When I think about enjoyable memories, it sometimes feels unbelievable. As if I’m trying to piece together a dream that I’ve just woken up from. It’s as if I have the climax but no beginning or end. Maybe if I had a camera or a journal, it would be more concrete.

The Human Memory: “Memories are not frozen in time, and new information and suggestions may become incorporated into old memories over time. Thus, remembering can be thought of as an act of creative re-imagination.”

The truck lugging the kayak rack stopped. On the north tip of Tofino, twenty of us grade 10s bunched up around the kayak launch section. Two seaplanes were docked to the right of us. To the left of us, a huge blue building was perched on a dock. Our blue camping backpacks sprawled out, bursting with tents, food, and extra clothes. It was time to unload the kayaks from this multi-levelled rack. Some of us needed to climb up on the metal beams to reach the top. We started sliding the kayaks, letting them fall into the arms of our classmates who are anticipating the catch. We’ve practiced this ritual more than once. Like clockwork, we’ve promptly unloaded all the kayaks. Some of us dug into our bags probing for small snacks to eat while our teachers gave the last instructions before launching. We would be embarking on a four-day kayaking trip around the archipelago that surrounds Tofino. We would visit multiple islands before reaching our final destination at Vargas Island. We put our waterproof skirts on and dragged the kayaks in the water. We dug our paddles in the sand and pushed off, lunging us towards the open ocean.

We paddled for hours in and out of channels surrounded by small islands dense with trees. We ended up on this rock surface with moss growing out of cracks. This site was overlooking the ocean and a big marsh. This marsh was dense with waist-high trenches. Little shrubs of grass and thicker dirt pathed the way between these trenches. We set up the tents. In the morning, we set up the small stoves on the rock to cook breakfast. I remember the sound of the metal stoves cratching against the rock. I was probably eating trail mix waiting for the pasta to boil. At some point, either before or after eating, a couple of us walked down to the marsh. The dirt was not as wet as I would have assumed. As the tide came in, the trenches slowly filled up with water. We could look up and see the group set up on the boulder. Some watched us, while others were concentrated on their activities. Only my friend and I stayed to watch the trenches fill up. We discovered that small fish were making their way into the channels. We started trying to catch the fish with our hands. To our surprise, it was easier than anticipated. The water in the trenches was warm to the touch. The warmth was probably secreting from the dirt that had been laying in the sun all day. At some point, I was submerged in the water. With the grass between my toes, I stood still waiting for an opportune time to grab a fish. They would slowly surround you, and if you were quick enough, you could grab one. I wasn’t expecting the fish to have that much strength. I only grasped it for a few seconds, felt it wiggle then released it.

We must have left, onto the next destination. On the way, my friend I fooled around, pirating other people’s water bottles and quickly paddling away. I remember paddling into a patch of bull kelp. Bull kelp could reach a height of more than 100 feet. They have a bulb filled with carbon monoxide on the top to keep it afloat. Sea otters also tie themselves to bull kelp when they sleep, so they don’t drift away.

We reached Vargas Island. We approached a small beach that disappeared into the forest. The beach was probably the size of two basketball courts. We pulled the kayaks past the tide line so the boats wouldn’t float away at night. A few yards into the forest, two spaces were conveniently cleared for tents. Two separate groups set up tents on the dirt ground. We were once again briefed about the importance of stashing away any food or even scented body products. There were wolves on Vargas, and facing a wolve was on no one’s bucket list. Unfortunately, someone had accidentally left food in their vestibule, which is the entrance of a tent, and apparently, a wolve had gone through his bag trying to find it. That was the only close encounter with wolves.

One of the days, we hiked to a beach. It must have been the day after the wolve incident because some were nervous a close encounter would recur. The path we took was tight, it had the sense of being a maze, tall blackberry bushes would hinder any horizontal movement. In some parts, the mud was damp and slippery. To not fall, you’d need to watch your footing. We walked for a good hour. Suddenly we were exposed to the sandy beach. The beach was endless, as far as the eyes could see. Small rock mountains stood partially on the beach and in the ocean. Boulders laid down on the wide beach.

An hour or so away from our small beach was this endless beach. For the three days we stayed at our campsite, we made it our own. There was a small rock wall that had a small waterfall from a current that ran down the island. We used this waterfall to refill our water supply. There was a sterilizing process that made the water taste a bit metallic, and you could never filter out all the small bits of debris. We watched sea anemones constrict on food and crabs that we fed them. We played football in the daytime and made fires at night.

Writing this has helped me remember parts that had faded before. Although I don’t remember paddling out of Vargas Island, I know the trip back to Tofino must have been long. Getting back from a trip is always different. Everything is in disarray. Your bag is unorganized, you feel as if you’ve lost multiple items, and because you haven’t washed in decades, you long for a shower. At the moment, you’re exhausted and can’t wait to get home, unaware that in the future, you’ll look back at it in awe.