Shanty Town

"Can I try out your guitar for a bit?"

It had become a common question from strangers.

It was May, 1993, and I was with Karen Gillis on the ferry from Vancouver, B.C. to the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island.

Only a few weeks before I had finished my third year of engineering at the University of Western in London, Ontario and upon finishing my final exam, I made a decision to never go back. Those who know me understand how much I hated school at that point and while I did in fact finish my engineering degree at Western, at that moment in time I was very confident my engineering education was over.

I didn't have the courage to tell my parents or let the university know. Instead, I decided to run away. I called Karen Gillis who was working at the Banff Springs Hotel in Banff, Alberta. Karen and I went to high school together and she was always the one person that would skip class with me without me ever having to twist her arm.

And this was no different. I asked Karen if she wanted to travel around Canada for a few months and she said okay. It was as simple as that. Karen gave her notice at the hotel and I met up with her a week later.

After spending a week in Vancouver we decided to head to Victoria. Karen and I looked like a couple of runaway hippies. First of all, we both looked 15 years old...so most people over the age of 40 thought that we were runaways. We wore ripped, dirty jeans, old ponchos and t shirts. We both had long brown hair that went down to the middle of our backs...yes, me too. Our faces were tanned and we looked a little dirty, as if we hadn't showered in a couple of days…which was probably true.

Karen did not have any luggage; she carried everything she owned in white plastic grocery bags. I had a backpack my parents had bought for me. Karen owned a sleeping bag and I had a few blankets. We had no tent or cooking equipment...or much of anything really. We weren't so much hitchhikers as we were vagabonds, and we loved it.

The best thing we had with us was Karen's guitar. Not only did it separate our social status from the homeless of B.C. but it was a wonderful tool to meet people. And meeting people was key to our survival that whole summer.

Karen could play a few chords and she taught me a couple of songs. It never failed to attract people whenever we started playing. They would come by and listen or ask to play a little and would always engage us in conversation.

And on this Friday, May 28th it was no different aboard the ferry from Vancouver to Victoria. We went up to the upper deck and sat on the bins that held the lifejackets. After soon bringing out the guitar we met a guy named Ken who told us he made his living driving a delivery truck on the island. Ken was about our age, which was 22; he wore a red ball cap and had about a week's worth of growth on his face. We talked about the last episode of Cheers which had just aired the week before. Ken also told us that we should hike the West Coast Trail which was in Port Renfrew. Ken wanted to grab some sleep before we arrived in Victoria so he gave us his phone number and told us to call him later in the week and he'd show us around Victoria.

After Ken left, a scruffy looking guy came over and asked to play the guitar. He introduced himself as Eric. Eric looked a little weather worn in his face and while he was at least in his fifties, it was tough to know how old he was. We asked Eric about the West Coast Trail.

But Eric just shook his head no. "Sombrio Beach is where you guys should head".

Eric explained that when he was in his thirties he used to surf down at Sombrio Beach. He told us there were people there who lived all year round without working. "They are real life hippies!" he said with a big smile on his face, and you knew if he was a little younger that he'd head there immediately.

"They've got goats and chickens and shacks that they live in....the kids don't have to go to school. They just hang out and surf all day. It is like heaven there! You'll absolutely love it!"

It did sound pretty interesting, and we didn't have any plans or a schedule, so why not.

"Just one thing", he said before he left us, "If you meet any guys around my age who are still living there, tell them 'Beer Can Eric' said hi".

Soon after Eric left us, the ferry pulled into the port in Victoria and we were on our way.

That night we stayed in Victoria at the downtown hostel, which was as eloquent as a hostel could be. We went to a jazz club and walked around the town, absolutely falling in love with it. There had to be a hundred large sailboats on the water which were there for an annual regatta. The atmosphere around the city was very artistic as opposed to Toronto which is business oriented. We agreed Victoria had to be one of Canada's most beautiful places to live.

The next morning we called Ken who we had met on the ferry and asked him about driving us to Sombrio Beach. He told us that he wasn't going that far but that he'd take us for breakfast and drop us off on the outer limits of Sooke District.

During our breakfast, Ken asked why we choose Sombrio Beach and we told him about meeting 'Beer Can Eric'. All Ken said was that he'd heard of the place and wanted us to call him when we got back to Victoria to tell him about it. It was his laugh that should have warned me of what was to come.

Ken also laughed when we asked if we could stop by the beer store to buy a case. The thought of us hitchhiking with a case of beer seemed to amuse our new friend but we did not allow his jeers to deter us.

Determined to start our journey. Ken dropped us off on the highway on the way to Sombrio Beach. He wished us good luck, and with another laugh and a wave he was on his way.

Karen and I, she carrying her white plastic grocery bags and her guitar and me carrying my pack on my back and a case of beer in my arms, stood at the side of the road like a couple of kids running away from home and stuck out our thumbs to hitch a ride.

The best thing about British Columbia is you never have to wait long to catch a ride, and it was true that day. Within minutes of Ken leaving us a blue beat up old truck pulled over to the side of the road and a couple rolled down the window and introduced themselves as Dan and Maranda.

They mentioned they lived fairly close to where we were, but were out for an afternoon drive. We told them that we were heading to Sombrio Beach. Maranda squealed aloud and Dan put his hand over his face. We learned that Dan had been before but Maranda had never been. This was apparently a bone of contention between the two.

"Ah what the hell, let's do it", said Dan. "Get in the back you two".

Now what Dan meant was the back of the pickup truck, for the truck was only a two seater. We quickly got in and sat with our backs against the wall to the truck cabin. Maranda opened up the window so we could all talk with each other.

Even with the back window open, it was difficult to communicate. This old truck of theirs put out a thick black cloud of exhaust, which had a very strong odour and judging by the deafening sound, it didn't have much of a muffler. For the most part we buried our heads into our ponchos.

In fact, pretty well the only time we raised our heads was to pass beer from our case in to Maranda and Dan, whom we had offered our beer with.

Although Sombrio Beach wasn't too far away from the spot that Dan and Maranda had picked us up, it was very difficult to find. Dan had been there once before so he knew the general area, but there were no signs that pointed the direction to take. Although it was called a beach, it wasn't a tourist area by any means. It sure didn't help that lining the highway every few feet was another logging road. For all we knew the road that led to Sombrio Beach could have been from any one of these logging roads.

It took well over an hour, and we had to stop a couple of times to ask people, but eventually we found the right logging road. From the highway it looked like any other of the hundreds of logging roads, built out of necessity and not to code. Dan continued to drive his old truck, following the windy bumpy path into the woods.

When we were really out in the middle of nowhere, we couldn't even hear the traffic on the road or see any lights or signs of civilization. That's when Dan stopped the truck and turned to us saying, "You do know that we could kill you right here and no one would ever find the bodies".

This followed by a really scary, awkward silence while Dan just stared at us.

The silence was probably only seconds, but it seemed to last forever. It was finally broken by Maranda's laughter, "He's just kidding! Pay no attention to him!"

I looked over at Karen and she was obviously thinking the same thing I was, Dan was a scary guy and we needed to part ways soon.

Another kilometer and we came to a parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Once Dan saw it, he immediately remembered which path lead down to the beach and helped us get out stuff out of the back of the truck.

It was at this time that we learned that both Dan and Maranda were fairly wasted. They had each drank three of our beers which isn't very much, but as we got closer to them we realized they both reeked of marijuana. Karen and I didn't notice that they had been smoking pot the whole time we were in the truck. The smell of the truck's exhaust had consumed any hint of pot smoke so we really had no idea until we stopped.

Dan was a bit taller and older than me. He had reddish hair and tanned skin with a stocky build. He was obviously a guy who didn't work behind a desk. Maranda was short with long black hair, she was overweight and liked to laugh, and did so often.

The path from the parking lot to the beach is a full ten minute walk into the middle of nowhere. Karen was wheezing, exhausted from carrying her plastic bags and guitar and my arms felt like they were going to fall off from carrying the case of beer.

As we walked, Dan told us that Maranda didn't work and he made a living by climbing trees and cutting the large limbs off. I didn't understand there was so much involved with cutting down trees. I just figured they'd stand at the base of the tree and fell the whole thing at once; but apparently there is a lot more to it. Dan said his job was to scale the trees and cut large sections of it down. He said the work was extremely dangerous but he'd get $100/hr for every hour he worked. He said he only needed to work a couple of hours each week. You could tell by his smile he loved what he did.

He slurred his words as he spoke, "You got a hundred bucks and a tree? I'll climb up the fucker and cut the fucker down!" He should make commercials, I thought to myself.

Maranda's cell phone kept ringing again and again as soon as we left the parking lot. Each time she'd have to drop what she was carrying and answer the phone. Each conversation was a quick one, her saying that she was indisposed that day and would not be able to help the caller. In those days not many people had cell phones and so it quickly became clear that Maranda did indeed work and that job was selling pot. She must have been good at it because the phone kept ringing non-stop. I was happy when she wasn't able to get a signal for the phone anymore as we walked further into the woods.

After what seemed like forever, the path opened up to a large cobblestone beach on the Juan de Fuca strait across from Washington State. The United States was close enough here that we could just make out some of the large industrial buildings on the other side.

By this time it was 4pm and it was still warm and bright.

Beer Can Eric had been right about a lot of what he told us; there were indeed chickens and goats running around. But it didn't seem like how I pictured a hippy colony.

The definition for the term 'shanty town' is a slum settlement, often illegal or unauthorized, of impoverished people who live in improvised dwellings made from scrap materials often plywood, corrugated metal and sheets of plastic. Shanty towns are not known to have proper sanitation, electricity or telephone services.

Yes. Sombrio Beach was not a hippy colony. It was a shanty town.

I got a bit nervous. I sure didn't want to go back with Maranda and Dan. At this point, Dan could barely walk. He mostly just kept pointing to trees, telling us how much he'd make from cutting down each one. Maranda could not stop laughing. The last thing I wanted to do was drive with them anywhere.

But the second last thing I wanted to do was stay at Sombrio Beach in this shanty town. I was getting more and more worried as we walked down the beach.

That is until we met Rivermouth Mike.

Rivermouth Mike was in his fifties, with a long salt-and-pepper beard. When we came across him he was starting to build a fire near the water on the cobblestone beach. Behind him was a shanty-styled cabin with a sign in front that said, 'Surf Boards For Sale. Surf Boards Fixed'.

He greeted us with a smile, as if he had been waiting for us. He welcomed us to the beach and asked us where we were from. Maranda and Dan grabbed a couple of more beers and went to sit on a nearby log to watch the water. Karen and I stood with Rivermouth Mike and told him of our travels to date.

As he made the fire, he explained that the secret was to light the paper first, and then to place wood around the paper. Otherwise, he explained, if the wood was built up before the paper was lit, there wouldn't be enough oxygen to keep the flame on the paper going.

He must have known what he was doing, because even though there was a bit of a wind coming in from the water, Rivermouth was able to build quite a large fire in a matter of minutes.

Talking with Rivermouth seemed to alleviate both Karen's and my concerns. He remembered Beer Can Eric and laughed when we mentioned that we ran into him on the ferry.

Dan stood up from the log to grab another beer. He was a complete wreck. Immediately upon standing he fell backwards over the log, falling on his back. Maranda laughed even louder, pulled Dan up to his feet and announced, "It's time to go!"

Dan and Maranda walked over to the fire and asked us if we were going back to town with them. I told them that we were going to stay and camp on the beach. Karen nodded in agreement.

Maranda's face and expressions suddenly turned from pure laughter to sadness. Her slurred words indicated that while perhaps not as far gone as Dan, she was well on her way.

"Listen kids, I don't know what kind of trouble you've gotten yourselves into, and why you're on the run. But I know a thing or two about trouble. I got into trouble almost 20 years ago and I've been running ever since. That's why I had to come to Canada. Take my advice, please, go back home. It's not worth running your whole life."

Karen tried to alleviate all concerns with a smile, "But Maranda, we're not running from anything. I just don't own any luggage".

But Maranda wasn't believing a word of it, "I helped an old boyfriend rob a bank years ago and I've been on the run ever since. And I am telling you that if I had to do everything over again I would have just turned myself in then when it happened. Please listen to me."

Karen tried again to convince Maranda that we really weren't running from anything but Maranda just kept telling us more and more details of her life on the run, stuff we really didn't want or need to hear.

Finally I just said, "You're right Maranda. We are on the run. You've given us some good advice. Let us think about what you've said and we'll meet up with you tomorrow".

Maranda readily agreed, writing down her cell number, her pager number, Dan's home number and address...everything. She put a folded up $20 into Karen's hand as she left and gave us both tear-soaked hugs.

It was an emotional moment. Maranda wiped her tears and took Dan by the arm and they started to walk away, Maranda turning every few feet to wave goodbye.

It was then we noticed that Dan had defecated in his pants, probably when he fell backwards over the log. That kind of ended the emotional moment for us...I guess it was more of an emotional movement.

And there we were, in the middle of nowhere, in a shanty town, around the camp fire of Rivermouth Mike as we watched our ride and the only people who knew where we were, walking away, shit-pantsed and all.

Rivermouth explained that there weren't too many tourists that came to the beach, only the die-hard surfers. He said something about this area being the best for surfing on the whole island. Rivermouth said he was able to get a few clients for his surfboard shop each summer and that allowed him to make enough money to live on. I'm guessing it didn't take much money at all for him to survive as he told us the only money he spent was for a bag of rice each month and to do his laundry.

As Rivermouth cooked over the fire, he explained he mostly ate clams from the ocean and wild mushrooms mixed in with rice. It seemed healthy enough. He offered us some but we just couldn't. He only had one spoon that he kept licking and no plates and...well, it all seemed a bit gross.

The three of us sat by the fire, as Rivermouth ate his dinner and the dusk slowly began to fall. The chickens had become quiet and there was just a nice silence.

That is when we saw two others walking towards us.

"Oh God, it's Blue", muttered Rivermouth.

We quickly learned that it was really three people coming towards us, a man with a long white beard and dirty white hair who was least in his sixties named Blue and his 30 year old wife Wendy and their little 6 month old baby named Chelsea who was being carried in a car seat.

Blue did all the talking for them. Wendy looked...mentally disturbed as she quietly muttered to herself. Blue saw Karen and I having a beer and asked if he and Wendy could have one too. We told them to help themselves, which they did quickly, and many times throughout the night.

We mentioned that we had come from Victoria this morning. I shouldn't have said that as it set Blue off. At the mention of Victoria he said that was where those "sons of bitches" child-care workers came from and took their other four children away from them. Apparently Chelsea hadn't been born yet when this happened. Blue said they gave their kids to his sister who lives in Victoria and he and Wendy were not allowed to see them.

As Blue spoke, Wendy continued to mutter to herself and fiddled with Chelsea's seat. We learned Chelsea was 6 months old and barely 15 pounds. She didn't cry much. In fact, the whole time we were there I don't think I heard Chelsea cry once. I had no experience with babies, but this didn't seem normal behaviour at all.

"Sure I was born with schizophrenia! Everyone knows that! But I have cured myself through the study of Buddhism, and the government won't acknowledge that!"

"Blue's a Zen-Buddhist", Wendy piped up, her first words to us. Then she went back to fiddling with the baby's seat.

That is when Rivermouth Mike swore under his breath and said that he had to go. I yelled out to him asking when he was coming back. He replied soon and kept walking to where the huts were located, back in the forest.

Both Karen and I were a little concerned now, but the fact that Blue was in his sixties meant that we could probably defend ourselves if he did something scary and crazy. I wished Rivermouth had stayed but obviously he had grown weary of Blue and decided enough was enough.

We never engaged Blue in conversation, but he didn't seem to notice as he continued talking the whole time.

And yes, Blue saw himself as a Zen-Buddhist. The more he drank our beer, the closer he became to God, at least in his own crazed mind.

I also think the night had something to do with his behaviour because as the bright full moon rose and the sun sank, Blue's behaviour became more and more erratic.

I went to grab a beer but saw that our whole case of twenty-four was gone by that time. And Wendy, while quiet, had surrounded herself with beer cans. Now I could start to understand what she was muttering to herself;

"He beats me you know, he beats me; and one day I'm going to kill him. I will kill him. He is crazy you know; crazy."

We had left shanty-town and entered crazyville.

It was about then that Blue noticed the lights from the industrial buildings across the water in Washington State. He was convinced that the large industrial building with the lights on was a prison. At first he yelled out across the water, somehow sure that they could hear him, which was crazy in itself as we could barely even see the lights as it was so far away. He yelled out across the water that they imprisoned only poor people for the sole crime of being poor.

The more worked up he got, the crazier he became. Suddenly he turned to face Karen and I, the first time he had done so in a couple of hours. His eyes wide and crazy looking, he yelled, "Do you see the lights from the prison? Can you see them? Look at how they reflect over the water, coming directly towards me!"

Yes, Blue was now convinced that the lights from the prison were being sent directly to him as a sort of beacon or message.

And Blue was not happy with this at all.

"I am one with God and I will make sure you all suffer for this insolence!!"

I turned to Wendy who was still muttering, "he beats me you know, he beats me. and one day I'm going to kill him. I will kill him. He is crazy you know; crazy."

Okay, I understood Blue was an old man, but he was honestly scaring the shit out of me. I was totally frightened at this point.

I grabbed Karen's hand and we started to walk backwards to where the forest was thick. Although the moon was full, it was pitch dark in the forest. Perhaps it seemed darker because during the time Blue had been yelling out to the prison, dense rain clouds had started to fill the sky blotting out the stars.

When we got far enough from Blue, and close enough to the trees, we turned and ran into the woods. It was pitch dark; we maneuvered ourselves into a dense thicket and sat in it, still able to watch Blue and Wendy.

Blue didn't notice at all that we had even left. He just continued yelling across the water. He had now started to grab stones and throw them towards the lights as if he were a god throwing a lightning bolt.

Pretty soon Wendy passed out by the fire, as much from the beer she drank as from being tired. The baby Chelsea was still silent in her car seat as the smoke from the fire billowed around her.

As if to touch God itself, Blue raised both of his hands into the air. That’s when it started to rain, hard.

All of our stuff, Karen's plastic bags, her guitar, my backpack, everything, was still by the fire and was now being drenched in the rain.

This whole time, while Karen and I sat in the thicket, we didn't say a single word. Not a peep.

We were afraid that if we spoke, Blue would somehow hear and would find us and kill us.

So there we sat, in the rain, and in the dark, for hours.

The rain became too dense to see Blue or Wendy anymore. This frightened me more as if any second Blue's face would appear in the thicket ready to kill us.

However, when the rain finally cleared, Blue, Wendy and Chelsea were nowhere to be found.

We slowly crept out of the thicket. The sun was just starting to rise over the water and the clouds had cleared to allow the full moon to shine.

We were drenched, and cold, and miserable; but alive...and being alive goes a long way.

We quickly grabbed all of our stuff that had remained untouched by the fire. Everything was completely soaked. Karen got choked up at the thought of her guitar being out in the rain all night. She didn't say much though, holding everything in. We both did, still afraid of Blue and that he could somehow hear us.

And then we walked; and walked; and walked.

We probably walked for 4 straight hours. Back up the path to the parking lot; and then from the parking lot back up to the highway. Then we walked along the road until we finally got a ride from someone. He looked at us, dirty and soaked and wouldn't allow us into the cab of his truck but instead offered us the bed of his truck which we gladly accepted. He gave us a lift into Port Renfrew and dropped us off at a local motel. We needed a room with a bed and a bathroom...especially a bathroom. One with a really hot bath.

The man behind the counter laughed when he saw us and exclaimed, "You hiked the West Coast Trail dressed like that?? And carrying all of that?"

"Nope. We were at Sombrio Beach".

He paused, his expression becoming suddenly serious, "You know they are all crazy down there on Sombrio, don't you?"

"Yup", was all I could muster.