Cheam

   In the late 50's and early 60's, I spent parts of my summer vacations visiting my grandparents in the little town of Gibson's Landing, on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, not too far north of Vancouver. From the mid-thirties on, they had owned a small cottage on a good-sized parcel of land overlooking the ocean. Getting there required a ferry trip from Vancouver and, in the times I spent there it was a very sleepy little place that I adored.
   As was common custom, they named their little cottage, calling it "Cheam", (pronounced Chee-am). They had pulled this name from a little bit of family history; my grandmother was, in turn, the grand-daughter of Lewis Nunn Agassiz, a settler who'd originally travelled from London, Ontario to B.C. in search of gold back in the 1850's and then, being unsuccessful, had settled in the Fraser Valley. The area he settled became the town of Agassiz and it was nestled at the foot of Mount Cheam. This, then, was where they pulled the name from.
   Gibson's, in the seventies, became the town they filmed "The Beachcombers" in and, with the accompanying publicity, quickly became anything but "sleepy"! During the time I visited there, though, it was a small boys dream.
   A big part of the dream was the ocean being there. At the time, I was living in Edmonton and there was no ocean or even large bodies of water in the vicinity. To get to Gibson's required a two or three day trip through the mountains and this only served to whet a prairie boy's appetite. The mountains were a place of wonder for my brother Bob and I with its jaw-dropping scenery, bears and deer showing up on the side of the highway, the picnic lunches, the souvenir shops, the glaciers, etc. Vancouver was always a marvel when we got there, Stanley Park, Lions Gate bridge, totem poles, the aquarium. Then it was on to Horseshoe Bay and we were riding on a ship! We'd land and then it was a 3 km. trip to Gibson's during which I could barely sit still. Quick trip in to the house to see Granny and Grandad and then down to the beach.

The bottom of the steps leading to Gran's beach

   The beach was a place of wonder. It seemed as though we lived on the beach, we ate there, swam there, and Bob and I always headed there whenever there was nothing going on up top. To get down to the beach you had to follow a winding set of stairs, which, in different spots, were constructed out of either stone or wood. They spilled out onto the beach at the bottom, at high tide you would almost be stepping into water. It was a fairly long beach with almost no sand but a lot of pebbles. Huge logs had rolled in on the tides and planted themselves there. There was a high bluff at one end of the beach that my brother and I were warned not to climb but, generally, we disregarded this (I have been back as an adult with kids and now understand the warnings!) At the other end, near the stairs, was a pool carved out of the rocks. This always had some kind of marine life in it and it was easy to spend an hour or two at a time, on your belly, gazing in to it and trying to corral the little creatures you saw. At low tide, it was amazing the things you discovered, simply by turning over the wet rocks, thousands of crabs and crawly things, barnacles and mussels. The rocks at this end of the beach led around to the next beach and we'd often make the trip there but it wasn't nearly the fun of "Granny's Beach".

Gibson's Landing marina, great place for a kid!

   A twenty-five minute walk from Gran's (early on in one of our visits grandad actually passed away, everything then became "Gran's") took you into the business area of Gibson's and, more importantly, the marina. I would walk there on my own, with a life jacket and a small fishing line, lie down on the end of one of the docks and spend hours catching "shiners", or ocean perch. Gran would let me take a mason jar with me and every shiner I caught went into the mason jar. I would then bring this back, show everyone and then bury them in Gran's rose garden (she had beautiful roses). Of course, the next day, due to my curiosity, I would dig them up again! They did always get re-buried though...
   There was the occasional early-morning fishing trip, generally with either my Dad or my Uncle Keith. Of course, we were always after salmon, and it became a mission of mine to catch one. Finally, the day before we moved to London, I caught one! One excited boy! I have such strong memories of salmon being wrapped in newspaper, all lined up on Gran's kitchen counter, before they were carried down to the beach to be cleaned. They would be scaled and gutted and soon there would be a whole flock of seagulls hovering over us, waiting for the bits that needed to be cast off.
   It is actually very difficult to describe the magic of the place. I can safely say it was my favourite place to be as a kid. I can still smell the smells, see all the sights and remember the excitement. I have gone back a handful of times as a grown-up and much of the magic is gone, though it now appeals in a different way. It is a much more commercial place, as a town. Cheam itself doesn't exist the way it did when we went there, has been added to and upgraded. These days, I'm sure it is worth a small fortune! If I ever win the lottery...