Puddle Jumper

It’s another beautiful day at the Vancouver harbour, but I don’t have much time to appreciate it as we scurry down the hill to the seaplane terminal.

A snippet of film shot near Tofino by a conveniently incommunicado Texan appeared on the Internet several months ago, provoking a media hoo-ha in what was obviously a slow news week.

The incontrovertible proof arrived like lightning during Christmas week at my local branch of TD Canada Trust.

I admit it; I’m a light junkie. On hot summer days I smugly disobey my dermatologist and sunbathe nude at Wreck Beach, exposing moles and skin to the catch-22 of Vitamin D and sun damage.

When I was a kid I wanted to be an architect (and a pilot, and a vet, and a president).

If you have been a West Coast resident for any length of time, you’ve surely been warned to be prepared for the “Big One.” I’ll admit that after the tsunami gob smacked Sout

It’ll almost certainly comfort you to know that due to extenuating circumstances I once practically piloted an airplane very similar to this one—and I’m no pilot.