SUNSHINE COAST OFF THE GRID
Perfect hideaway to disconnect
It’s the middle of the night when snorting sounds outside my cabin wake me. Half asleep, I stumble outside with my lantern and peer toward the shore. A bright, full moon provides the only other light; suddenly, two round black eyes pop out of the water. The seal holds my gaze a moment before snorting out a huge puff of air, then dives back below the surface. I’m at Cabana Desolation Eco Resort on Kinghorn Island — a fleck of earth, around three kilometres in circumference, in the deep waters of Desolation Sound. Less than two nautical miles north of the Sunshine Coast Trail, the tiny island is unpopulated save the resort. With just five cedarwood cabanas and an open-air “café” that acts as a communal restaurant, this rustic endeavour was built from the ground up by its owner, Adam Vallance, a veteran kayaker with a keen eye for architecture.
Vallance began the first stages of planning almost 10 years ago with the kind of vigour one needs to complete the type of project everyone else thinks is impossible. “It was really when we found a freshwater source on the island that everything else became possible,” he says.
This is the type of place one comes to disappear and disconnect. There is no electricity, indoor plumbing or Wi-Fi available at the resort, and hot water as well as the single stove and fridge are powered by propane. Lodgings here come equipped with the bare essentials. Hot water bottles and heavy blankets are your only protection against the cold, and midnight runs to the stand-alone washrooms require a headlamp or lantern and a certain presence of mind not to topple off the boardwalk that connects them to the cabanas.
Cabana Desolation is not for everyone, yet all this is precisely what makes this place so special. In the morning we’re eager to get out on the water with Abby, our freespirited kayaking guide. Capable of such amazing feats as free diving for oysters, it’s not long before she has us channelling our inner Huckleberry Finn — moving from one discovery to the next along the beach’s pointy fingers of rock. Teeming with sea stars in thrilling shades of violet, midnight blue and blood orange, it’s with no less than childlike enthusiasm we watch one gobble down a tiny mussel through its stomach; a clear, jelly-like sac that protrudes from its middle.
Kayaking is definitely the best way to see the island, particularly its steep terrain on the southwest. And as we round a corner we see a family of seals sunbathing along a splintered embankment of ashen grey rock. The colour of wet stones, with brackish orange splotches splattered across their backs, they dive back into the water, but the boldest of the group swims toward us, curious and playful.
Our senses heightened by the briny sea air and exercise, we’re not even out of our kayaks when the smells of grilled oysters reach us from a campfire on the beach. Manned by chef Dan, who has been serving us Julia Child-worthy dishes from his post over the island’s stove, the oysters pop and hiss as they split open. They are smoky and firm, and we drown them with swigs of beer under the colourful sky.
When we left Vancouver a few days earlier, I was still convinced that one must travel long and far to reset — but the broad skies of the Sunshine Coast have me changing my mind. We’d begun our journey by ferry and then passed through Gibsons, Sechelt and a smattering of small coastal villages by way of the Sunshine Coast Highway. Tumbling northwest alongside the Strait of Georgia, the road offers snippets of distended bluffs overhanging the sea below. At 180 kilometres from Langdale to Lund, the scenery along the Sunshine Coast changes from tall, bamboo-thin shoots of forest and glassy ponds to rocky overhangs shorn smooth by the wind and sea.
We drove to Egmont (pronounced EGG-mont), a small fishing town, where we take up residence for the next two nights at the West Coast Wilderness Lodge.
Well-equipped, heated cabins are parsed out along the edge of the woods. It’s a quiet and serene place with unmatched views of Sechelt Inlet. We don’t have to leave the view behind to eat as we gravitate toward an inviting main restaurant with a large fireplace that overlooks the inlet. The battered halibut is irresistible and we devour an entire tray before relaxing with artisanal cocktails around a fire pit. The storytelling goes on long into the night.
The next morning, we board a small float plane to Princess Louisa Inlet. Our pilot, Josh, of Sunshine Coast Air, gives us the lowdown on the region and local marine life until he makes a gentle landing at Chatterbox Falls.
At nearly 40 metres, Chatterbox pounds down a granite cleft at the head of the inlet. A jewel in Princess Louisa Marine Provincial Park, which recently celebrated its 50th anniversary, the waterfall is our introduction to the park’s gorge, formed by ancient glacial activity.
After some light hiking, we meet Kane, our Zodiac captain, who whisks us back across what is almost the entire 77-kilometre stretch of the Jervis Inlet to home base. Heavy sprays of rain mean we emerge at the lodge two hours later, soaked but triumphant.