Vancouver Island | 48.5530° N, 124.4223° W | February 24th, 2025
Thick, gray clouds obscure Vancouver Island as Alaska Airlines Flight 3322 makes its final approach into YYG. Descending below the blanket of gray, I peer through the window and spot a few familiar landmarks: the channel, the port, and the little trail that curves around the perimeter of the airport. I ran there last time I was here, when we sailed into Sidney last June.
After the plane lands, my standard airport routine begins. Retrieve my well-worn duffle from baggage claim. Politely convince the customs official I am not here for work. Grab some Canadian dollars from the nearest ATM. Walk outside and breathe in the cool, misty air.
The familiar motions end there. Instead of heading to the port to board a ship, I’m about to hop in a car with some people I’ve never met and drive to a remote part of the island. We will spend the next 10 days participating in the Port Renfrew Wilderness Writing Residency, led by award-winning authors Harley Rustad and Kate Harris.
My phone dings with a new message alert. We’re here! Look for a Black Ford Escape, with surfboards on top!
As soon as I spot the car, Ryan Hook and Emma McIntosh jump out, all smiles. Even though this is our first time meeting, they welcome me like an old friend. I love Canadians.
We squeeze my bags into the car, and begin our journey to Port Renfrew. The conversation flows immediately, meandering from music to travel to politics to the reason we’re all heading to a tiny town on the west coast of Vancouver Island – to write. Ryan and Emma are both professional journalists. I ask if either of them have participated in a writing residency before, and I’m surprised to hear they haven’t. It’s a relief to know I won’t be the only newbie.
I listen intently as they discuss the projects they’re planning to work on during the residency. Ryan wants to write a manuscript in honor of his dear friend, Dion Arnold who passed away last summer, and how he’s learning to surf on the boards Dion gave him. Emma plans to write a long-form feature about a dramatic incident with a bear, expounding on the increasing clash between humans and the natural world.
Listening to Emma and Ryan, I realize that my project is massive in scope and not nearly as specific as their topics. During this writing retreat, I want to start outlining a book about my adventures at sea – a narrative that illustrates the wild and unpredictable experiences that come with working on research vessels. I have no idea how to structure it, what the format will be, or which stories to include. As I try to describe my ideas for the book, I feel self-conscious, like a little kid attempting to explain an overly ambitious science fair project. I have no idea what I’m doing.
My two new friends respond warmly to my rambling explanations. Ryan says we shouldn’t put too much pressure on ourselves. Let’s just write and enjoy this time.
I look out the window, noticing late afternoon golden light seeping through the misty rain. I remind myself that writing is hard, writing an entire book is even harder, and it’s okay to feel a bit dubious about about the whole endeavor — that’s why I’m here.
—-
We are on the ancestral, native land of the Pacheedaht. The Pacheedaht First Nation, or “People of the Seafoam”, are a Nuu-chah-nulth people from the southwest coast of Vancouver Island.
This is the first thing Harley tells us when our group gathers together the following morning. He then tells us about the time he has spent here in Port Renfrew, including researching and writing his book Big Lonely Doug. Harley’s connection to Port Renfrew and the inspiration he finds in this place feels akin to my love and appreciation for South Toe, a tiny soulful community in western North Carolina. I immediately feel a deep sense of gratitude to be here.
After Harley’s warm welcome, we go around the room to introduce ourselves, describe our backgrounds, and discuss the projects we are planning to work on during this residency. In addition to our mentors, Harley and Kate, I am one of six participants —all Canadians, with the exception of a lovely woman from the U.K., and me, the sole American.
As I listen to the others explain their projects, I can’t help but smile, flooded with the profound joy and slight disbelief that often accompanies the start of an expedition.
Is this real life? I get to go on an epic adventure with these amazing people?? How did I get accepted into such a cool club?
Feeling inspired and invigorated after the morning meet-and-greet, I head back to my cabin and sit down to officially start outlining my book. I want to write out a few lists: themes, characters, and specific stories. This seemingly simple task immediately becomes overwhelming, and I feel paralyzed.
There are too many! Where do I begin? How do I do this?
Just start writing. Begin at the beginning. I abandon my “list of themes” and recall a moment from December of 2017, staring into my bathroom mirror at 4am, riddled with anxiety because I was about to quit a perfectly good job.
For over an hour, I sit on a small stool and write about that turning point my life. It’s not good writing. The language is dry and derivative. But at least I have written something. It’s a start.
Feeling the need to move, I go for a long run in the rain, breathing in the saturated air. My feet pound the wet pavement, and I inhale deeply, relishing the occasional musky whiff of a wood burning stove. The simple act of breathing here invigorates all of my senses.
A much-need reprieve from the computer: The views and fresh air here provide the most rejuvenating mental boost.
In the evening, I walk to the pub with Ryan and Emma, as well as Helen Mort and Garth Wallbridge. We talk about writing for the better part of two hours. They patiently listen as I attempt to distill all the insecurities and mental roadblocks around my book project. Seven years of expedition work. Hundreds of days at sea. Thousands of shipmates. How do I organize it? What do I include? What do I exclude?
I discuss how I could format the book as a series of essays or vignettes – a simple collection of stories from various expeditions. That would be an “easy” book to write.
Then I start talking about the duality of life at sea versus life at home, the constant coming and going, the experience of living two different lives. If I work really hard, maybe I can weave together a narrative that integrates all the complexity of my experiences, transitioning from home to the middle of the ocean and back again. And again. And again. That would be a more complicated (and more difficult) book to write.
When I finally finish my verbal brain dump, Helen speaks up. Her warm demeanor and classic British accent emanate authority and confidence.
She looks directly at me. “You’ve got to write the hard book.”
——-
I first read Kate’s book Lands of Lost Borders in 2019 — one year after I quit my full-time job and started my own business. I have quoted Kate’s writing in blog posts, recommended her book to several friends, and listened to her give podcast interviews about writing and the creative process.
Chatting with her now feels surreal — a bit like meeting a celebrity. But Kate is so warm and kind, our conversation about writing and life flows naturally. She is thrilled to find out my dad is a pilot. We talk about the pains and pleasures of writing, perfectionism, and our favorite NASA people (especially our fellow Tar Heel, Zena Cardman.)
Kate and I also discuss the self-consciousness that comes with writing a book about your own experience. Even though I don’t have to show my shitty first drafts to anyone, the weight of vulnerability is hard to shake.
Kate helps me process the challenges I’m facing by comparing writing to visual mediums. When I film or take photos, I capture a ton of imagery. The final edit only includes a fraction of the visuals I shot, but collecting all the imagery is a critical part of the creative process.
I need to take the same approach here: generate gigs and gigs of writing. Before I can even think about structure or editing or format, I have to produce content (written imagery) to play around with.
When I get back to my cabin, I spend two hours writing about my expedition in American Samoa in 2019. I feel like I could write a whole book just about that first momentous expedition aboard Nautilus.
But when I read over what I’ve written I’m struck with this thought: this dialogue and these details are only compelling because I lived them. Will anyone else care about this?
I go for another long run in the afternoon, diving into the refuge of the landscape, savoring the sun on my face, the dark sand under my feet, and the massive driftwoods lining the beach as far as I can see. The scenery here provides the perfect remedy for stress and tension – no matter how much I doubt myself, I can walk outside and feel rejuvenated.
——
Over the next several days, I develop a comfortable routine that includes chunks of time for writing, reading, walking or running, and hanging out with the group. Harley takes us to some of his favorite spots to see how and why Port Renfrew is known as the Tall Trees Capital of Canada. Gazing as the Sitka spruce, Douglas firs, and cedars fills all of us with a sense of awe.
Trees please: Harley Rustad educates us on the history, ecology, and biology of the great trees in this magical corner of Canada.
Expedition expert: I highly recommend a walk in the woods with this tough, intelligent, delightful human: the one and only Kate Harris.
When we’re not on a group hike, my mornings and midday time revolve around writing — scribbling notes on paper, typing out chunks of text, and trying not to judge my early versions too harshly.
Every afternoon, I head out for a run. After a particularly wet and cold run in the rain, I feel numb, tired, and thirsty. Walking back to my cabin, I spot Garth, poking at a blazing fire in his fire pit. He waves me over and offers up a cold beer. A minute later, I peel off my wet shoes and socks, prop my cold feet right next to crackling flames, and take a large gulp of a crisp Canadian brew.
Garth is the mooshoom (Michif for "grandfather") of our group, and we all enjoy listening to his treasure trove of stories and learning from his deep well of wisdom. During our time together, he has explained the history and traditions of the Métis people, as well as described the weird and wonderful things that come with life in the Northern Territories of Canada. Sitting next to Garth and the warm glow of his fire on a cold afternoon, I feel so grateful to be his neighbor this week.
Our group dinners at the pub are delightful. During our second dinner gathering, I sit across from Haley Ritchie and we chat non-stop about things that make us feel alive – forest fire work, expedition work, book recommendations, untraditional career paths, camping, and mountaineering.
When our conversation veers into writing, Haley says, “I can’t wait to read your book.”
That helps. Despite how daunting it feels, I will write my book — for Haley and the badass sisterhood of women like us around the world.
Affirmation and fun: Such a treat to explore and and learn with the phenomenal force that is Haley Ritchie.
Sometimes the words flow easily, and sometimes I have to force them out. Sometimes I spend big chunks of time reading over stuff I wrote years ago. I have written a lot, but I still don’t know how I’m going to weave all my stories together into a cohesive book.
After a few hours of frustration, I spend another early evening chatting with Kate. I feel like I have rubbed my thoughts raw from picking at the scabs of old writing. Kate’s warmth and wisdom slow the frenzied thoughts racing around my mind.
“Stop the self-lacerating,” she says with a smile. “That’s not helping anything.”
We talk about the accumulation of experience and the passage of time. I have participated in 25 expeditions; it would be ridiculous to write every detail of each one. Kate encourages me to focus on the stories and details that resonate most deeply.
“If you could only pick five or six stories to describe and explain your life over the past few years, what would they be?”
Back at my cabin, I start scribbling across pieces of paper, sketching out chunks of time I have spent at sea and on land. I realize I don’t need to detail all the transition of the past seven years, how and where every connection was made, where each needle was threaded. Instead, I heed Kate’s advice and select five expeditions — Antarctica, American Samoa, the North Atlantic, the Caribbean, and Palau — I will start with those.
Later, I walk next door to Emma’s cabin. She and Ryan are reading drafts of their work aloud to each other. It’s refreshing to get out of my head and exhilarating to hear their stories. They are both such talented writers — listening to the different ways they manipulate language flips a switch in my brain. Maybe I could write like that.
We give each other feedback. Just like Kate, Emma and Ryan radiate kindness and encouragement. We laugh a lot. I feel so much lighter.
In the future, I will work with hard-ass editors and endure harsh criticism, but for now – in these very early days of trying to ignite my creativity and learn new approaches to storytelling – I indulge in the warm embrace of affirmation from my new friends.
——
As we approach the final days of the residency, we all begin to feel a shared sense of sadness. None of us want to leave this magical place or this soulful, synergistic group of people.
I cope with the impending departure the same way I cope with the ending of every special adventure — plan the next trip. I brainstorm how and when I might be able to return to Port Renfrew. I chat with Harley about renting his condo for a week. It certainly won’t be the same without Harley, Kate, Ryan, Emma, Haley, Garth, and Helen, but I have no doubt in my heart or mind: I will come back here.
Unfortunately, my departure from Port Renfrew comes quicker than planned — a sudden family emergency forces me to fly out a day before the official end of the residency. Emma helps me book a last-minute flight, Kate and Harley make arrangements to get me to the airport, and Garth gives me a much-needed hug. Their support, understanding, and kindness mean the world to me. These people are talented writers, fascinating intellectuals, nature lovers, and ardent adventurers, but above all else, they are phenomenal friends.
At the airport, I open a card from Emma.
Remember the brilliant work and thinking you did here. You are a born writer and storyteller, and you clearly bust your ass to make it stratospherically special. It has been such a joy to become friends with you and see your work unfold. I hope the memory of that will stick in your mind as it has in mine.
It most certainly will.
——
During this residency, I read several books about writing (and also received some great recommendations from Kate!) If you’re looking for some inspiration in your writing life, check out the following:
The Science of Storytelling: Why Stories Make Us Human and How to Tell Them Better by Will Storr
The Art of Recklessness: Poetry as Assertive Force and Contradiction by Dean Young
The Art of Time in Memoir: Then, Again by Sven Birkerts
The Meadow by James Galvin
The Writing Life by Annie Dillard
I also highly recommend these books:
Big Lonely Doug: The Story of One of Canada’s Last Great Trees by Harley Rustad
Lost in the Valley of Death: A Story of Obsession and Danger in the Himalayas by Harley Rustad
Lands of Lost Borders: Out of Bounds on the Silk Road by Kate Harris
A Line Above the Sky: A Story of Mountains and Motherhood by Helen Mort