The last weekend of November has always held its own kind of magic for us. It might not sound like the ideal time to visit Galiano, but year after year – especially when my mom was still with us – it became our weekend on the island. Her birthday always brought us back, no matter the weather.
And honestly, there’s something perfect about that time of year. The South Hall buzzes with the Pantomime, the forest smells rich and earthy, and with the right rain gear, a walk to Dionisio becomes a tradition worth keeping.
This year we went in from the Mystic Trail, weaving through cedar, salal, and the last of the mushrooms hiding beneath the duff. The forest was quiet except for the occasional turkey vulture circling overhead and the soft crackle of wet leaves underfoot. It’s a two-hour hike that clears the mind completely – one of those trails where time stretches and settles.
But the true payoff always comes before you even reach the point.
First you hear them.
Then you smell them.
Then suddenly you see the whole shoreline come alive.
Sea lions – dozens of them – rolling through Porlier Pass like they own the place. Barking, splashing, hauling out on the rocks, turning the entire north end of the island into one loud, wild celebration. It’s messy and magnificent and impossibly alive. Every year, no matter how many times I’ve seen it, it feels like the island is revealing something ancient.
Late November might look grey on a calendar, but on Galiano it is one of the richest, wildest weekends of the year. A perfect blend of memory, wildlife, forest wanderings, and the kind of beauty you only find when you show up in every season.
Until next time – because on Galiano, there’s always another reason to fall in love with this island.