Cow Bay

‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’   T.S.Eliot

Prince Rupert

After going as far up the inside passage as modesty allowed, I disembarked at the ambitiously regal port of ‘Prince Rupert’. I don’t know what to say about Prince Rupert. I suppose one could suggest it’s not quite as salubrious as Port Talbot. Yes, you’re right of course dear reader, the weather had something to do with first impressions. As you can see it had brightened up beautifully:

View from the ferry at the port of Prince Rupert. . . 

The good thing about Prince Rupert was that I was staying just out of town. Although I only got to my digs by the kindness of Kee, who had sensibly got some cash out already, as I blundered about the tin shack arrivals hall like a mystified Margo Ledbetter going ‘where is the A.T.M machine my good man? Why can’t I get WiFi? My Uber app isn’t working! Oh lawdy will the taxi accept MasterCard? Meanwhile Kee had quietly wandered outside, got a signal, booked us a cab and had time to take a call from her colleague. So I think it was out of pity (or fear for the local wildlife) that Kee made sure I was dispatched safely to my BnB, (and I am ever grateful).

I was staying at the Dragonfly BnB run by the lovely Greg and Sheila, two busily retired teachers. I was bustled up to a steamy kitchen on arrival, made a cup of tea and introduced to two (very soggy) chocolate curly coated retrievers, two beautiful granddaughters and a grown up son (tired science teacher) (trying to hide in the living room). It was blissfully homely. I soon forgot the rain and fell into my sumptuous double bed, a far cry from the dirty carpet of the ferry lounge . . . and I slept and slept.

Cow Bay

Cheering the the spirits no end and just a short stroll away was the wonderfully titled Cow Bay. It seems that this area, a railway right of way, was known originally as Cameron Cove but in 1908 renamed when a Swiss man John Nehring unloaded a herd of cows for his diary from a barge. This apparently monumental event in the lives of locals (cows wandering around eating grass) lead to the new moniker and the now ‘Historic Cow Bay’. Which to my delight is festooned with black and white cow painted items from flower pots to rubbish bins and the quite perfect ‘Cowpuccinos’ coffee shop.

The Historic Cow Bay, Udderly great

To be honest I spent quite a lot of my time in Cowpuccinos. For many reasons, not least because it was surprisingly run by Bruce Willis:

 

Photos courtesy of Cowpuccinos Facebook page

Thankfullly Bruce can make a fantastic soup and cake (in fact everything I tried was delicious). But really the most magnificent thing about Cowpuccinis was it was warm and dry. I was in Prince Rupert for two days and I visited Cowpuccinos four times. If you are ever there (?!) I recommend it, especially the M & everything flapjack. (Yes it had M&Ms in)!

As well as Cowpuccinos, Cow Bay did have some good mouch-around shops (the sort you find on holiday) and in fact it had a ‘Lake District’ feel about it, as apart from the rain most people were in Rohan walking trousers (the type that you can jauntily unzip to become shorts and are universally unflattering) storm proof jackets and were desperately trying to look like they were having a good time. There was an occasional break in the cloud and I spent a while just sitting in the park by the bay watching the eagles. Yes. Real bald eagles in the wild. I was mesmerised. I tried to get a photo, well they look so close! and amazing! and in your mind you are taking National Geographic award winning shots. In reality. . .

 

Eagles soaring . . . Yes, that black smudge . . .see it? . . Mmmm

On my second day Greg was kind enough to drive me out of town to the historic North Pacific Cannery. I had missed going to the cannery museum in Steveson so I was genuinely interested to see an original. The canneries were once a huge economic force in the region. Men, women and children were involved in the skilful, stinking task of fishing, filleting (the expert Chinese could fillet four fish every sixty seconds) slicing, canning, cooking and then exporting the salmon. In fact the U.K was a very big market, who didn’t want a salmon and cucumber sandwich in Victorian and Edwardian times? Although I come from the rolling countryside of Sussex and the middle-class-twin-set-and-pearls that is Chichester, it also happens to be where Shippams Paste was made. The factory used to be in town and as you rode to school in the morning you would get the familiar whiff of fishiness. (Awful I know, but there you go, my poor industrialised upbringing) So of  course I felt I had a natural affinity with the 1800’s Canadian cannery worker. So much in common. So much.

 

North Pacific Cannery Port Edward British Columbia

The North Pacific Cannery company was founded in 1888 and operated until 1968. After that the site continued to run as a maintenance and reduction facility for the fishing fleet of Prince Rupert until 1981 when it closed completely. In 1985 a group of local historians saved it from demolition paving the way for the museum it is today.  It’s hugely interesting. This cannery was like a little village in itself where everyone was housed, fed and worked in the same place. It was a hard and grim existence- for the factory workers. Most of the place still stands (albeit precariously) on original timber stacks. I took a little guided tour, which consisted of me and four lumberjacks (well they looked like they had just walked off some site or another, dirty jeans, steel capped boots and plaid shirts, they were like a group of builders on their lunch break) and a twenty year old college tour guide. We were the most bizarre group.

Old workshops and stores at the North Pacific Cannery

Our guide was only two weeks into the post, extremely earnest and well read. The place was facisnating, the company rugged, but . . .that didn’t stop the rain. It was pouring and pouring and pouring! Possibly due to nerves our guide continued relentlessly; standing us outside shacks, stores, on boardwalks and talked and talked. She was great, but even the builders had given up being polite to me and were standing under any semblance of cover they could find. I had that sensation you get when you think the shower of water is pouring off your jacket hood only to find it’s actually just dripping off your nose. We thanked her prefusely of course. Edified but soggy we fled.

And imagining T.S.Eliot would nod with approval, I knew exactly where I was headed . . . and yes, it had ‘Cow’ and ‘Puccino’ in its title.

 

Next stop . . . Loos