yet mountains and canyons have been sculpted by its force
Thus the soft overcomes the hard,
the yielding overpowers the rigid
Though a fact of nature,
this truth is difficult to put into day-to-day practice
Tao, 70
Through a tangled rainforest we emerge, past a driftwood gate onto a sweeping pebble beach. It feels like being born, out of the darkness of winter and into the full light of spring. The ocean is radiant, and I think of Bruce Cockburn’s song: all the diamonds in this world, that mean anything to me, are conjured up by wind and sunlight, sparkling on the sea.
This place isn’t marked on the winding road that snakes its way up the west coast from Victoria as far as Bamfield, so there are only a few other people combing the dazzling shore. The ecstasy of arriving here is nearly overwhelming. The sun is so bright, after two and a half months of dreary cloud and rain, that I feel stunned by it. The children run down dunes of pebbles washed into great mounds by recent storms. The adults find a place to lay out a picnic. Driftwood is collected and we build a small fire, not so much for warmth, though it is still chilly, but for ceremony. Cans of beer are opened. Food is shared. It is the middle of February and the back of a west coast winter is being broken. We can feel it.
Down the beach, to the south, we can make out a waterfall. In small groups we meander that way, walking along the waterline where there is sand, finding the shells of
Dungeness crabs washed up from a watery grave. In places the pebble mounds are taller than we are, and have been carved into terraces. Two weeks ago there was a tremendous storm that shut down ferry traffic, stranding commuters in their cars at the ferry terminals. That storm and others like it over the winter sculpted this pebble beach as an artisan would mould clay. Rio finds a rocky terrace and runs to its lip and leaps off, laughing and falling and rolling down the rocky anticline.We reach the end of the beach where twin falls tumble over a ledge of sandstone. The falls are fifteen feet high – much larger than we had guessed from a distance – and have carved this pliable stone with their near constant pounding.
Above the falls is forest, and beyond that, the highway. Perched next to the creek, with a charming view of the falls is a small, neatly kept cabin. I fantasise about retreating to this place, with a view of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, and the Olympic Peninsula beyond, and the falls at my feet, to write for weeks at a time.
Where the water plunges onto the beach it doesn’t rush to the ocean. It simply disappears. The mounds of storm pushed stones suck up the stream completely. As this is the first time I’ve visited this stretch of coast I don’t know how winter’s storms have changed it, but I imagine that maybe by the summer the water will have carved a path along the surface to the ocean, but for the time being, the water goes underground and makes its way to the sea unseen. A few feet above the tide line the water re-emerges and heeds gravities final, undeniable calling.
Since that day on the beach a month ago, I’ve thought a lot about those falls, and water’s path across the face of the earth.
I was thinking about it when I was talking with Hinton, Alberta based activist Connie Bresnahan about a story I’m penning for Alberta Views Magazine about a sea change in that province’s environmental community. Connie was telling me about how the Athabasca Bioregional Society quietly backed off from open environmental advocacy work for a couple of years after the contentious Cheviot Mine Hearing. After a decade of acrimonious debate and legal challenges over the Cheviot Coal mine – to be dug within view of the Cardinal Divide just east of Jasper National Park – she and others in the group realized that despite having lived in the region for decades, they were considered outsiders.
They determined to change their relationship with their community. They dropped everything else and focused instead on a small, community based creek restoration project. They forged relationships, based on common goals, with community and government organizations, local businesses, Town Council, industry, and interested public volunteers. For three years they worked to establish trust, respect, and open communication between themselves, members of the creek restoration project partnership, and fellow community members. The project they initiated – restoring Hardisty Creek – helped bridge the gap between local conservationists and a public distrustful of the environmental community.
They worked on fish passage issues, education about watershed health and building bridges with those who in the past had been their adversaries. West Fraser Mills Inc., (formerly Weldwood of Canada), one of the largest forest products producers in the region recently invested $200,000 in the restoration project, and CN Rail $115,000 to improve the railway crossing of Hardisty Creek.
What Bresnahan and fellow activists are saying with their work is “We’re here for the long term. We’re here forever.”
Softness overcomes hard
like a canyon wall slowly yielding to water
Tao, 43
Faced with anger, rage, and hatred because of their opposition to the Cheviot Coal Mine, The Athabasca Bioregional Society took a lesson from water’s ways. Now, says Bresnahan, the Society is ready to test that trust as it tackles more complicated, divisive issues once again.
This is what Allan Watts called the Watercourse Way of water in his book about the Tao. There is an obstacle in your path. Go around. Go over. Go under. Flow. Pool and back up, and seek out the way that offers the least resistance. Persevere. Have patience. Trust. Gravities call is loud, and strong, and enduring. You will find a way.
When turmoil swirls around you
be as the stone in the river’s flow
Allow the waters to come and go,
come and go
Be still
Wait for the right moment to act
Tao, 16
(As a post script this, my family and I returned to this beach on March 19 to spend the day with friends. We visited the falls again, and found that one of the channels had been nearly completely cut through to the sea. The smaller rocks washed away, and the larger rocks fell into the currents flow, and are slowly being pushed aside and out to the ocean. I learn so much every moment I spend by water’s edge.)

(Photo: Ed Wiebe)


