The Village of YanYan

The village lay in the deepest part of a cove, with homes extending right down near the water. There was no sign of power, which immediately caused Bipin concern about the potential discomfort of the upcoming night’s sleep. Next he wondered if there would be plumbing. He had a sinking feeling this could be a primitive experience, but probably very peaceful. From where they were stopped, Matsqui pointed out the chief’s quarters situated near the center of the village. Bipin had never seen so many totems. “Does each home have its own totem pole?”

Photo courtesy of Neil Banas
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Trails in the garden at YanYan

Upon crossing through the archway, Bipin realized this wasn’t just greenbelt. It was in fact a very large, exquisitely planned garden. The main walk meandered through the landscape. A number of trails broke off leading to various areas of the garden. He followed Matsqui until a large structure came into view.

Securing Logs to Pilings

While securing the log boom to a series of pilings, a kayak pulled up alongside Ship Mate to deliver a message. They were invited to join the villagers for their evening ritual. Bipin was awful tired, it had been a long day, but to show appreciation he agreed. The note said a man named Matsqui would greet them at the pier and provide transportation to the village. Bipin gave the kayaker an affirmative nod—after which the man headed back to shore. Bipin and the captain were happy to see a large vessel near the oyster operation. It was comforting to know if they really got in trouble the village had the capability to tow Ship Mate.
 

Totem in Progress

Inside were pieces of wood of all sizes and shapes—carving projects in the works and piles of wood chips were everywhere. The gate was ajar. Tyler’s curiosity got the best of him, and he let himself in. One large totem pole in progress lay at the far end of the courtyard. There were carvings of animals, birds, people, and all sorts of things scattered here and there.

Photo courtesy of Neil Banas
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Oyster Farm

Once again Bipin was on the radio. He learned of an oyster farm tucked in behind the Flat Top Islands, just a few miles away. The farm was owned and operated by a First Nations tribe. Deep traditions of the tribe led most visitors to believe they were of Haida ancestry. On the other hand, portions of their culture were reminiscent of Polynesia. How Polynesian influence could have ended up in the islands of British Columbia was a mystery.

Bipin knew some natives were less than anxious to get involved in white man’s business. Ship Mate was really limping. It was time to call in a favor. Bipin had a close personal Native American friend in the seafood business in Seattle. It was a long shot, but maybe his friend knew the people that owned the oyster farm. He got his friend on the phone. “Sal, it’s Bipin.”
 

Oyster Farm Shelling Area

Though Harley had been to YanYan a couple of times, he’d never been to the oyster farm. Tsauri spotted Ship Mate as they came over the hill near Oyster Bay, reminding him Bipin was still in the hut. The tug sat outside the cove, fairly inconspicuous—Tsauri was confident the tug wouldn’t mean anything to Harley. Taking Harley’s attention away from the water, Tsauri pointed to the oyster farm, “Across the beach there is the main industry of our village.”

With the tide out, forklifts were busy transferring cages from the low tide marker to the shelling area.
 

Harbor at Dawn

The captain took pleasure in watching the expressions of his wife and children as they listened to Yaku. “They have excellent natural protection as well,” he added. “From the strait, one would never know the cove is here,” he indicated pointing to the lay of the land.

“We only found the village after sailing toward the islands looking for protection from rough water. Once we were out of the strait, we looked back and saw the inlet. We took refuge in the harbor—much like last night.”

Photo courtesy of Neil Banas
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