We were camped a few feet from the shore of Boya Lake, in the far northern reaches of British Columbia. Boya is a lovely lake, dotted with islands and made to order for putting our inflatable kayak (“Bote”) on the water for an idyllic paddle. We were a long way from our home in drought-burdened California, and we intended to make the most of this much wetter far-off territory. A couple of days on the aqua-marine shore should be ample for our purposes.

But no — it was not (yet) to be. The day had dawned a sullen gray with a chilly wind. The friendly sun of yesterday afternoon had produced a grand view of a double rainbow.

In stark contrast, the morning’s brooding skies held back the warmth, almost dense enough to rain but not quite. The surrounding mountains, still with trickles of snow, surrounded us with their silent solemnity, uncaring of the weather or passage of time. The wind drove fussy, insistent six-inch waves which slapped incessantly at the shore. We had not even inflated Bote, for any excursion under those conditions would be cold,
spray-drenched, and far from pleasant.

We huddled inside Howie, our motorhome, waiting for the balmier hours hopefully to come. But we were not impatient. We had instead discovered that we’ve been given a gift, a “slow down” day, and we were appreciating it to the fullest.

Too often, especially on a long trip such as driving to Alaska, we get unconsciously purpose-bound. Time to get going, gotta drive, gotta see, gotta do, lots of miles to travel and sights to photograph. Every now and then, it’s good to have a “reset” day — and this was such a day.

We treated ourselves to an extra cup of coffee. We propped up our e-book readers so that we could read some neglected books while we watched the weather (change?). We took a few strolls along the shore line, gratefully retreating back to Howie’s warmth when we chilled down.

At one point, I noticed a far-off object on the water. At first it looked like a floating snag, but motion gave it away as a duck, a species unknown to my California eye. On an impulse, I grabbed a camera and started trying to photograph the duck.

He was a diving bird, and he disappeared often for a minute or two at a time. I couldn’t quite see whether he’d caught anything or not, but I assumed he was being successful. Drifting with the wind, he moved along the shore, and I tried to keep up with him. I never got a really decent shot, and he drifted away and out of sight. Watching his
industry and diligence, and his ability to be impervious to the chill wind and water, amazed me. But it didn’t increase my own endurance, and, nearly shivering, I headed back again to Howie’s toasty cabin. My preference is always warm-looking-out over cold-wanting-in.

Having the time to read, relax, and even to fruitlessly chase down a diving duck — this is a valuable commodity and a privilege. I learn, over and over again, that not every single minute has to have a purpose, a goal, and an achievement. After a lifetime of relentlessly pursuing purposes, goals, and achievements, I guess I shouldn’t wonder that un-learning this conditioned behavior is an on-going task for me.

I believe we’ve all been subject to these workplace-driven habits; after all, how else does one make a living? But it doesn’t mean we have to hold on to them when they are no longer required.

Whether you’re retired like us, or just taking off for a long-anticipated vacation, it can be quite enjoyable to have a “null”
day or two along the way. I do realize that families traveling with kids will be challenged to make this happen, so the kids may need special dispensation (games, tasks, etc.). Try to make a point of setting aside one or two parcels of time with no scheduled activities. You may be pleasantly surprised at what such a day can bring.

Now that we are back in the U.S., we are nearing home, and the end of our journey. It’s easy to get “barn fever” and jet for home, but we’re conscientiously taking our time to enjoy more locales along the way. Check future posts for our travels through northern Idaho and eastern Oregon.

And yes, the weather did eventually lighten up and we had a delightful kayak ride on a lovely lake. Karin got out on the shoreline and snapped a picture of me snapping a picture of a beaver dam. Life is good.