coast of British Columbia. I've since found a poem I wrote about my time there that I'd shared with some of my fellow travellers. Háw'aa, as Gwaliga would say (in Haida, although I really should be using the local language of the Heiltsuk).
Squinty tufts of abalone A magenta An iridescence: Bumpy, curvy, lonely
Squinty olive eyes shielding a salty gaze A nook, a rock is carved From old glacier men far away
Telephone posts Are barren trees Water rolled The water pulled them to shore
Bush wakin' on Tricket Crab dances and limpets Calming scents From thimbleberry thickets
Squinty little butter clams Burrowing in Heiltsuk gardens Burrowing farther in Seeds have been planted since
Harmonizing tides and warblers Nature’s chaotic order Jagged and smooth seaweeds, The false Lilly’s look real to me
High tide brings stacks of pride, Peaceful minds and warming signs Tide low the rocks begin to show Urchin remains leave their purple steins
Hakai pass calls me closer Just a tourist, an interloper I've shed my salty skin And will come back once again
Ecology & Archaeology comrades scouting the tide on Calvert Island, British Columbia May 2014.