Despite the rainy day we trekked through the wet rainforest on Canada’s far west coast on Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
More than 75 years earlier, in response to Pearl Harbour, this beautiful surfing paradise coastline hastily became the Canadian frontline during the second World War. Barb wire and concrete were littered throughout the Pacific Rim Reserve; buildings to support against the Japanese onslaught.
We were on an adventure to find a wrecked bomber plane that had crashed into a hill. A real adventure. One that took us through a long stretch of boggy marsh land. Mud so deep you could lose yourself in it. With no visible trail to follow, we were at the mercy of unevenly scattered markers and a couple of random guide ropes. A trail that still claims lost adventurers to search and rescue teams every year.
Then, like a scene from a horror movie, this random abandoned building appears, tucked into the thick brush of the forrest trying to claim it. A building that served perhaps as an outpost in a previous life; now intimidating adventurers, a warning of the adventure ahead. Upon entering the building the cold damp decay of our human existence dropped the temperature a couple of degrees. The eeriness of the building was equal parts debris littered floors and structural bones desperately trying hard not to succumb to mother nature and gravity.
The marshy hike and the bomber plane is a story for another time, this gaunt structure spoke to me, like a haunting whisper you strain to hear when you’re home alone. A stark reminder of the hollowness of our plight. To survive and have an impact. Without other humans to remember it, does anything really matter? Everything we build will return to the earth. A confronting question, but one i enjoyed thinking about. All we have is a life of meaning; yearning for Eudaemonia and helping others reach theirs. The true path to happiness, a worthy goal for everyone.