Chris and I had some big plans for Ucluelet. We wanted to take this hike I'd read about; we wanted to see the lighthouse, and there was a bunch of in-town touristy things we thought we'd check out. And so we headed for the Driftwood Cafe for lunch (everything there, for obvious reasons, specialises in fish. This is not happy news for a girl who carries an epi-pen for seafood allergies) and half-planned our day. We agreed that we'd find the lighthouse first.
Our main purpose in finding the lighthouse was because I had a great desire to view what Chris describes as "unfettered ocean": ocean as far as the eye can see. Not this wimpy sheltered Strait of Juan de Fuca you can see from Victoria's harbour. Boy, did we ever find it out at the lighthouse. Chris and I watched the tide come in, as waves battered and exploded against giant rocks. It was foggy out, and behind us was real rainforest. I can't even describe how these felt for a prairie girl. Wow. And then it turned out that the hike I wanted to do was the "Wild Pacific Trail," which passes by the lighthouse. And so we followed this trail, stopping at different look-out points where you can see the ocean from various perspectives. My one regret is that I didn't have film for my camera, especially when we came up close to deer on two different occasions.
We left the ocean feeling stunned. We found ourselves driving through Ucluelet feeling ready to go home. Who wants to trail through a local tourist trap after seeing that for the first time? Chris and I found ourselves in agreement. (Although we first stocked up at the local Co-op grocery store! It was like a little piece of home in the far far west of Canada. They even had a large Corner Gas display, with t-shirts and everything. I needed that little bit of home.)
We headed home several hours early, and not a moment too soon. As we neared Victoria, Chris admitted to feeling a sore throat. He talked on the phone with Bernie for a while when we got home, but actually got off the phone because his ears and throat were hurting. A cold had hit him, with the force that colds only hit Chris. Within twenty minutes he was tucked into bed, after I'd given him some cold medicine and hot tea. He slept for eleven hours, plus several this afternoon.
What an odd transition: we went from this near-transcendental experience of ocean and rainforest to the prosiac life of hot soup, Kleenex and loud snoring. Classic Chris and Maryanne. (I think he's getting me back for last week's four hours in the emergency room. Now it's my turn to take care of him.)
Why didn't anyone tell me that marriage is this funny?