![]() ![]() As we drop a repairman at East Seymour, where he’ll spend the day fixing the roof of a logging camp trailer, a pair of bald eagles eyes us warily the pilot tells me there were so many of the white-headed raptors last week it looked as if the treetops were covered with snow. At Sullivan Bay, a little community of floating houses, a sea lion spies on us as we unload building supplies. ![]() Today, the pilot is taking us on the milk run. Aloft in a Beaver, flying over mountains furrowed with cutblocks, I get my first glimpse of the sparsely populated Broughton Archipelago: a jigsaw puzzle of islands flung over the surface of the sea, with snaking channels and serrated sounds separating its scattered pieces. ![]() A four-hour drive north from Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, past creeks named after forestry-company executives, nature trails sponsored by Weyerhaueser, and miles of “tree farms”-clear-cut hillsides that have been planted with eerily regular rows of Day-Glo green Christmas trees-brings me to Port McNeill, the logging town that is the jump-off point for the mid coast. Keeping a date with Alexandra Morton demands perseverance. ![]()
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