hardly

Last weekend I was in Port Hardy.

...And I thought that Powell River was in the ass end of nowhere...

I’m not sure, but I think I was duped into making the 250km drive up Vancouver Island on twisted palsied roads through terrain that makes the Himalayas look meek.

The GM called me at 10:30 Friday morning, “Hey do you want to be my favourite announcer in the whole world?”
“Uhh, okay.”
“I need you to go up to Port Hardy and cover tomorrow’s morning show, and Op for a remote over the weekend.”

This, by the way, does not illustrate a faith in my abilities, but rather a softness of my brain. I was the logical choice because I didn’t know what the trip would entail.

I didn’t know, for example, that Port Hardy is the Northern-most town on Vancouver Island. It sits at the apex of two fierce and unpredictable weather masses. I believe they are called “Rock” and “Hard Place”.

I also didn’t understand that this was no Ottawa to Montreal 200 click cruise. This was a harrowing, teeth clenching drive through landscape that makes you feel like a tick on a bulldog. All done in a car designed for teenage girls who park them at malls.

Beautiful scenery I would imagine, except that while getting there it was impossible to see due to low-lying fog. And sudden 4.30 pm darkness (I finally hit the road at 3PM).

I also managed to miss all the scenery on the return drive because of heavy rainfall. The kind of rainfall which affords you glimpses of reality when the windshield-wiper passes. All the scenery passing the car was done in the cheap stop-motion animation you see in early 80s sci-fi movies. I actually briefly glimpsed a glacier of mud moving towards the highway on my right. I suppose I should have stopped and got it's autograph when I passed, but I was too busy clenching my sphincter.

Besides, how was I to know then that this would be the famous mudslide which would shut down the only route North/South on the Island until today? Turns out I narrowly missed writing this on the edge of a cliff face surrounded by wildlife considering me in terms of edibility.

There is no cell or radio signal for about a two hour stretch of the drive, so rescue would be a dim fantasy. And even if someone stopped to pick me up, as soon as they saw the car I was driving, they'd take off in fits of hysterical laughter.

Of course as soon as I got to Port Hardy things went pear-shaped. The girl that was supposed to Op the Hockey game in Powell River that night called me in tears to say that her father had disappeared. Turns out he is a former drug addict, and that's what they do. She called with this information about 30 minutes before the puck dropped.

Brittany was leaving to Victoria so she couldn't help.

What followed was a mad flurry of phone calls in which we figured out that the game could be operated from Courtenay. All the girl had to do was flip the "On" switch for the computer on the mixing board.

Which she did.

The problem is that she flipped the "Off" switch on the On-Air fader. This meant that from the end of the Hockey game –10 pm Friday – until about noon the next day, Sun FM was broadcasting static.

Noon is about when I got another call from Powell River. This time from the play-by-play announcer who was on a rescue mission. He had somehow gotten a key to the studio, but couldn't figure out how to get the station to start broadcasting again.

I tried to describe to him which buttons he should press, which dials he should turn, and when he should have an aneurism. All based on the hazy picture in my head of the mixing board. Eventually after many repeated question and instructions we got it running again. The whole thing was like trying to guide a blind man through Mexico City with a map of the London underground.

I was calm throughout despite the fact that I was also opping a remote for the woman that works at the Port Hardy station at the same time.


Not much going on in Port Hardy. There's about 20% unemployment with a lot of ragged people wandering around its streets.

Within about an hour there was three kinds of precipitation, and a constant strong wind coming from every direction. . . And occasional sunshine. Just long enough for me to rush to the hotel, grab my camera, and rush to a scenic area – which could only be described as "harbour with background trees" – when it would start rain-snowing again.

I saw a bunch of eagles and many aboriginals. I think I saw a seal, but that may have been an aboriginal too.

The people were very friendly. But seriously, to live in a place like that you have to have a good sense of humour.

There was an inordinate amount of liquor stores there. These are places I went to after work to buy a few tall-boys in order to sit in front of my computer and scream at it for being so shitty. I did go to a pub one night, but left after a single pint because I couldn't bear to look at myself in the bar mirror for any longer.

I had great and cheap sushi with the freshest fish you can find in BC.

When I was talking to the woman that runs the radio station I asked her what people do for work in Port Hardy. She said, "There is a gravel pit. We ship gravel to California. It's the best gravel in the world."

I looked at her closely. Her face was straight.

Port Hardy: The Best Gravel in the World.

That about sums it up.

I caught the last ferry from the Island during a torrential downpour. The same downpour that would shut down Courtenay the next day. When I got to Sun FM on Monday Brittany told me that the wind had blown over our antenna that morning.

More dead air.

Hard to say what I've learned in all of this.

I think it has something to do with packing a change of underwear, but I'm not sure.

By the way, I've started referring myself as "de Hoog" on-air – see what that does.