These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: November 3, 2000

17:40-19:38 BC TIME ROOM 111 RAVEN MOTEL, QUEEN CHARLOTTE ISLAND, BC

One eleven (111) has been my lucky number for a long time. This goes back to a period, seemingly about a hundred years ago, when 111 kept popping up in weird ways, so I made it my lucky number.

I don't know that 111 has ever brought me any luck. I've been using 111 as a Lotto Number forever, but it's never won me anything. Well, maybe it won me a bit of money at roulette at the Indian Casino. But it's still my Lucky Number, and I'm sticking with it.

I got off the ferry last night around 20:00 feeling full of coffee and pie and all ooky. I had a choice between Queen Charlotte City and Skidegate, and went toward Queen Charlotte City, which is about the size of Capitola. I poked around and saw a sign advertising rooms for $49. I checked in and they put me in Room 111, which I took as a good omen.

So far, it hasn't been.

I had watched Air Force One and The Net on the ferry, and there was a good movie channel in the hotel room. These little things become important when you're traveling. I fell asleep watching Thin Red Line, a movie I've watched on DVD several times on this trip.

Woke up this morning and poked around on the net. I went to a Clint Eastwood news group and posted a question asking if anyone could tell me the make, model and year of the yellow school bus the Scorpio killer hijacks at the end of Dirty Harry.

Why? It's for a business idea back in San Francisco. Cinema San Francisco: Guided movie tours to famous movie locations in San Francisco and a day's drive north or south. I call it Cinema San Francisco.

No response, yet, to the school bus question.

Had breakfast this morning at a nearby cafŽ after buying copies of a book about fishing in the Queen Charlotte Islands. I also bought a good map, and that set me off into the logging roads of Queen Charlotte, and into the path of danger.

The fishing book had directions to the Yankou River, but it warned to be extremely careful on the logging roads that lead there. It really said that you had to stop at the main office for the Something Something logging company at the entrance to the main logging road, and wait for a company truck to come by to guide.

The directions weren't very good, and I ended up missing the turn and the office and driving directly into a scene from Terminator II. There were giant cranes and loaders running back and forth and I drove right into the middle of them, thinking I was still on the right road.

I wasn't.

A guy got out of a giant crane and asked if I had "really good life insurance" because he almost ran his giant crane into me. I apologized up and down and got the hell out of there.

Back at the crossroads, I read signs which directed me to check in at "the shop" and wait to fall in behind a radio-equipped escort truck.

I went to a body shop nearby, and the guy said it would be okay to go without an escort. But he told me to stay to the right and be careful. He had patched up lots of cars that had tangled with 10-ton logging trucks. The cars always lost.

So I went onto the "Queen Charlotte Main" which I have learned is a logging industry designation for roads. As I have said before, British Columbia is logging the heck out of their country. In some places the scars are very visible, in other places it's all hidden away.

Logging seems to be a big industry on Queen Charlotte, but you can't see any of the scars from the road. The Queen Charlotte Main is a lonely road, shaded over with trees, dripping with rain and layered with mud.

I saw a bear about five kilometers down the road, a smallish black bear that stood in the middle of the road then ran up an embankment, stage right. I wasn't quick enough to get a photo of it.

I saw another bear about 10 kilometers later, and it ran up the other embankment. Didn't get a photo of that one, either.

And then I didn't see anything but dripping trees, gray clouds and mud. Not even any logging trucks.

At about kilometer 30 there was a small bridge with access alongside that looked fishable. I definitely took Mr. Walther with me this time, and went down to throw in a few. No bites. The water was colored like root beer.

I pushed on, looking for a bridge called Q40, recommended in the fishing book.

I came to another fork, with Canyon Road going off to the right, and Queen Charlotte Main continuing on. I should have gone right, but it was posted with a red dot, which I thought meant "No Access at All."

Another yellow sign on the direct route once again asked that all public cars wait for an escort. I waited for a while, then gave up and drove on. There were a few places that had river access and I tried fishing, but it was spooky and drippy, and the water was brown. Again, I definitely had Mr. Walther with me.

Past the Yakoun Hatchery and a mid-size lake, a fully-loaded logging truck came up behind me, so I let it pass and drove behind it. I don't like those things. In fact, I have an outright phobia about them. An online friend who has been reading my dispatches thought my logging truck phobia was laughable and recommended a therapist.

No therapist needed, at least not for that, anyway. I felt better driving behind one than having one come at me.

I didn't really know where I was going, and I think the logging truck driver sensed this. He stopped, either to get me off his tail or to ask me what I was doing. I got out and he got out and I explained that I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing, but I wanted to catch a steelhead.

He looked at me kind of funny. I've been getting that look a lot on this trip.

I asked about fishing and he said I should have turned right, back at the Canyon Road, to get to the 40Q bridge.

"You're getting a flat tire there, eh?" he said, and pointed at my right front tire.

He was right. The road had done in the right front and it was getting low. I really didn't want to have to climb up on the roof of the van, get out the floor jack and change a tire in the middle of a logging road.

I made it back to the crossroads, and got up on the roof to get the electric tire inflator that Joanne's father had bought for me for Christmas. It had been in one of the plastic buckets on the roof, which had about six inches of water in the bottom of it. I feared the worst, but it fired right up and took about 10 minutes to fill the tire.

I was just a little tempted to veer off and check out 40Q, but didn't want to risk it.

I made it the 20 K's back to Queen Charlotte City without incident. The tire ran out of air right in front of the tire place.

I'm going to get it fixed tomorrow.

So, kind of a nothing day that really could have been a drag. Saw some bear and new terrain and a spooky, Root Beer-colored river. I've been looking at maps of Queen Charlotte Island. Most of it is inaccessible, and if all the roads are like the one I was on today, this is going to be a short trip. I don't want to get plowed by a logging truck.

I just sent an e-mail to Grant Washburn. He and Doc Renneker and Chris Isaak came here a few years ago. I wondered where Grant and them went, and how they got there. The Queen Charlotte Islands are another boat situation.

Now I'm watching Basic Instinct on TV. Two things about that movie bugged me. Sharon Stone's house in Stinson Beach definitely wasn't Stinson Beach, and that Salinas Valley Medical Clinic definitely wasn't Salinas.

Turns out the Stinson Beach home is really in Carmel, on Spindrift Road. And the Salinas Valley Medical Clinic is in Rohnert Park, north of San Francisco.

How do I know all this? Internet, baby. Part of my research into Cinema San Francisco.

I'm supposed to be writing about the Surf Scene on Queen Charlotte Island for swell.com, but I don;t even know if I'm going to find open beach.

I think I'm about done with this trip. Now I want to come back next year in better weather and the right vehicle and some company. It's no fun poking around on these lonely roads by yourself. The weather is endlessly bad and all my equipment is falling apart.

Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle drone. Time for this one to come home.

I wonder if maybe I should change my lucky number, or change my room.