Here, our family is on our annual camping trip with friends at the Pender Islands Beaumont Marine Park.
It’s the Canada Day long weekend and the official beginning of summer for us all. We came by
canoe – no easy task with 10 adults and eight children, including my daughter Charlotte in her
wheelchair. The children are all between the ages of four and nine.
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This is my daughter Sarah, at age five. She, along with all of the children, is engaged in their
favourite sport in this place: patrolling the water’s edge, hoping to find some transparent treasure
for her Tupperware aquarium.
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I was drawn to this image by its solitude. This was a very personal moment of peace, and it reminded
me of an important time in my own life. When I was nine, my family moved from the busy city of
Edmonton, Alberta, to an isolated beachfront cabin in Qualicum Bay on Vancouver Island. My
life changed, from having friends across the street, to my closest friend being miles down the road.
I spent my time on the beach alone, just as Sarah was here. My preferred prey was the elusive
bullhead, and I spent countless hours stalking the tide pools with my bucket. I never felt lonely,
but my parents, who were concerned about my isolation, adopted me a dog. Whipper was a great, 
ovable, gentle mutt who was half basset hound and half Labrador retriever. He looked like a glossy
black basset on steroids. Luckily, Whipper enjoyed the thrill of the hunt as much as I did, and I’m
sure that this was the birth of my life-long passion for fishing.
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We spent only three years in the cabin in Qualicum, but thoughts of that time still summon the
fondest memories of my childhood. I hope Sarah had a taste of that here.
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Mark Heine